The L'Morai Carnival was coming to Beacon Hills! It had been five years since the last time the traveling show had visited the town, and people who remembered the last festival filled the ears of those who had not with tales of wild rides, spectacular attractions, dozens of games of chance and the promise of genuine gypsy fortune-tellers who could read the future. It was June, and school had just ended for the students of Beacon Hills High School. Flyers littered the ground by the hundreds, inviting every resident to come and enjoy the wonders that would not be seen again for another five years.
Stiles and Scott had just emerged from the building, clutching report cards that (thankfully) announced they would be seniors in the fall. A flyer blew right into Scott's face, and a laughing Stiles peeled it off, reading it with a delighted grin.
"Wow! This is going to be awesome! You know we are going to this, right? Right?" Stiles glanced up to see Scott already dialing Allison and inviting her to go. Stiles rolled his eyes; heaven forbid the two could get in any bro-time for just one of the three nights the Carnival would be in town. Jackson and Lydia came down the steps holding hands, already planning to go together. Isaac and Danny texted Stiles at that moment saying they were going as part of their bizarre new straight/gay relationship. Boyd would no doubt take Erica. Happy couples everywhere, and Stiles was once again all by himself. He left Scott still chatting with Allison and went to his Jeep.
Leaning up against the Jeep was none other than that perky chatterbox, Derek Hale.
"Hey! Off my baby! You don't see me leaning all over your precious Camaro, do you?" Stiles complained. Stiles gave Derek a gentle nudge to emphasize his point (probably not the most brilliant idea in hindsight, but he was still peeved over Scott and Allison). Derek's hand whipped out as he grabbed Stiles and whirled him around with his signature 'Stiles Power Slam' to dent the side of the very Jeep he had just desecrated before being lifted off his feet.
Stiles groaned from the pain in his back and in sympathy for his beloved car. "How many of those are left before you fill your quota? What will you do when I go to college somewhere outside this stupid town and you have no more fleshy punching bag to vent your aggression on?"
Derek's eyes widened, and he stepped back, dropping Stiles with no warning. Stiles landed badly on his left foot and his ankle twisted sharply, causing him to give a short scream. He fell on his rear (more pain) before reaching out to massage his ankle. His bruised back and battered ankle sent simultaneous lightning bolts of pain to his brain causing another scream. In frustration, he balled his hand into a fist and struck the ground. Another scream.
Now actual tears were flowing, more from the embarrassment of being such a colossal klutz than the pain, although that was pretty bad too. Derek was watching him open-mouthed. "Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying put yourself in the hospital?"
"No, you stupid Sour Wolf!" he growled. "I sprained my ankle when you dropped me, and you hurt my back with your stupid loup-garou Kung-Fu! I'm just a freaking teenager, you can't keep doing this to me, you're gonna kill me one day! I just got healed up from Gerard Argent beating me to death a few days ago, and now look at me!"
Derek had the decency to look contrite. He helped the boy to his feet and put one of Stiles' arms around his broad shoulders, helping him to the driver's side of his car.
"Sorry, Derek…that's no good. Can't work the clutch with this ankle. Man, I can already feel it swelling up! You're gonna have to drive me home. You know how to drive stick?"
Derek was quiet for ten seconds. Then, "No."
Stiles shook his head. "Of course not. Werewolves only drive automatic. Well then, I guess it's the Wolfmobile. Not a scratch on her, I bet! You know, that makes twenty-three dings in my Jeep from you slamming me into it? I counted the other day. Twenty-three, Derek. And not only will I be stranded at home for the next few days, but I am going to miss a Carnival that only comes once every five years while I am limping around my house! ALONE!"
Stiles was red-faced with anger, and somewhere in the back of his mind he felt he might be over-reacting just a bit…but he couldn't help it. This was the straw that broke the camel's back…or ankle anyway.
Derek was quiet as he helped Stiles to the black Camaro and hefted him into the passenger seat. He quickly got in the driver's side (probably to keep Stiles from touching any buttons or knobs in his precious car) and fired up the engine. Both men were quiet as they drove to the Stilinski home. Stiles closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, terrified he might have another panic attack and complete his humiliation. He'd begun having them ever since Gerard, and not even Scott knew how little sleep he'd gotten in the nights since then. His heart rate was already too fast, and his breath came in short gasps that made him feel like he was suffocating. Derek parked the car in front of the Sheriff's house and laid his hand on Stiles' chest.
"Stiles, come on…just breathe." Derek said in a voice as close to panic as Stiles had ever heard it. Hmph, no panic attack for Derek 'the flipping Alpha werewolf' Hale whose body could heal in seconds from almost anything, just like Scott and Jackson and Isaac and Erica and Boyd and Peter…Peter Hale who could come back from the dead, bastard that he was, while Stiles' own mother who was a saint had to stay dead and gone…Peter Hale, who had once offered Stiles the chance to be just like them, not weak, not powerless, not fragile…Peter Hale who was the only one to ever see the fear, anger and jealousy hidden deep in Stiles' soul.
Stiles hated him. Maybe he hated all werewolves, in fact. Every one of them had hurt him at some point, even his best friend. He had been hurt because of them too many times to count. Why did he help them all the time? They were either ungrateful like Scott or abusive like all the others! What was wrong with him? Was he insane?
"Stiles! STILES!" Derek had real fear in his eyes now, his wolf senses not liking at all what Stiles' heart and lungs were doing, nor the increasingly furious scent coming off of him.
Eventually, Stiles calmed down and his face began to redden. He avoided Derek's eyes as if embarrassed.
"I'm ok. Just had a bad few moments there. Can…can you help me inside please?" His voice cracked on the last word.
"Yeah, of course." The angry scent was gone. Derek opened his car door and went around to help Stiles out.
Sheriff Stilinski opened the front door and rushed down the steps at them.
"Stiles? What the hell happened now?" His voice was angry, strained…and tired. Stiles had come home like this too many times. It was wearing on his nerves…he never knew what shape his son would be in when he returned home each night.
"Sir, I was in the parking lot waiting for Stiles when I-" Derek began. He intended to confess and take whatever consequences the Sheriff handed down. The man needed something to lash out at, that was for sure.
"I tripped and sprained my ankle, Dad. Derek saw me and offered to drive me home." Stiles could not meet his father's eyes. He hated lying, and didn't want to see the disappointment and worry there anymore.
"Do you need to go to the hospital…again?" The Sheriff's walkie squawked, a wasp-like voice requesting his urgent presence down at the station.
Stiles shook his head. "I'll be fine. I'll just be limping a few days, that's all. I have some pain pills left over from when I got beat up by…that other Lacrosse team."
"I was going to see if you wanted to go to that Carnival…but it looks like I'll be working the whole weekend. I was trying to figure out how to break it to you."
"I can take him, Sheriff." Derek said quickly. Both Stilinski men gaped at him.
"Derek, you don't have to…" Stiles began.
"I want to. I mean it. I don't care if we need crutches, a wheelchair or if I have to carry you all over the damn place sitting on my shoulders, you are going. With me."
The Sheriff smiled at Derek, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Thank you, that means a lot to me what you've done for him. I don't forget things like that, Hale. Get him anything he wants, and I'll cover it."
"That won't be necessary. Stiles has…helped me out a great deal the past two years, and its time I showed some appreciation."
Stiles looked at him in wonder. The Sheriff bid them goodbye before getting in his cruiser to leave for the station. What sounded like a dozen enraged parrots were talking him through his walkie, and he burned rubber when he peeled out of there. Derek waited until he was gone before picking Stiles up and carrying him into the house and laying him gently down on the couch in front of the TV.
"Derek, why are you doing this?" Stiles asked as Derek went into the kitchen to get him a soda and a bag of Cheetos and a beer for himself.
"Why did you lie to your Dad? Why did you cover for me when I hurt you?"
"I have been lying to that man so long, I think the only time I tell him the truth is when I tell him I love him. Why ruin an otherwise perfect record? Besides, this way he doesn't worry…as much."
"We've been a pain in the ass to you, haven't we? Have you ever thought about getting away from us? This town?" Derek opened and drank his beer, looking at Stiles with unblinking eyes.
"I AM getting away from this town. I can graduate early and be at NYU for the Spring semester. Not even Scott knows. I was going to leave without telling anybody and see how long before they noticed."
Derek whistled slowly. "I can't say I blame you…but that's sticking the knife in deep."
"Yeah, well there's been a lot of knife-sticking lately. About time I joined the club."
Stiles clicked on the television to indicate that the discussion was at an end. Derek completely ignored Stiles' unspoken wishes and stood in front of the screen.
"What?" he asked, sounding peeved.
"Thank you, for everything you've done." Derek spoke the words as if they pained him. Stiles just gaped, then turned red.
"Um…no problem. Your welcome. Anytime you need me to do research or, you know, hold you up for several hours in a swimming pool, just call me."
Derek gave a brief rueful smile. "Damn, you're not making this easy. If there is anything I can do for you, Stiles…just tell me."
"What if I asked for the bite?" Stiles didn't even know he was going to ask that until the words were out of his mouth. He waited to hear Derek's 101 reasons why he thought it would be a bad idea.
If Derek was shocked at the question, he didn't show it. "Do you want it?" he said simply. His face was totally expressionless, but there was a definite red tint to his eyes.
Stiles gave a short harsh laugh. "That's all it took, huh? I just had to ask after all this time? No thanks, I'll stay human. It would just be one more thing to lie to my Dad about, one more reason for psycho Hunters to try to kill me." Stiles looked at the wall, and Derek smelled the anger scent again.
"Why are you mad? If you want it, you can have it!" Derek snapped.
"After everything I did…I thought just maybe you would have asked me. You asked Boyd, you asked Isaac, you asked Erica. Only Jackson came to you. Why did you ask the other three, but not me? Don't you think I would have been good at it? Don't you think I earned it a hundred times? I think I would have still said no…but Derek, I really wanted to be asked by someone besides your creepy Uncle."
"Peter asked to bite you?" Derek's eyebrows tried to climb into his hair.
Suddenly Stiles wished he never brought it up. It was too wrapped up in how angry he was for always being ignored…by people who mattered to him, anyway.
"Yeah. He read me like a book and offered me the bite. I said I didn't want it, he told me I was lying, and he was right. He even said the only reason it was Scott and not me was luck. Why did Peter offer it to me, but you didn't and asked everybody else instead? What do you think is wrong with me?"
It was a really good question. Derek had no answer, had never even given the matter a moment's thought.
"The bite kills sometimes, Stiles. Not everyone turns." 'If they are too old or sick when they get it.' Derek thought.
"Do you think it would have killed me?" Stiles asked.
"No." Derek turned away from him.
"Then why?"
Derek thought long and hard, and his traitor mind promptly gave him an answer he didn't like. "Isaac…needed it. He wouldn't have survived his father otherwise. Erica needed it, because of the epilepsy. Boyd needed it because he was alone. I picked them because they would need me, just like I needed them. Don't ask me about Jackson, I can't even explain that to myself. But you…you don't need me, do you? You're strong, Stiles…stronger than anyone gives you credit for. I don't know what you'd be capable of if you turned. You might even be more than a match for me. That's why my wolf wants to slam you around all the time…it sees you as an equal…a threat. It wants to prove its dominance over you. Scott and the others sense it too, that's why they've all gone for you at some point. You scare them, Stiles. You scare me."
Derek abruptly turned and walked out of the house without so much as a goodbye. Stiles gaped after him in shock, then smirked and drank his soda down in one gulp.
"Yep. I'm a Badass!"
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The Carnival opened at 7 pm the next day, and Derek arrived promptly at 6:30. Stiles hobbled over to unlock the door; over the course of the day his ankle swelled up like a balloon and was useless to stand on. When he opened the door, Derek stood there with a pair of crutches in hand which he immediately handed over to Stiles. He took a few minutes to practice maneuvering with them before waving one at Derek. "Tiny Tim walks again! God bless us everyone!"
Derek rolled his eyes. "Are you ready?" he snapped.
"Yep, let's roll! Ok, I want roasted peanuts and salted pretzels and cotton candy and popcorn and hot dogs and gallons of soda and I want to go on all the rides and play all the games and maybe get my fortune told! Can we do all of that? Huh? Can we?"
"We'll see." Stiles hopped carefully down the steps and was able to lever himself in the car with almost no help from Derek.
"Don't worry, I don't think I'll last half the night on these. My armpits are already starting to scream." Stiles felt guilty at the look of barely controlled annoyance on Derek's face. Was the Alpha punishing himself by hanging out with Stiles? As much as he wanted to see the Carnival, he would rather stay home then go with someone who didn't want to be there with him.
"I have a wheelchair in the trunk. It was from when Peter was in the Long Term Care Facility. I'll wheel you around so you don't tire out your arms."
Wow, Derek was being thoughtful. It was probably painful for him.
"Are you sure…" Stiles began.
"Yes!" Derek snapped.
Stiles gave up and just enjoyed the ride.