A/N: So here we have something that I'm writing with an amazing friend of mine, Gaby, who can be found on ao3 under lilting! We've also put this story up on there if you prefer that. Seeing as I have the pressure of working with someone else for this fic I'll be motivated to actually continue instead of giving up... Anyway, have fun I suppose?

Chapter One - Trespasser

Derek knew that coming out to the reserve every day was no longer a necessity. There hasn't been a forest fire in months, and for the most part the kids of Beacon Hills knew to stay on the East side of the beach, away from his portion of it and the forest that the unkempt sand backed onto. Regardless, chances were that you could probably find him monitoring the activity of the area surrounding his old home on a daily basis, only absent on days when Laura became too fed up and all but dragged him by the tail off these grounds to entertain her.

At least that was why she said she was doing it; Derek theorized that she couldn't handle seeing him hover, and as she said, relentlessly pouting over a reckless mistake he made when he was seventeen. Which he absolutely was not. At all. Whatsoever. He was just being precocious, making sure that nothing similar was to ever happen again. And besides, even though they now shared their apartment which permanently smelled of old books and coffee, located just a few minutes away from what the locals called Beacon Hills' "downtown", (Derek had looked up the dictionary definition of downtown when he was putting off some paperwork, it was a far stretch to call the few antique shops and a single family restaurant a downtown) it didn't quite feel like home.

Home to him was the rush of water when it reached an inch further than usual up the grainy sand and brushed the base of his feet. It was the sound of silence that rang through his ears every time he lost himself in the thick of the ancient woods, the green sea of trees simultaneously blending and standing apart in their individuality. Home was family, and sure, that meant Laura, but it also meant the memories and quiet ghosts of the rest of his relatives that drifted in the air surrounding where he was raised.

He, against Laura's half-hearted protests, had not sold the property, and instead made up a small haven for himself in the charred remains of the Hale house. An always stocked mini fridge, a single worn out couch, his television, and a small, but mighty sound system that he could hook up his iPod to was all he felt he needed to bring in once he found himself spending increasing amounts of time in the area.

It had become somewhat of an informal routine for him to take his lunch break in the makeshift living room, watching reruns of Bones while Magyyuk, his two year old husky-lab cross whom weighed more than any human should have to support, lounged across him; because apparently the dog bed sitting on the other side of the room just wasn't meeting her outlandishly high standards. The episode that was playing softly in the background had been coming to a close, but if questioned, Derek wouldn't have been able to recall what the episode was about, as both of them had fallen half asleep in the midday August heat. At this point during the day, Derek would usually consider getting back to work, but the opportunity was stolen from him as Magyyuk pounced, racing to catch something or someone and on instinct, Derek grabbed his gun, muttering a quick, "goddamn kids," before running after her.

Derek heard the voice before he caught up to his dog. A soft male voice who's tone was rapidly rising into a fit of panic as it tried to calm Magyyuk down. Derek readied his rifle, habitual after countless occasions of having to scare off the hormone ridden teenagers of Beacon Hills from attempting to take, what they claimed were 'long romantic walks', on his property. He flinched, remembering the sumer before last when he discovered first hand just how inaccurate the description of their actions often turned out to be.

"Hey puppy, it's ok, it's just me and Spike taking a walk. I'm not going to hurt you, please don't hurt me," the last few words were rushed together in a breathless state of fear as a figure, his Magyyuk, who was defending their territory on her haunches, growling through bared teeth, and a third dog, began forming through the trees some feet away.

Walking into the boys line of sight, Derek nearly laughed at the scene. The unfamiliar dog was cowering between the strangers legs, ears flattened, a small whine escaping its throat. As he glanced up from Magyyuk to Derek, his young features (that couldn't place him at anything older than sixteen), jumped from terror to relief, presumably because someone had arrived with claim over the still-growling husky mix, and then, inexplicably, horror, all in a split second.

If Derek wasn't still in pain from where Magyyuk pushed off him, crushing his chest, he would have assumed that he was dreaming, or having a nightmare, for that matter, because there was no way it was possible for just one face to carry so much expression. Before Derek could even question the kid, he dropped to the ground, his long, not-yet-Californian-tanned hands spread across his face, leaving only enough room for his eyes to peer out of as he pleaded with Derek.

"Please don't kill me, please don't kill me, puh-lease do not shoot me. I have a dad, he's really lovely guy behind his sometimes terrifying and excessively calculating interrogation eyes, and I can guarantee that if I was to get murdered right now he would go honest to god psychotic over the fact that he didn't get to have the honour of strangling me with his own hands first."

Oh. Right. He was kind of still holding a hunter's rifle. One which happened to be poised to shoot. Something which tended to send people into a state of fear. Lowering it, he stepped closer to Magyyuk, motioning for her to relax. He stared at the teenager, who's face was now planted in the dirt, and momentarily crouched down beside him. "Get up."

The boy cautiously raised his head and made his way up from the ground, attempting to both brush himself off and grab hold of his dogs leash at once. Now that Derek had a chance to look closely he realized that his past assumption were wrong and that the boy was probably only a few years younger than himself. Somewhere from seventeen to nineteen, perhaps.

Although, he noted, at least one of his first assessments was correct, the boys arms being undeniably still just as pale as when Derek first saw them. Not a bad pale though. And even if they were a bad pale their notable overall niceness would make up for it. Not that he was staring, or admiring, or anything like that.

The boy finally composed himself enough to string together a somewhat coherent sentence, "So, uh, can I help y- I mean, is there a problem, er. That's a nice gu-"

"Do you know where you are?" Derek stared straight at a pair wide hazel eyes, mostly in order to put on his default threatening glare which he had perfected over the years of warning trespassers that it would be in their best interest to keep their distance, but also just slightly because staring prevented him from accidentally letting his own gaze to travel any further (because it didn't matter that this trespasser had just made it onto Derek's 'Top Ten Most Attractive Actual Male Beings' list, he was still somewhere he shouldn't be and that meant choosing intimidation over appreciation - not that it had been an option, but-).

"No, uh, not really. I was just taking Spike for a walk through the trails, Spike's this guy, by the way," he motioned to the dog sitting beside him as, a grin which seemed almost too wide for his mouth took over, before he recalled the whole being-threatened bit, "and I guess I don't remember them as well as I thought I did. I'm sort of new around here, or well, not really new, but we just came back to Beacon Hills and well, I haven't even been here to visit for a while a-"

"Clearly." Derek knew the faces of the kids who made a habit of wandering onto his land, and this wasn't one of them. "I'm asking you now if you know that you are on my property." Derek almost felt bad when he could watch the colour drain from the kid's face. "Look," he sighed. "I just don't like kids messing around here. Private place, you know?"

He wondered if one could break their neck by nodding it too enthusiastically. Probably, but whoever this was had already proved their ability to express the impossible, and Derek supposed that having more flexibility than a bobble head was yet another one of his useless, still, amusing, talents.

"Right, yeah, completely fine with that. This body," he said as he waved his arms across the expanse of his figure, "these atoms? Never gonna be seen anywhere near this property you've got yourse- Wait. Kid? I mean, I know I look a little younger but that's, that's a bit cruel. I'm a fully fledged eighteen year old, fresh graduate of that hell some people have nicknamed high-school. Which makes me capable of doing responsible, adult things. Like voting. And drinking. In two whole Canadian provinces, and probably all of Europe. Probably. Actually, forget the probably. Definitely. Definitely all of Europe." He crossed his arms over his chest, the once apologetic look slid into an offended glare, as his dog huffed out a breath, taking a similar, frozen stance.

Derek's eyes flicked questioningly between the dog, Spike, as the boy called him, and the teenager himself; he couldn't quite decide which of the two looked more ridiculous. Regardless of the winner, it was clear that neither the dog or the boy posed as a real threat. Therefore, just before opening his mouth in an attempt to respond, Derek subconsciously passed the weapon he had been holding from one arm to the other, as his right side had begun to tense up from carrying the weight. Not surprisingly, the movement was caught by the eyes of the boy, and being misinterpreted, Derek lost any chance to speak, the interruption coming from the look of panic that once again returned to the boy's face.

"Shit, oh yeah, you're kind of the one with the gun here. Um, I'll just, you know, be on my way then!" He scrambled to get a grip on Spike's leash again and gave a half hearted wave as he began jogging backwards, (as fluidly as one could while covered in wet sand with a dog running laps around them) towards the public area of beach. "It was... nice to meet you- um,"

"Derek."

"Right, cool. Derek," he stopped for a moment, the dogs leash unreasonably tangled around his legs by this point, "I'm Stiles by the way; Stilinski!"

Derek watched as his, Stiles', figure turned around and unwound itself from the mess before sprinting away. The name Stilinski rang in his head for no reason that Derek could fathom. He'd heard or read it somewhere before, but stupidly didn't put the puzzle together until Laura wouldn't stop laughing at him for having 'threatened' the new sheriff's son.

It was hours later, back in their apartment as they talked over Thai takeout, boxes scattered between them. Derek was unable to shake the curiosity from earlier that day, and after spending a few more unsuccessful hours than he would ever admit, searching through old editions of Beacon Hills' phonebooks for the name, 'Stilinski,' he decided to casually mention the name to Laura.

Much to Derek's disappointment though, she saw right through him, and continued to pester him for the majority of the night. Eventually (after she threatened to eat the rest of his sesame chicken, despite being a vegetarian-or at least making yet another one of her numerous attempts at it) he caved, and gave her the shortest possible summary of what had happened earlier in the day.

Evidently, Laura did know who the Stilinski kid was.

"You probably scared," Laura said between giggles, "the poor boy, absolutely shitless with your ever-incredible impersonation of Carl Fredricksen."

"I don't even know who that is, Laura."