Stiles Stilinski was never too great with making friends, and he was blind as to why. With his good looks and charm he should be swarming with people around him. Or so he seemed to think. Okay so he didn't have muscles, he was almost always on his ass while the rest of the lacrosse team played, he wasn't cool, and he was so awkward around girls that Scott seemed to think it was a joke. But it was on the inside that counted right? That made Stiles feel even worse. He was broken in there as well, he even had the pills he took every day to prove it. But when he thought about where he would be spending his Sunday night, he never expected it to be with Derek Hale.
The night air nipped at his nose and cheeks turning them a bright red. Stiles curled up closer into the hood of his sweater, basking in the heated breathes he felt when he attempted to warm his hands. But that somehow made him even colder when the heat faded. He crammed them back into his pockets and focused on keeping his feet from fumbling over the roots and stray branches that peeked out of the forest floor.
"Hey Stiles, what did you do on your Sunday night?" He muttered to himself, moonlight catching the steam of his breath. "Oh you know, I hung out in the woods." He looked up at the darkness stretching further than his eyes could see. Light shining in rays from where the canopy of the trees broke. "The creepy, creepy woods." Though he usually spent his nights sleeping like a normal human being, the memories of his nightmare continued to dance inside his mind. His raw eyes were begging for him to think about anything else. He always seemed to find himself here after a bad night, wandering aimlessly through the backwoods of Beacon hills, watching tree after tree pass as he listened to their fallen leaves crumple beneath his careful footing. It was somehow soothing to hear their crunch fill the air. Stiles had always loved autumn in Beacon hills, mostly for the colors, though there was the fact- Stiles stopped in his footsteps. You came out here to get away from that thought. He rattled his brain trying to focus on something else when he realized that the leaves never stopped their mantra. Something was following him. He couldn't help the playback in his mind of every scary movie ever created or the cold shiver that ran up his spine. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He tried to move but his muscles had locked; he stood powerless. The sound grew closer and closer until it stopped right behind him. No. I'm not dying now. He clenched his fingers and turned around throwing his fist wherever it would hit something.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, hoping someone would hear. But it would be to no avail, he had traveled so deeply into the woods by now, anyone else out here was probably also an axe murderer. Throwing all his weight into the punch he stumbled when his wrist was snatched before it had touched the silhouette. Stiles' heart sank into his stomach, goose bumps running wild across his skin.
"Stiles?" Another voice tested cautiously. The boy gaped, a wave of embarrassment and anger crashed into his heart, successfully restarting it.
"Derek?!" He asked ripping his hand back. "Oh my god, you scared the living hell out of me."
"What do you think you're doing out here?" Derek asked flinching as Stiles fumbled his phone to shine the light on the alpha's face.
"Me?" Stiles swallowed his urge to vomit, adrenaline sending shocks through his fragile body making him shiver. "What are you doing out here?!" Derek was silent.
"You shouldn't be out so late," he replied, completely avoiding the question. Stiles ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath trying to steady himself. He took a moment before he replied, turning his back on the silhouette.
"I'm a teenager, staying out past curfew is part of the job description." He took half a step somehow knowing he'd only be yanked back.
"You're fired," Derek mutters. "Go home."
"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't realize you owned the entire wood to yourself." Stiles rolled his eyes smacking away Derek's hand from his hood, pulling on the zipper so it wasn't choking him.
"Actually," Derek grabbed him again shoving him past a couple of trees. They stepped into the clearing where his house sat broken and falling apart at the seams. "Just this part." Stiles glared, clenching his phone in his pocket. "Why are you even out here? Aren't parties and alcohol part of the description as well?" Right, like Stiles would ever get invited to a party or go to one unless Scott dragged him.
"Yeah they are, I'm surprised you remember."
"I read it somewhere." Derek growled quietly, waiting for an answer. But Stiles' mind had already wandered off the subject; if he took the dirt path behind Derek's house he'd be back to the main one. He could get home in an hour and he had had enough of the night.
"Yeah, sure." Stiles said distantly, forgetting their conversation. He backed away until he was a safe distance that Derek couldn't snatch his hood. But Derek only followed until Stiles bumped into his Camaro. Derek was searching his eyes for something. "I'm gonna go." Stiles squeaked nervously. But his muscles had locked up once again.
"Stay here." Derek growled quietly. Stiles nodded and the alpha walked into his gloomy house. This was just what Stiles needed. A grumpy werewolf to ask him a whole bunch of pointless questions because Stiles would never tell the truth. He vowed to keep his nightmares to himself. He was pathetic enough in everyone else's eyes and he didn't need them knowing he was awake over something as stupid as a bad dream. The Camaro's lights flashed once and Stiles watched Derek walk to the driver side.
"Get in," he said unlocking the doors.
"A-are you serious?" Stiles froze, his mouth hanging open. "Me? In your Camaro?!"
Derek ignored him once again ducking into his car and slamming the door behind him. Stiles stood in shock for a moment before sliding his hand against the door until his fingers reached the dip of the handle. How bad could it be?
It took Stiles about two seconds after they left the safety of the trees to realize that he was in a car with Derek Hale and it took him even longer to realize that it was because he was doing something nice.
"So," Stiles said, taking a peek at the alpha beside him. Derek's hair was disheveled and he had dark circles lightly placed beneath his eyes. The light from the stereo illuminated his face. There was a certain darkness to the way he watched the road. "What were you doing out in the woods at three o'clock in the morning?" he tried to ease up on the question, make it sound natural, but failed miserably. Derek lowered his eyes.
"Walking." He said distantly. Stiles continued to stare at his chiseled features, the heaters blasted against his red cheeks. The answer wouldn't have surprised Stiles if it were actually true. Stiles never realized how easily he could tell that someone was lying, but after all he did have lots of practice. He smiled slightly at his next thought and turned back toward his window. If Derek had asked him again, he probably would have said the same thing. It looked like Stiles wasn't the only one who liked to keep certain things to himself.
The silence of Derek's car was somehow a lullaby itself. Even his thoughts seemed intimidated by the guy, but they still had a ten minute drive ahead of them.
"Stiles," Derek said uncomfortably. "I don't think you should go in the woods anymore-"
"It was a one time thing, I won't do it anymore." He said quickly not meeting the hazel eyes. Derek let out an extensive sigh but said nothing. The rest of the drive was a lull all but for the click of the seatbelt when Derek pulled up beside the curb. There were no goodbyes or sentiments. And when Stiles reached his room he threw himself onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. He listened for anything to hear: a bump in the night, the sound of his breathing, a brave thought that dared to stray from the others who were still hiding. But all he heard was the Camaro's engine fading away. And Stiles had no idea why but he gave a weak smile.
It wasn't until later that day Stiles felt the wonders of sleep deprivation. Even though he had stayed awake tossing and turning all night in his bed he felt most sleepy listening to his best friend when lunch rolled around.
"Her skin, Stiles. It's so soft." And even though Scott said his name, Stiles knew he wasn't really talking to him.
"Oh, really?" The teen muttered rolling the tater tots around on his plate. The cafeteria was buzzing with chatter. There were always people talking about something; college, final exams, plans for after school, and then there was Scott, always talking about Allison. Today it happened to be her skin, when yesterday it was her eyes and the day before it had been her kisses. It was like Scott was just an endless book, always finding new ways to make Stiles' mind wander elsewhere. He was the very definition for Stiles' Adderall, or the warning to why it might not work too well. It took him a while before he became conscious of his best friend staring him down.
"What?" He asked looking at his shirt. "There something on me?"
When he looked up Scott's eyes were glowing a warm golden.
"Why do you smell like Derek?" He asked suspiciously. Stiles shoved the tater tots in his mouth, though he was so not hungry, and shrugged. Explaining why he was with Derek would ensure he'd have to explain why he was in the woods. And then he'd have to talk about the nightmares. And that was impossible. Just the thought made Stiles shiver.
"S'not me." He said through his favorite crispy food. Scott lowered his eyes into a glare, his eyebrows knitting together. Stiles searched his brain for an answer before Scott could ask, when the bell suddenly rang throughout the cafeteria. He grabbed his backpack and bolted from his seat.
"Stiles!" Scott tried, but the room was flooding with people. There was no way he could find his nervous best friend much less his scent.
Stiles spent the rest of his day exhausted and irritable, trudging through his classes and barely listening to his teachers drone on. He wanted more than anything to go home and sleep but at the same time he couldn't think of anything worse.
After lacrosse practice he took a long awaited shower, letting the hot water cascade over his aching muscles and trying not to think about what he'd do to put off sleeping.
"Stiles!" The door shivered beneath his dads fist.
For a reason unknown to Stiles, his dad always thought he turned deaf in the shower.
"Yeah?" He called back turning off the water and grabbing a towel. He tried to avoid his reflection in the mirror as he dried off his hair.
"I've got a gourmet dinner waiting downstairs and your up here pruning like a raisin." He said.
Stiles smirked. "What toppings did you get?"
"The only kind you'll eat."
Stiles heard his footsteps as he retreated back for the pizza that waited downstairs. And Stiles' followed quickly after. Dinners at the Stilinski house were quick, so quick they didn't bother sitting down at the dining room table. Instead they stuffed their faces while leaning on counters across from one another and if there was something to talk about it was a slim chance they'd ever get around to it. So Stiles was taken back when his dad spoke between a mouthful of his slice of supreme.
"Stiles. Your okay right?"
Stiles stopped his mouth from closing around the food and looked at him in shock.
"I'm just fine, why?"
"Just making sure...if there is anything you need to, you know, talk about. I'm always here."
Stiles smiled downing the last of his pizza and giving his dad a squeezing hug.
"Yeah..." He whispered tightly. "I know."
Stiles wanted so badly for that to be true. But his dad didn't need to be reminded of the most depressing thing to ever happen the to Stilinski family. Just because Stiles was having trouble with dealing with it, didn't mean he needed to drag his dad down with him. "I love you, dad."
"Yeah, yeah." He chuckled. "I love you too."
And with that Stiles headed for his room.
"Get some sleep tonight!" The sheriff called after him.
"Not likely." Stiles whispered to himself, shutting the door behind him.
Out of everything in the world, anything to think about, anything to dream about. Why did it have to be her? Her warmth as it spread from her fingertips to his heart, the way she could melt a maddening thought in a matter of seconds, the way she smiled, the way she smells, the sound of her laugh, that look she gave him like there was nothing and no one more important. And the thing he hated most about the dreams, was waking up. Lying in bed for that aching second, remembering reality. And that sinking feeling when he looked at his hands, and realized he'd never really see or feel those things ever again. Because she was long gone and she had taken something of Stiles that he needed most. His mom.
Thank you so much for reading! This is my first fanfic so I'm sorry if I messed up anywhere. I'm new at this. But I love Sterek so I thought I'd try it out. Please review!
