A/N – Ok, so this will be the first story I've written in a long time, and my first ever fan fic. Give it a chance, it will hopefully tackle everything from Stiles confessing to his dad and Scott that he is different from most boys to the budding relationship he has with a mystery boy. I've not decided who I'll pair him with yet, this is just an idea that's been floating around my mind for a while. I may be one of those people who shamelessly try to get people to review by having a vote or something later. Either that or I'll write more than one pairing and then continue to write about the pairing I get most positive feedback for.
Running out of Adderall
Stiles woke up to a dull ache in his shoulders; his chest; his back; his legs; his arms…pretty much everywhere. It was from lacrosse practice yesterday, where he became Jackson's own personal punching bag, apparently any tackle Jackson made was legal yet Stiles was required to run laps when he tripped himself up and took down an opposing player. He was tired of it, tired of his life and so tired of Jackson always kicking his ass whenever he had the pleasure of his company. Stiles was finding it difficult to focus on his menial everyday tasks on this particular morning. There was nothing important or particularly exciting going on; he had just run out of Adderall. He wished now that he had warned his dad earlier of his ever depleting supply; the medication would've really helped control his ADD. He couldn't think properly, his thoughts running onto each other, overlapping, taking over. He would bake today, he liked baking, his mom used to bake with him and she made awesome chocolate cake and Scott loved his chocolate cake, Scott's birthday would be soon and he'd need to think about baking him a cake, what flavour would he…Focus Stiles!
His toothbrush dragged across his teeth giving him something to concentrate on, his short walk from his bedroom to the bathroom filled with a mess of thoughts. Drugstore first, then baking and Scott and birthdays. He finished with his teeth and decided to have a quick shower before he pulled on a pair of faded blue jeans, t-shirt and over-shirt. He ran down the same boring flight of stairs that he used every day for the past 16 years, only now paying attention to them as he tried and failed to come up with a way he could redecorate them to make them a little less boring – only failing because he could only think of werewolves, being eaten by werewolves, being turned into a werewolf or being tortured because of said wolves.
He had grabbed his keys and was already in his Jeep before he bothered to stop and consider the stupidity of driving while seriously distracted. Could he walk to the drugstore? Probably, but he was in pain right now and wanted to leave and get back as quickly as humanly possible, or quicker because werewolves existed and they were pretty quick. He ignored the doubt that was slowly eating away at him and started the engine, putting the jeep in reverse he started to back out until he heard a car horn being blasted at, you guessed it, him. He had slammed on the breaks as soon as he heard the noise, partly because he was startled and partly because he knew he hadn't bothered checking the road as it was usually empty where he lived. Taking a second to just breathe, in and out, looking over his right shoulder, he was about to back up once more when someone slapped the driver side window three times fast. Stiles screamed, he didn't yell or shout or even gasp in surprise, he screamed like a big girl. He wasn't proud of it but he had almost just had his baby in an accident, the jeep was his pride and joy, he really didn't like people hurting her.
Turning to face his jeep's assailant, he steadied his erratic breathing only to have it knocked out of him by two burning blue eyes. Yes, it's cliché to say that this boy made him breathless or took his breath away but Stiles didn't care, because it described the feeling perfectly…no, wait. It's a panic attack.
Stiles couldn't breathe, he had difficulty in doing anything but thinking, and even that was starting to get out of hand. So many thoughts flashed through his mind. Had anyone ever died from a panic attack? Maybe they just passed out and started breathing normally again? Stiles had no idea and wished even less to find out. At this point he should've noticed he wasn't in the seat of his jeep anymore, he should've realised that he wasn't even touching the ground. No, he wasn't experiencing something spiritual, merely being manhandled by the one and only Derek Hale. He noticed that his dignity had been left in the jeep and he also saw those perfectly formed lips moving. If he really concentrated, he could make out words but lip reading wasn't an option due to being shaken now and for some strange and wonderful reason which he would never thank Derek for, the panic attack started to subside as he concentrated more on the words Derek was saying and less on trying to sort his breathing. Stiles reasoned that panic attacked were a lot like losing control of your car on a wet road – the more you tried to fix the problem by steering wildly, the more likely you would be to make it worse.
"…get a grip. Listen to me!" And Stiles did. The lips started to make sense, the lips were helping him…he should thank those lips, hug them…what was lips version of a hug, a kiss? Yes, he should kiss them and… "STILES! Look at me. I don't care if you've lost an arm and I talked it back onto you, you had better not do what I think you're going t-"
Their lips met for a fraction of a second and Stiles lips tried to move against something that was no longer there. How did he get on the ground? Derek's hands were also absent, meaning he had nothing to pin him against the jeep. Where was Derek?
Then it hit him.
Like the moment before a car crash, everything seemed slower, more relaxed. And then it sped up, or at least HE sped up, being slammed against his jeep once more turning his dull ache from lacrosse practice into something faaarworse. Those eyes weren't concerned anymore, they were furious. And Stiles new he was going to die.
A/N – Sorry guys, it's technically an unfinished chapter…or a very cruel cliff-hanger. What are your thoughts? "Don't quit my day job" or "please write some more"? If you ask for more then I'll have to figure out how Stiles will convince Derek not to kill him.
