Hello everybody, I would like to say the story that I publish are not written by me.
My account only give a stage for stories I read and thought it would be more comfortable to read them hear at fanfiction.
The story is called:The Boy Who Tamed the Sourwolf
By:AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle
From: Archive Of Our Own (or for short: ao3)
{ /works/8683210/chapters/19905799}
Summery; Stiles is used to being second tier in everyone's life. How easily people forget him and move on to bigger and better things. Used to always being in someone's shadow. Leave it to Derek Hale to shatter those expectation
Stiles silently thanked whatever gods were listening that his Jeep was in working order. It had finally happened. The climax in a series of events that led him to this point. Really, it had been happening for some time. But it all started the day he met Scott. They were seven years old, on the playground. Scott had been fidgeting for fifteen minutes. Stiles had been watching him with interest, wondering why a lone boy was just standing there. Eventually, Scott could no longer remain where he was. He snuck over to the sandbox, where he then proceeded to piss for all he was worth. Stiles couldn't help but laugh. Scott heard his giggling and tumbled over into the pee covered sand, ruining his clothes. Feeling guilty, Stiles ran over and introduced himself. They had been inseparable ever since.
For the next ten years, they were as close as brothers. Stiles was there when Scott was diagnosed with asthma, his body turning against itself. He was there when Scott's jerk of a father left without warning. Scott was there when Stiles' mom got sick and began to wither. He was there when she died. He was there when the world seemed to fall to pieces. They were best friends. Together through it all. But that began to change freshman year.
Despite a chronic breathing problem, Scott had the bright idea to try out for the lacrosse team. The coach was a man named Bobby Finstock. He was loud, crude, and not all together kind. Stiles liked him right out of the gate. Mainly because he enjoyed screwing with him. Scott, despite his asthma, made it to the team. Stiles, in all his brilliance, found his way onto the team as well. Though the both of them hardly ever saw any action of the field. Stiles was clumsy and tripped over his own feet on the best of surfaces. Scott's asthma was a hindrance more often than not. Even still, they were there together, as they always were. And for Stiles, that was more than enough. Then, sophomore year came, and things really began to change.
It began with Scott finding a new treatment for his asthma. It involved a new type of steroid coupled with a breathing treatment. The results were astonishing. Scott was able to run longer and faster. His stamina improved. All around, his physical restrictions fell away. Stiles was impressed. They trained relentlessly. Scott was determined to make first line. Stiles just wanted to play. And their work paid off. When it came time for tryouts, Scott breezed through them. Even Jackson had a hard time keeping up. The blonde teen was furious at his new competition. Scott just smiled that goofy smile of his as coach announced his position for first line. And that of course, is when shit hit the fan.
Stiles had become accustomed to not having many friends. Scott, in truth, was his only one. For more reasons than not. Stiles was loud, fidgety, and rarely held focus on anything. He dressed in oversized flannels and loose fitting jeans. It was his thing. He owned it as best he could. People just weren't interested in him. There wasn't really anything to be interested in really. There were a few that were at least civil towards him. Danny always had a smile and a friendly jab for him. Others, well, others were just assholes. Jackson was a prime, grade-A douchebag. He made it a point to humiliate Stiles at every chance. Be it on the field or in the locker room. Lydia, the girl of his dreams, was hardly even aware of his existence. It hurt to mean so little to others. But he grew used to it. As long as he had Scott, he would be okay. Then one day, Scott wasn't there.
Her name was Allison, and from the moment she had moved to Beacon Hills, Scott was lost. He fell into her like nothing else. And since Allison had attracted the attention of Lydia, Scott was, by default, part of their group. With his rising stardom on the field, Scott was readily accepted. Jackson was actually civil towards him. Lydia treated him like a person rather than a pest. And all the while, Allison was goo-goo over him. It was painful in ways that words couldn't describe. Seeing his best friend, his only friend, taken from him. To be happy in that way.
At first, Stiles understood. It was easy to get. Scott wanted to be more than the awkward kid with asthma and floppy hair. He wanted to be more than the butt of the joke. To be the inevitable punch line. And he succeeded. Only, he had forgotten about Stiles. Nights once spent studying were now spent with Allison. Saturdays meant for video games were replaced with trips to the mall. Scott was consumed with his new life and his new friends.
Stiles tried his best not to be hurt. Tried not to cry when Scott missed every holiday with nothing more than a text apologizing for not being there. That he didn't show up when Stiles got his letter telling him that he was now the second most academically accomplished student at school. He didn't even cry when Scott forgot that it was the anniversary of his mother's death. Which they would always spend together, in the cemetery, watching the clouds and talking about nothing. But there were some things that Stiles couldn't forgive. Some things that he couldn't see past.
After months of being forgotten and brushed off, Stiles had decided to try and mend things with Scott. It was his friend's birthday. And he had gotten him a gift. A rather kickass one actually. A brand new, titanium lacrosse stick. Able to withstand just about any amount of damage, the perfect tool for the field. He knew that Scott needed a new one. Melissa had always been dutiful about keeping the house in order. A single mother in California had a hard time paying bills. Stiles knew that no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't afford new gear for Scott. So Stiles took it upon himself to start tutoring people.
It was a slow and thankless job for the most part. Half the kids that came to him just wanted the answers to their homework. Stiles sent those ones packing. The few that did stay learned quickly, and the money came in. He didn't charge much. And it took him several weeks. But he met some interesting people along the way. Isaac was meek and withdrawn. Utterly clueless in the ways of chemistry, Stiles helped him memorize formulas and apply them to the appropriate problem. They may have both been terrible at the lab work, but they could do well enough with the written portion.
Erica was small and timid. She shivered constantly, despite how much clothing she always wore. Her issue was history. The area of names and dates always presented a problem. Stiles, despite his shortcomings, had a knack for remembering things like that. Erica excelled quickly. She and Isaac were repeat customers. And in some small way, they became almost-friends. At the very least, they got along. It felt good when nothing else did.
When he had the money, Stiles ordered the stick online, splurging to have Scott's initials engraved on the handle. It was pricey, but worth it. He couldn't wait to see the look his face when he delivered it. Stiles could hardly contain himself at school. Scott had said hi on their way to class. The acknowledgement, after so much disregard, was welcome. No matter how brief. Scott tumbled in with Allison and the others, all who wished him happy birthday. Stiles didn't lose hope. None of them would have gotten him as good a gift as what was currently sitting in the Jeep.
When the final bell rang, Stiles darted outside, eager to driver over to Scott's to give him his birthday present. When he got there, Melissa was just getting home from yet another sixteen hour shift. She looked tired. More tired than was right. She had probably been working as hard as Stiles to make sure that Scott got a present. Speaking of, Scott was nowhere to be found. When Stiles asked, Melissa said that he was out with friends. The lacrosse team had organized a party at Lydia's house. Though they were going to the movies first.
In that moment, Stiles broke. He could actually feel it. Something inside of him shattered. Maybe it was his heart. Maybe it was his soul. It didn't really matter. Nothing did anymore. After months of forgetfulness and neglect, this was it. The apex. Scott hadn't even bothered to invite Stiles. He had, for the last time, forgotten his best friend. He didn't bother hiding the tears that came. Stiles had earned them. Melissa, even in her state of exhaustion, asked what's wrong. Stiles told her it was nothing. He handed over the lacrosse stick, neatly wrapped and asked that she told Scott happy birthday. It didn't matter whether or not he knew it was from Stiles. He had already spent the money. Might as well.
After that, he peeled off, heading towards the edge of town, tears still streaming down his face. There wasn't anything left to say or to do. There was no relief from the sense of hurt, from the sense of betrayal. The feeling of loss. Stiles had felt it when his mother died. But the worst part, Scott was still alive and well. He just didn't care anymore. Stiles could live with it. He'd been through a lot in his life. This was just one more thing that he would deal with. He'd muddle through the nightmares, and the panic attacks. He'd hide everything from his father, who always had so much to do as the sheriff. It was what he had done for years. Why change things now.
There wasn't a particular destination in mind. Just so long as he got away from the world for a while. Away from the life that seemed to constantly want to drive him further to the edge. In the end, he chose the preserve. Technically, this area was closed to the public. But at this point, Stiles didn't care. About anything really. He just wanted to be alone. Not that he already wasn't. Here, he could cry and scream and no one would hear him. Just like always.
The hours passed, the sun settling below the horizon. Scott would be back from the movies, most likely at Lydia's house. They would drink expensive alcohol and listen to some obscure music that only Lydia knew about. She was funny that way. Jackson would be an asshole because of the drinking. Danny would reign him in. Allison would smile and laugh and just be altogether perfect. Scott would be Scott. Not drinking enough to get hammered, but just enough to feel a slight tingle at the back of skull. And throughout the night, not one of them would ever even consider Stiles' existence. He was alone. For the first time in months, he came to accept that. Accept that there really was no one in the world that he could call friend.
The last pang of sadness came crashing in. It wasn't the merciless numbness that he had come to know. It was bright, relentless anger. He cried and cried. Some tears came quietly. Others came loudly and without embarrassment. There was no longer any reason to hide his sorrow. The one friend he had was gone. Moved on towards bigger and better things. Better than Stiles anyway. That's the way it seemed to go. People left or were lost, leaving Stiles in their wake. It was just a fact of life. Stiles was temporary. No matter how hard he tried, he was just a small figure. Easily overlooked and easily forgotten. As he sat in the trees, listening to the wind, he wondered who he would lose next. Or if there was even anyone left for him lose. He only cried harder at the thought.
Sometime after the moon had risen in the sky, Stiles' phone chimed with a text message alert. It was Scott. The temptation to look at it was overwhelming. But Stiles resisted. Not even five minutes later, another text. Stiles ignored that one to. Then came another, and another. After the seventh, Scott decided to call. Stiles of course sent it to voicemail. There was nothing that Scott could say, nothing that he could do. Words were meaningless at this point. The damage was done. The tears were shed.
He didn't linger there. The preserve was always something out of horror story in Stiles' mind. At least, it was as night. Dense trees. Chilly, mist filled air, no matter what time of year it was. And there was always some kind of animal sounding of into the night. Stiles decided that he didn't want to meet any of them. Lord knows what lurked out here.
As he got up, he swore that he could see a pair of bright red eyes gazing out from the bushes in front of him. There was a sharp shiver that ran down his spine. He all but sprinted back to the Jeep, ensuring he didn't find out what was staring at him in the dark. The drive home was short and without event. This late, there was no traffic in Beacon Hills. And he maybe ran a few stop signs. There really wasn't any importance in following driving protocols at this point. He just wanted to be home and in his bed.
The sheriff's cruiser was sitting in the drive, surprisingly enough. These days, his father seemed to be at work more than he was at home. Mellissa wasn't the only single parent around. Add the fact that the man had an entire county to look after, and things never seemed to settle. Stiles did his best to understand. His father worked hard, for many reasons. Mainly, because of Stiles. There was plenty that required money. Food, power, water. Not to mention Stiles' medicine. There was a certain pang of guilt at that. Having severe ADD didn't come without drawbacks.
He had been taking the pills for some time. And to be honest, they didn't really do much but allow brief periods of focus. Which, as it turns out, wasn't all that helpful. Stiles always had a tendency to focus on the wrong things, and that of course, landed him in trouble. His father was used to wearing a permanently perturbed expression where he was concerned. It didn't make Stiles feel any better about himself. He tried his best to reign in his behavioral impulses. Most of the time, he succeeded. Lately, he had managed to stay under the radar. But that wasn't going to happen tonight. Judging by the light that was on in the living room, his father was up waiting for him.
Sure enough, once he was through the front door, Stiles was met with his father's furious expression. No doubt angry at his arriving home so late. There really wasn't any excuse that he could think of. No smooth lie that he could craft out of thin air. So, he told him the truth. About Scott, the gift, and where he was. At the mention of preserve, the sheriff turned a rather rare shade of red. Stiles hadn't seen it since the time he stole a bottle of Jack from the liquor cabinet. It was brief though. His father's anger subsided at the realization of what Scott had done. He was still royally pissed, and Stiles was grounded. But that the very least, the man understood. There wasn't much conversation after that. Stiles was grateful for it.
Once upstairs, he slipped out of his sweat sodden clothes and changed into a pair of sweats, collapsing into bed. Though, oddly, he didn't feel all that tired. Yes, the day had drained him. And by every meaning possible, he was exhausted. But his mind of still too loud, still too full of those terrible thoughts that refused to be silent. Out of curiosity, or maybe some sense of needing to punish himself further, Stiles read Scott's texts. They were all asking where he was and why he wasn't at the party. The tears peaked at the edges of his eyes again.
Scott had assumed that he had invited Stiles. That he had let him know about the party. Stiles' thought was correct when he listened to the voicemail Scott had left him. There was a surplus of background noise, music and drunken voices crashing together. Scott was yelling into the phone, asking why Stiles was missing out. From the way he slurred, it was obvious that he had drank much more than he was used to. The call ended with him saying he had to go. All he managed to glean from it was something to do with Allison and body shots.
Stiles threw his phone onto the bed, more angry than sad. Scott truly was an asshole. No doubt about it. Worse, he didn't even realize it. At least Jackson was honest about his douchiness. Scott just assumed he was still the friend that he had always been. Stiles knew different now. He laid his head down on his pillow, begging for sleep. A silent prayer for some meager form of reprieve. He realized it would never come. Soon, the sun licked at the horizon, the first edges of orange in the sky. He hadn't slept at all. But it didn't matter. Nothing did anymore.