Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Teen Wolf. If I did, Sterek would be canon by now.

A/N: Hey everyone! I've been struck with these multiple story ideas all at the same time, and I didn't want to lose them. I recently was introduced into the Sterek fandom by my good friend, and I really like it! This story, like most of mine, has dark themes in it, and/or a lot of angst. I'm just warning you up front. Quick note:

Derek-18

By making it a human AU, I also changed Derek's age so he would be in high school too. So, saving the rest of my ranting until the end of the chapter, please read, REVIEW, FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and enjoy! Here's chapter 1:

Stiles brought the damp cloth up to his face, gingerly placing it on his cut that had reopened overnight. Another fight at school the day before had left him battered and bruised, once again. Looking back on his history at the school, Stiles had to admit that his fight record was terrible. But, the guy was only 147 pounds of pale skin and bones, and sarcasm wasn't quite a good defense against the assholes at school who were just hunting for a good fight. Stiles was sick of it, but it had almost become routine. Every time he got into a fight, he would brush it off, and do his best to hide the lasting marks from the previous day's events before he felt even remotely good enough to walk out into public.

He looked at his face again in the mirror, noticing that another bruise from last week had finally completely disappeared, leaving just more pale skin in its place. Stiles sighed slightly, and then finished cleaning the wound. After doing so, he turned the lights off and walked out to get dressed for school. As he was walking out, he glanced briefly at his back, which was littered with bruises. Luckily for him, those were so much easier to hide than ones on the face. The soreness in his muscles and the deep ache beneath each bruise however, was something very real and very painful.

Realizing he was late for school, Stiles quickly put on a pair of dark navy pants, and the red sweatshirt that was hanging on the back of his desk chair. Tossing on a pair of socks and some white Puma sneakers, he grabbed his backpack and walked out of the room, swinging his arm down quickly to snatch up his cellphone. He hit the menu button on the phone, displaying the screen in bright colors. After hitting a few more buttons, he opened his text message inbox.

1 New Message.

Stiles flicked open the message, and looked at the name of the sender. It was Scott. Scrolling down slightly, he read the message.

"R u ok?"

Stiles didn't bother replying. The time on the text message was 5:37 P.M. yesterday, so Scott had no doubt given up on waiting for a reply from Stiles. Every time Stiles was in a fight, Scott would jump in and help stop whoever was attacking him. He would never swing at the other person though, because he didn't want to attract negative attention to himself. Scott would just separate the attacker from the victim, and then walk with Stiles for a moment to make sure he was okay, after which he'd leave. Stiles wished he would stay around a little bit longer, because then, just then might Scott see that there was so much going on underneath Stiles' shell that could burst forth at any moment. But he couldn't do that to his best friend. Stiles had never opened up to anyone completely. And he thought he never would.

He ran down the stairs and into the kitchen to pick up something to eat on a run-by breakfast. Stiles settled for an orange, and then grabbed the keys to his jeep before walking out the door. He was glad that his dad had already left for his job as sheriff, otherwise he might have asked about the cut. Stiles' dad was usually never home, and he wasn't the most observant, but even his dad couldn't miss a large cut streaking down the side of his face. Last time he had noticed something, he spent roughly 30 minutes grilling Stiles and trying to get the teen to tell him what was going on at school. Stiles played each attempt off with expert responses. He didn't have the heart to tell his dad that he was being bullied. If he did, then that would make his dad feel like a failure as a single parent, and that it was something that he did that brought about the bullying, which could not possibly be further from the truth. He didn't need his dad worrying about him, especially after all of the grief he normally puts up with. 'Who knows,' Stiles thought. 'Maybe today will be better than yesterday.'

SLAM!

Stiles' backpack fell to the tile floor as he was slammed into the metal locker painfully. This was probably just another asshole that couldn't wait to tear Stiles up again. He hated always being the victim, but when the attackers were twice his size, there wasn't really anything Stiles could do about it. He just always tried to hide in the background so that no one would personally pursue him or have a reason to be mad at him. Stiles' back was absolutely killing him, but he showed no sign of the compounded pain as the new sensation combined with the old aches. Next came the loud and rather obnoxious voice.

"Hey Fagginski, how's it hangin?"

'How original,' Stiles thought briefly. 'The fucking dumbass couldn't even come up with something new to use to insult me?'

"Your boyfriend, Scott whatever his name was, isn't here to help you this time, so why don't you just give me money, and I might only stick with your face today?" the bully taunted him.

"I don't have money," Stiles returned. "He's not my boyfriend. And you already knew that I was alone, so why do you keep wasting my-"

Stiles was cut off as the bully suddenly began to pull up on the collar of his sweatshirt, slowly lifting the smaller teen off of the ground. The initial shock of being lifted silenced Stiles, but soon, he found himself struggling to take in a breath. The bully was slowly suffocating him, and no one was around to stop him.

"So, where do you want it first?" the devilish bastard jeered. "I know!"

He abruptly dropped Stiles, only to knee him in the stomach before his feet touched the ground and reached some sort of stability again after being lifted. It fucking hurt. Stiles would admit that it hurt in his head, but he would not allow himself to let out a single sound to give the bastard any satisfaction for his brutality. This seemingly infuriated the bully even further, as he went to grab Stiles' collar again. "You ready to give me what I want yet?"

"I don't have money for you," Stiles retorted. "If you want some, go get a job you lazy ass. Stop wasting my time and just do what you're here to do." The same process repeated, only this time, the bully slammed his head flat against the lockers instead of dropping him. The sharp ache in his skull quickly spread throughout the rest of his body, adding to all of the other pain up to this point. However, Stiles still did not make a single sound.

"You don't get it do you," the teen taunted again. "I just hate you in general. I want you to drop dead you lowlife piece of shit. You should disappear. Move away. Die. Like I give a shit what happens to you. You always walk around like you own the place, but your cockiness and self-importance will come back to bite you in the ass. If not, then I guess I'll just have to teach you a new lesson."

"Put him down."

What?

Stiles never heard that voice before. If it was Scott, then the bully would have been pushed away from Stiles by now. If it was a teacher, they would be threatening detention right now. If it was a female, the voice would have been higher. Stiles could tell that it wasn't Isaac's voice, because Isaac was home sick today. Afraid of possible disappointment of someone not being able to back up their order, or another person to use him as their personal punching bag, Stiles lowered his head, and stared directly at the floor.

The bastard who still had his hand around Stiles' neck threw his head back in laughter, thinking that the person who ordered him to do so in fact WAS Scott. "Listen Scott," he began. "Back the fuck off. You don't know what you're doing here so mind your own business." He turned back to Stiles, who slowly closed his eyes, and offered his face up for the next blow. But, the person who had ordered Stiles to be put down only moved closer. Slowly, Stiles felt himself slide down the wall as the bully was putting him down in order to face the newcomer. Stiles didn't feel like watching, so he continued to slink down against the wall until he was curled up in himself like a ball resting against the wall.

"Look buddy, I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you don't get to tell me what I can and can't do," the bastard began. "So if you'll just kindly-"

WHAM!

"FUCK! DAMMIT YOU ASSHOLE! MY FUCKING FACE! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?"

"I'm giving you a taste of your own medicine. You are the worst kind of person. You are exactly the kind of person I hate. So back off."

Stiles hadn't bothered to look up, but the grip he had on his knees had tightened considerably since he had been sitting in that position. But he heard quickly retreating footsteps. After a few seconds passed in the tense atmosphere, Stiles heard soft footsteps approaching him. He heard the rustle of clothes, as he guessed the newcomer as kneeling down now. He was a little surprised when he felt the hand clasp on his shoulder, but even more so when the hand gently shook him, trying to stir Stiles from his position. Stiles didn't move at first, so the voice came again, much softer than it had before.

"Are you okay?"

Stiles looked up, and he saw the person who had come to help him out in his time of need. His heart stopped for a moment, half out of pure fear of the intimidating vibe that this guy was putting out, and half because of…well Stiles didn't quite know what. The new guy was dressed in mostly black. His black pants had a chain on them, presumably linking to his wallet which was in his pocket. The only article of clothing on the guy that was not black was his plain gray t-shirt, which was admittedly a little tight, showing off the guy's muscular physique. Not that Stiles was staring or anything. Okay he was, but it was mostly out of jealousy that he didn't have a body like that. But the guy's face was nothing to scoff at either. He had a little bit of black stubble on his chin, and his hardened face looked as though it had seen much hardship in its years of existence, but it was trying its best to help out Stiles. He smirked slightly, showing off brilliant white teeth, and he extended a hand to help Stiles stand up. When Stiles took it, he was immediately hauled up onto his feet.

"I…thanks…"

"Derek," the bigger teen said. "My name is Derek Hale."

"Stiles. Stiles Stilinski."

The bell immediately rang, and the hallway flooded with people. To Stiles' dismay, he saw Derek walking away, presumably to his next class. However, he did wave goodbye as he was walking away.

"Derek Hale, huh? Maybe I'll see you again."

So what did you think? I know it was a little short, but that will probably change as the story goes on, and the pace will get quicker. I promise not to hurt Stiles for TOO long, but it is necessary in order to get to what I have planned for you! I hope you enjoyed chapter one, so please leave a review and follow or favorite! Anonymous reviews are open, no flat out hate please :3.

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Until next time! See you later!