He's driving across a bridge in the middle of the night. He's not sure what bridge it is, or even if he's headed in the right direction. This city is too new to him to know any of that. But he sees a shadow in his headlights and slams on the brakes. He leans over the steering wheel and sure enough, yeah, that's a person standing on the railing of the bridge.

"Shit," he mutters, unbuckling and getting out of the car. His dad was the Sheriff in the last town they lived in, so he kind of knows how to talk someone off a ledge. Kind of. Every case is special. He closes the door quietly and strides over. "Hey, are you okay?" He calls when he's about five feet away. Stupid question, though, considering the person is about to jump off a bridge. The person is a guy, he notes whenever the man looks over his shoulder. And his face is striking, or would be if it wasn't so pale and ghastly, but he thinks that it might be the headlights. The man just looks at him, then back off the bridge. "Look, I know what it's like to feel this low. To have nowhere else to go, alright? I get that. I've been where you are—" He sees the man shift his feet. "—and I know where this is going. Just believe me, there's something in this life that's gotta be worth you coming back down here and living. There's gotta be something to keep you here."

"They're all dead," is all the man says. He thinks it should sound more ridiculous than it actually does. Running a hand through his hair, he curses under his breath, debates dialing 911 while he keeps the guy occupied. "What do you care?"

He looks up at the man, eyes alarmed. "What do I— Dude, you're about to jump off a bridge. I couldn't care less that you're a perfect stranger. Dude, I care because you can't be that much older than me and you've got freaking lifetimes ahead of you. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems, and I know you're feeling completely hopeless right now, but I promise you. If you just come down off that railing, you can talk to me and we can get you some help. Nobody should have to do this alone." The man looks back at him, and he stares back. He watches him grip the metal beam and step back on to the road. "Come on, my car's right over there." He jerks his head toward his junked up Jeep and waits for the man to start walking before he goes as well. "I'm Stiles," he says as the doors are closed and they buckle up. "Stiles Stilinski." He sees the man nod and stares out the window as he starts driving. It's quiet for a bit.

"Derek Hale."

Stiles exhales. So this guy's stable enough to talk, but he's not going to do much more talking. He debates between taking him to the hospital or to his new house, just knows he can't leave this guy alone.

"Your father is the new sheriff in town, isn't he?" Stiles laughs a bit and nods.

"That recognizable of a name, huh? We just moved down here from this little town like an hour from here. Kinda boring, not much happens, so they downsized the police department and stationed Dad down here."

"Do you have any idea where you're going?"

Stiles colors a bit and shakes his head. "I have like the worst sense of direction ever, dude."

"I can tell," Derek replies dryly. "Do you know why I chose that bridge?"

Stiles bristles. "Perfect height, right amount of water below, not too much, not too little?" He offers, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Nobody drives this road at night."

Stiles jerks and looks over at him. "What why?"

"We have a superstitious little town here."

"Good thing I'm new, then."

"You don't need to do this. Or keep an eye on me. I can go home."

Stiles looks at him. To be honest, he doesn't really think he should be ordering this guy around. Something about that stare he's giving Stiles, or maybe it's just his eyes or that chiselled jaw that's set and so solid. "You're not going to try again, are you?"

"No." For some reason, the hair on the back of Stiles' neck stands up. This guy's not lying.

"Alright, so tell me where you live." Derek gives him directions. "Just tell me as we're going, 'cause I'm never gonna remember those, dude." So Derek does that and they're driving up this winding road and at the top sits this burned out terrifying mansion. Stiles quirks a brow. "You live there?"

"Behind it." Stiles blinks. "The carriage house wasn't touched by the fire." Stiles nods and unlocks the doors.

"Hey Derek." The man turns around and looks at him. "If my dad gets a suicide call, I'll find some way to bring you back to life and kill you again myself, alright?" He sees Derek's lips twitch up in what's trying to be a smile.

"Sure," he replies and slides out of the car. Stiles waits until he's out of sight to back down the driveway and try and navigate his way home.

"Mom, I met this guy," he says, setting down the flowers. "Well, not really met, but saved. He was about to jump off a bridge. And I know you always tell me not to be the hero, but mom, I saved this guy. He's still alive because of me. …And I'm scared, you know? What if that's not a good thing? What if he's some mass murderer or some kind of psychomaniac? What if he tries again?" Stiles worries his lip and sits on the ground with his legs crossed. "I mean, I know I'm not responsible for him. And a guy like that's gotta have some problems. But I can't just leave him alone." He sighs through his nose and rubs his head. "Okay, so this is really creepy, but I looked him up online. His whole family died in this house fire. From what the police report said, they were all stuck in the basement and somebody thought the house was empty. They never caught anybody. But Derek and his sister were out at a party and didn't even know until they got home. Their uncle got out too, but half his body is burned and he's been catatonic for like six years. Yeah it happened six years ago. Hard to believe I was only ten right? And Derek… Derek's twenty or something. But mom, there's something about this guy." Stiles swallows. "Something that the police report just couldn't cover. He's so tortured and scared. I saw it in his eyes. He's so scared and I think the only way he knows how to deal with that is anger and violence. There are no official records of him at the police station, but I googled it and he's got a lot of other types of articles about him, people talking about some kind of fight club and other weird stuff like that. And yeah I feel like a bit of a creep, but I couldn't help myself, mom. It was all right there. And you know, it's really stupid, but the more I read about him, the more I realized that I want to get to know him."

Stiles falters and looks at his mom's gravestone. Sometimes he hopes his mom will talk back, but he knows it's foolish. With a sigh he stands up, leans over, and kisses the top of her headstone. Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and walks back to his Jeep and drives an hour back to his new home.

"Stiles, this is so freaking great," Scott says as they sit down next to each other in Chemistry. "I can't believe your dad got sent here and not somewhere else."

Stiles grins and shoves his shoulder. Scott's his best friend. Has been since grade school. Scott moved away from Stiles' old town at the beginning of middle school. They'd both flipped when Stiles found out he was moving to Beacon Hills. "Can't imagine anything greater," he replies. Especially considering how much shit he got in his old town for being the son of the sheriff. (It briefly crosses his mind that he could get just as much shit here for that, but at least he wouldn't be totally alone this time.)

Throughout the day, Scott teaches him the dynamic of Beacon Hills. This gorgeous girl named Lydia basically runs this town, along with her boyfriend Jackson, who just so happens to be the captain of the lacrosse team, and a total asshole. Great, Stiles thinks. Any minute chance he might have had is totally gone. Not that Stiles thinks he could ever have a chance with such a freaking perfect specimen of a human being.

"So I'm basically in the same place I was before, only potentially with less black eyes?" Stiles muses at lunch, taking a solid bite out of his apple.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You're killing me, Smalls," he groans. "Maybe if your face wasn't crooked you'd be more popular." Scott shoves his shoulder and laughs. "You think I'm joking! That's a face only a very loving mother could love." Scott shoves him again.

"Think she'd learn to love it?" Scott gestures to the door of the cafeteria where this freaking vixen with long black hair walks it. She looks lost and Stiles almost calls her over. New kids have to stick together, right? But Lydia with her bouncing strawberry blonde curls comes bounding up to her and pulls her away.

"I think you should aim lower. Like way lower. So low that you have to go down some stairs to get to the target."

"You're cruel."

"I'm realistic."

"An ass."

"At least you have a loving mother."

Stiles sees Derek Hale again while he's grocery shopping for his dad. Well, he doesn't see Derek in the grocery store, but as he's sliding into his Jeep and starting it. And it's actually terribly convenient because Derek is getting out of his car – a really nice car and for a second Stiles is super confused, but then figures that a guy with a house that was once that big has to have some money saved somewhere – which is parked right in front of Stiles, and that's also the precise moment when Stiles' Jeep decides it's not going to turn over. Derek doesn't look at first, just keeps walking. But Stiles tries one more time and he's not even looking out the window anymore. There's a knock on his window and he jumps and shouts and hits his elbow on the steering wheel. He looks over after all that and sees Derek standing beside his Jeep with his eyebrow raise, and only slightly amused. Stiles rolls down the window and grins sheepishly.

"Car trouble?" Freaking hell that voice chills Stiles to the core.

"Yeah, just a little," he replies, scratching his head.

"Need a jump?"

"That would actually be so great. Do you, er, have cables? I think mine are in my dad's car." He watches Derek roll his eyes, and thinks for a second that he's got really pretty eyes.

"Pop the hood," he replies gruffly before going back to his car. Stiles lets out a breath and sags a bit. He fumbles under his dashboard for the button to open the hood of his Jeep. He finally mashes it in and climbs out of his car, just as Derek is coming around to the front of his own car. "So how old is this thing?"

"My Jeep? It's not that old. I mean 2000, maybe." Derek scoffs a bit and Stiles colors. "Hey, it's a damn sturdy vehicle. Not everybody can afford to have something like yours." He sees Derek roll his eyes again. He watches him hook up the cables between their cars and chews on his lip. "How are you?" Derek's eyebrows shoot up on his forehead and he looks at Stiles, who gulps a bit.

"I'm alright," he replies, and his voice isn't completely cold and scathing. And he takes that as a good thing. Doesn't push because he knows how annoying it is when people keep asking you questions. "Go start it." Stiles leans in to his Jeep and turns the key, grinning a bit when it actually starts.

"Thanks, dude, I owe you," he says, hopping down. Derek looks at him.

"You really don't." Stiles bristles a bit. Right.

He nods. "Then just thanks." Derek nods in return and takes the cables off of Stiles' battery and his own. "I'll see you around, Derek." He gives a sort of half waves and waits for Derek to be out of sight before he backs out of his space and goes home.

"Dad? I'm back!" He shouts, muscling his way inside with arms full of groceries. He sets them on the kitchen counter and goes in search of his father. He stops beside the kitchen table, sees a stack of paper and on top is a pamphlet called "Grief and Loss." Stiles rolls his eyes. He picks it up and unfolds it. It's some counseling service for kids who have lost loved ones. On the back, there's his name and a date and time written in his father's handwriting. Stiles goes cold. "Dad," he calls, his voice rising. He clenches his fist and the paper in it. He's shaking a bit, but he can't tell if he's angry or upset or both. Stiles finds his dad in his room, like his room, sitting on Stiles' bed. "What the hell is this?" He half spits it, not even bothering to contain himself, though he really should, considering the look his father is giving him. "Group therapy? Really?"

"Stiles, listen. You've gone up there every weekend since, and I just don't think that this is something you should be doing on your own."

"So what if I go visit my mother every weekend? Dad, I'm fine. I don't need some stupid therapy or counseling to get through this."

"You're going."

"No, I'm not, dad. I'm not doing this."

"Sit down." Stiles huffs and pulls his desk chair over and sits down, facing his dad. "I'm your dad, Stiles. I've known you your whole life and I know when something is wrong. You don't see it. I know you don't. But you've changed, Stiles. You don't talk to me anymore, about anything. And I think it's just a good idea for you to have somebody else that you can talk to."

Stiles sighs and looks at the floor. He chews on his lip and nods. "Alright, dad. Alright. I'll go." If only to help his dad. He watches his father stand up and leave, frowning as he claps him on the shoulder on his way out. Stiles sighs and rubs his face, leaning back in his chair. "Ridiculous."

"We have a new face joining us this week," the counselor says, and Stiles' stomach flips. He should be up visiting mom right now. He looks around the room. There are six of them sitting in a circle of chairs. He's sitting next to the counselor, hell if he can remember the dude's name. Something like Jared or Jesus or something. Stiles goes with Jesus. On Jesus's other side, there's a blonde girl in an oversized sweater with her hands pulled inside the sleeves. Her hair is like a freaking rat's nest and she has bags under her eyes. Stiles tries to reserve judgment. Next to her is a really freaking huge black guy, but he looks like he's trying to make himself smaller in his chair. Next to him is a kid with huge eyes and curly hair and he's kind of scared and sick looking. Stiles doesn't have time to stare at the other one long enough to identify them, but he knows he recognizes the first three from the hallways in school. "Why don't you introduce yourself?" Jesus suggests, but Stiles knows it's not actually a suggestion.

He crosses his arms and sighs a bit. "I'm, um, Stiles. Stiles Stilinski."

"What brings you here with us, Stiles?" He's really starting to hate Jesus's voice.

"I, uh. My mom died about two months ago," he replies, nodding to nobody in particular. "Terminal illness and all, we expected it, no surprises there. I'm actually supposed to be up visiting her right now, so if we could just hurry up, that'd be super great."

Jesus chuckles. "Why don't we go around and introduce ourselves to Stiles?" He gestures to the blonde girl.

"I'm Erica Reyes," she says, sinking down in her chair and looking at the floor. "My mother killed herself in January." Stiles knows he can't hide the shock on his face.

"I'm Boyd. Just Boyd," says the next kid. He's soft spoken for how big he is. Stiles chews on his lip. He doesn't go on and explain anything. The boy with the big eyes and leans forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees.

"Isaac Lahey. My dad was killed recently and I'm a suspect in the murder investigation." There's a bitter smile that crawls across his face, like he knows something that nobody else ever will. "I'm here by order of the court, since I'm underage." Stiles blinks. Shit. This kid's completely psycho.

"Jackson," the last kid grates. Stiles blinks slowly and turns to actually look at him. Holy shit that's Jackson Whittemore. Holy what. "I'm here because both of my alive parents think it's a good idea to talk about how I was adopted." He says it through clenched teeth and Stiles raises his eyebrows. Bitch.

He doesn't pay attention anymore after that, just stares at the clock up on the wall and shakes his leg, waiting for it to hit noon so he can book it out of there.

He thunders down the steps of the building and out to his car. He's peeling out and making his way to the highway. This is bullshit. This is really a load of bullshit. He doesn't need to sit in a circle and listen to all these kids and their sob stories. Freaking Erica who's epileptic and whose mom offed herself because she couldn't handle the stress of raising such a sick kid. Isaac the fucking creeptastic schizoid asshole with eyes bigger than dinner plates and he's just so damn disconcerting that it kind of makes Stiles want to puke. Boyd doesn't talk, so Stiles really has no problem with him. And Jack just sits there and scoffs and rolls his eyes and he's really the least helpful person there is in that kind of situation. No, he went once to please his dad and that was that. He's not doing that shit anymore.

"God damn it!" He shouts and slams his fists on the steering wheel.
He doesn't get why he's so angry. Why he can't just grin and shake his head and be a normal human being for once? Why does he have to—
Stiles sees red and blue lights in his rearview mirror and curses. He pulls over and pulls out his wallet and rests his forehead on the steering wheel. This is ridiculous. He sits up and looks out the window and shouts. He rolls down the window at an absurd speed.

"Dad?"

Mr Stilinski just looks at him, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. "Mind telling me why you were speeding, son?"

"Just lost in thought."

"Coming home from the group session?"

Stiles pauses. "Yeah, dad. On my way home."

"You're going the wrong direction."

"Oh, oh, am I?" Stiles laughs, nervously. "That's. Wow. Kinda hard getting used to these roads you know. Brand new town, takes some getting used to." Mr Stilinski shakes his head.

"Get out of here and go home, Stiles."

"Yeah, dad."

He waits for his dad to pull away before he keeps going the same direction. To the highway. To go see mom. Because right now, she's the only one who's going to listen to him.