*Friday evening*

"Fuck…"

it is a whispered word, said almost as a whimper, spoken to the empty, cold air around the boy. He was still just a boy after all, just a seventeen year old, not-that-special, not-that-werewolf kind of boy. Stiles is sitting behind the wheel of his Jeep, waiting for… nothing really. All alone in an empty parking lot. He raises his hand in the general direction of his bleeding nose in an almost awkward movement. Five minutes before this, his nose had been fine, and he hadn't been alone.

*five minutes earlier*

Derek is about to get out of the passenger side of the rickety jeep when Stiles puts a hand on his shoulder. Stiles heartbeat rises a little, just for a short moment and then he has it all back under control, but Derek hears it. He stops moving. Derek sits quiet, with one leg out of the car, and the other still in place next to an empty diet coke can.
He silently shrugs of the lingering hand with the tensing of his shoulder muscle and turns back to Stiles.

"Hey, you know,"

Stiles starts, but he gets distracted by the look in Derek's eyes. A mixture of irritation, fear and a touch of anger, just a touch.
It is quiet for a moment. Then stiles has the courage to resume his sentence;

"you could stay at my place if you'd like. You don't have to stay in the woods."

A hint of sarcasm is audible in his voice when he continues.

"just, like the good old days?".

A shiver forces its way through Stiles' spine when he looks up into Derek's eyes once again. They are cold now, no sign of any recollection of their past, whatsoever. Maybe he really has forgotten about it after all.
Without saying a word, Derek gently raises his hand and leans it against the back of stiles head. The younger boy leans into his touch, a touch that feels frighteningly familiar. Then he feels the nail of Derek's wolf-claws press into his skin, and he is pushed forwards with an enormous force that throws him against the wheel. He can feel that his nose is being forced into an unnatural position, and immediately smells blood.

"Are you really that stupid Stiles?"

Derek's voice is dripping of his pity.
Stiles doesn't answer, for once he has no funny come-back. He just sits in the driver's seat, absentmindedly wiping some of the blood from his upper lip away with an old handkerchief. After a moment of silence, Derek gets out of the car and turns around, standing next to the jeep he leans slightly over, making sure that he can see Stiles face, and that Stiles can see his.
Derek's face softens when he sees Stiles look at him, just a little, but enough for Stiles to notice.

"You don't mean that."

Stiles says, it isn't a question, he is stating a fact.
Derek shoots him one of his 'if-you-don't-shut-up-now-I'll-rip-your-throat-out -with-my-teeth' glances and then his eyes light up in a ruby red. He focuses his attention on something Stiles can't see, something behind the horizon, and then he fully turns.
Stiles watches the giant wolf leave the parking lot, running in the general direction of the forest, and a small smile escapes from his lips. Not a smile of actual happiness, but one full of sadness and, however weird it may seem to him, acceptance.

*back on Friday evening*

His nose had stopped bleeding a few moments ago, but that didn't stop it from hurting. It had been a while since Derek had actually physically hurt him, and Stiles had thought that maybe, just maybe, he had accepted the fact that they were supposed to be friends. They once had been the best of friends, a long time ago. Stiles sighs a painful sigh and leans his head back in the chair.

"Fuck…"

It's the second time he says that in under a minute, this time it sounds stronger. He slowly sinks away in a daydream, a dream about his life before Scott, about Derek's life before the fire.

*about eight years ago*

Stiles is, for his nine years, a pretty smart and mature boy. He scores straight A's and never gets into trouble, rather talks then fights, and makes his own money by doing chores for the neighbors. He isn't doing any of those things at the moment.
It's his summer vacation, and he is resting in the garden, feet facing the forest, eyes closed in protection to the sun. He was enjoying his last days in this home as best as he could. He had just played football with his father and was slowly sinking back to reality. It didn't take long for him to start wanting reality to leave again.
Stiles presses his eyes closer together to keep tears from falling. He doesn't seem to be able to hold them off for long, though, and soon enough, his tears start to fall. Not long after he is properly crying, and he almost chokes on his own tears.
Stiles sits up straight in the grass and leans forward, trying to prevent the tears from falling on his shirt. He breaths heavy and the tears can't seem to stop. His breath is getting more uneven by the second, and he still hasn't opened his eyes. Stiles manages to force a soft, powerless scream for help out of his mouth,

"no, no, no, NO! DAD?!"

It's hardly loud enough for himself to hear.

"HELP! DAD!"

There is no response, Stiles is all by himself, left in the garden, gasping for air.

"What is wrong with you?"

it isn't a question asked by someone who is trying to be mean, it's asked out of pure interest. A boy, maybe four years older than Stiles, is standing on the other side of the fence, leaning on the weak structure, his back turned towards the forest. The boy smiles and tilts his head a little to his right.

"why are you doing that weird breathing?"

Stiles grins, ignoring his struggle for air for a moment, and opens his eyes to look in the direction of the voice. Slowly but surely, his breathing calms down, and soon enough he is back on his feet, cautiously walking towards the strange boy.

"I could answer that question, but let me ask you one. Why are you wearing that ridiculously large leather jacket?".

He smiles generously to the weird kid, and is a bit disappointed when the boy looks at him with hateful eyes. When he realizes he is still walking, he stops, a good two meters away from the fence. The boy seems to relax a bit when he does, he blinks twice and then answers.

"it isn't ridiculous, it's my dad's".

Stiles is a bit unsure of how to react to this, so he decides to change the subject.

"so… ok. I really like cars. what about you? Do you like them?"

He shoots a stunning smile to the boy, who seems to be a bit thrown off by his question. He shakes his head almost invisibly in disbelieve and then decides to answer.

"I guess. I mean, I don't really dislike them."

He smiles shyly and takes a minute to really look at the boy in the garden, the kid is wearing a shirt that's actually a bit too big for him, jeans with holes, and shoes that look like he found them somewhere in a bag of trash. He himself is wearing nicer shoes, and his are at least five years old.
Stiles takes the last small steps towards the boy, and starts talking again while he sticks his hand out in front of him.

"Good, that's good… Hey, I'm Stiles, I'm nine years old, and I am going to teach you about cars."

He smiles, proud of himself for remembering to introduce himself. His hand is lingering in front of the other boys chest, waiting to be accepted and shaken. The other boy is just looking from the hand, to Stiles' face, and then back to the hand.

"You're supposed to shake it."

Says Stiles helpfully, a bit confused that the kid doesn't seem to know that.

"I knew that! I was just, just wondering why you would want to be my friend, you've just met me."

He is nervously playing with his lip between his upper and lower teeth. His eyes turned down, looking at his feet. Stiles observes him for a moment, there is something of about the kid, but he quickly dismisses that thought, there is something of about himself too, and he never had any problems with that.

"Yeah, well, you seem interesting."

The boy smiles, letting his guards down, and looks up into Stiles eyes. Stiles smiles back, glad to have made a friend.

"so, now that we are friends, what is your name? how old are you? And where do you live?"

Authors Note;

I usually write the first chapter or prologue of a story and continue if I think it will work out, but I am not exactly sure on this one.
If you like this story, and are interested in reading more, i recommend you to tell me so in the comments, or simply follow the story,
if enough people do so, I will definitely continue writing this one, if not, then it'll have to be determent by my writing moods.

Anyways, thank you for reading, and I hope to write to you soon.
As always, feel free to comment or favorite if you feel like it.
Cilia.