A/N:

Hey there, come here often?

I'm sure you do and

You're gorgeous.

No, seriously.

Anyway, I don't own this shit, so yeah.


Dear Derek,

First off, can I call you Derek? I mean, I know you're 24, and that isn't that much older than me, but I don't know if you're more of a "Mr. Hale" kind of guy. It's totally cool if you are, but until you answer, I'm just going to call you Derek.

Now, before we really begin this pen pal-ship, I think you should know that I don't know how to get any good drugs. Not that you're an addict or anything but, if you are, my drugs are thoroughly second rate.

I also have no interest in breaking you out, at least not since I watched this one episode of Prison Break where the prisoner got away and the other guy got arrested.

Needless to say, the prisoner didn't come back for him.

It kind of sounds like my best friend Scott, who's gone incognito since he got a girlfriend. Her name is Allison, and she's pretty and nice, but Scott's totally forgotten I exist. That's partially why I'm writing you, since I now have no one to talk to.

Not that you're second best or anything. I'm sure, were you not in jail, we'd be good friends.

You know, I didn't even know prisoners got letters. I thought you were shoved into dog crates and fed once a week (lol). Not really, my dad's a cop, so I know a lot about life behind bars. Well, more than some people.

Were you homeless before you got sent to jail?

I don't know a lot about you, since I just found this list of criminal correspondents and picked at random. Dad's a little pissed that I didn't talk to him first, but I told him he's got a gun, and he keeps it with him at all times (Even when he sleeps. Remember that.)

Anyway, he thinks this is a good idea now, because I talk so much anyway. Even if you don't answer, I'll probably keep writing you letters, just to avoid talking my dad into an early grave. He already has a hard life, what with his job and his blood pressure and stuff. My constant chatter has to get a little tiring, even I know that.

You should definitely write me back though, because it might get a little boring just writing letters. I at least want to know you're getting them.

Sincerely,

Stiles Stilinski

Stiles finishes the letter and sighs, tucking it into an envelope and sealing it up. He places a stamp carefully in the corner, shaking his head at the level he's stooped to. If Scott would answer his goddamn phone, Stiles wouldn't be forced to write to delinquents.

"Douchebag." He huffs, because Scott is currently on a date with Allison, and it still stings that he would blow off guy's night like that. Stiles doesn't ask for a lot, he really doesn't, and this is just too much. Especially since Scott's refusing to answer his phone, even when Stiles calls and leaves voicemails.

The letter is placed on top of Stiles' laptop, since it's close to nine and the post office closes at five. The house is empty, Stiles' dad gone out on a robbery case, so everything seems ten times creepier than it really is. Every noise sounds like a serial killer or a serial rapist or the little girl from The Grudge. It's the beauty of having an overactive imagination; you never run out of things that might possibly be coming to get you.

Of course, once the letter is sent off, Stiles hopes to rid himself of some of his empty house fears. He figures writing to a criminal might protect him from other criminals, since prisoners generally know their way around the crime scene. At least, he hopes they do, since he's got a lot riding on this.

The air turns on with a loud thumping noise, something his dad promised to get checked out, and Stiles falls from his desk chair with a bang. He moans loudly and swears even louder, pulling himself into a sitting position using the edge of his desk. The letter stares down at him, even though it technically doesn't have eyes, and he glares at it.

"Oh yeah, you think that's funny, don't you? At least I'm not the one sitting in a jail cell." He cocks his head, "Although, that might be kind of cool. Do you think jail birds throw wicked parties?"

"I bet you they know where to get all the good drugs." He muses to himself, noting the early hour and also how damn tired he is. It would probably be a good idea to go to bed, since he has "lacrosse practice" with Scott early tomorrow morning, even though he's considering just not going.

He would, if he wasn't certain that Scott would come barging in his room anyway, just so they could spend an unholy amount of time chucking a lacrosse ball back and forth in the hopes that they might make first string.

It's a vain hope, and one that Scott's been entertaining for an unhealthy amount of time. Allison's arrival at the beginning of the summer hasn't helped either, since she has a lot of faith in her asthmatic boyfriend. Stiles blames her for the whole fiasco, at least partially, and always makes sure to damn her to hell when he drags his ass out of bed at eight in the morning. Mostly though, he spends his time damning Scott.

Stiles doesn't go to bed. Instead, he chooses to slide on his ass down the stairs to watch a movie. The options are Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, etc. It's a close call, really, but HP wins out. There's something exciting about watching a young Tom Felton prance around and imagining Derek Hale, whoever he might be, as a prissy white kid in for robbing a convenience store on a bad day.

"Great, I got Jackson as a pen pal." Stiles snorts, thinking about the pretty boy behind bars. Jackson would be lucky to make it two days in jail, lacrosse muscles factored in, because he's got no balls whatsoever. Stiles is convinced that's why he enjoys messing with Scott and him every chance he gets.

"That or he's just an asshole." Stiles sighs and banishes Jackson from his mind, concentrating on the three headed dogs and creepy professors of Hogwarts. After the third run in with Snape, he begins supplying his own dialogue, most of it explicit. By the end of the movie, Harry is forever indebted to Ron for being "a ginger" and Hermione is secretly doing Fred in a broom closet, because there's got to be something scandalous in every movie.

When his dad comes home, Stiles head back up to his room, bidding the letter (and Derek) a goodnight before crawling into bed. The letter glows softly in the light from his charging phone, like a beacon or something supernatural, and Stiles falls asleep watching it and wondering what kind of a person Derek really is.

He just really hopes he isn't like Jackson.