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Chapter 2
Caught in a deep hole,
Stuck at the bottom…
"You've seen Grease, right?"
"No."
"What? Somewhat surprising, in a not surprising kind of way. At any rate, you know, you'd fit in really well."
No response.
"The copious amount of gel, tight pants, leather jackets, pimped out cars. I'm telling you, a match made in heaven."
Derek grunted and continued flipping through the hangers.
"But really, Derek, how much longer do we need to be here."
"Stiles."
"What?"
"Shut-up."
Stiles gaped at him, mouth hanging slightly open, before shrugging it off and pulling out his cell phone. The two of them had been perusing the leather jacket section of Macy's for a good hour. Derek had not been happy when Stiles delivered the news.
"Yeah so, we can't go back to your place. Like ever. While you're like this at least."
"Why not? All my stuff is there. My car's there."
"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news—or rather, wolver of bad news, get it? No, okay—but I went back yesterday while you were still passed out to scope the place out and there were these two guys just sitting on your porch sniffing around. Like I said, I'm guessing the Alpha pack sensed that something was off and came looking. And you really can't go back like this, when you can barely fend for yourself. Thank god I had my jeep."
"I can take them."
"I'm just going to keep ignoring you from now on. What do you even need to get anyway? You fit fine in my dad's clothes. And I get that my jeep is less than desirable for you, but you guys have been spending more and more quality time together as it is. Can't we all just get along?"
"I...I just..."
Thinking back to it now, Stiles had rarely ever known Derek to stammer or have any issues getting his words out, except, of course, for that one time he tried pretending like he could swoon the night watch at the station.
"You-you-you what Derek? Just spit it out."
At this point, under normal circumstances, Stiles would probably have run away, given the intensity of Derek's vindictive stare.
"I need my leather jacket."
"Oh, my god."
So here they were, shopping for leather jackets. Stiles was sure that this was probably part of some hidden complex of Derek's, but chose not to fight it and took what he could get. He needed to get out of the house anyway, since his dad was coming back soon and the two hadn't talked for a while and Stiles wanted to avoid any awkward conversations for as long as he could.
He continued to watch as Derek shifted aggressively through the different jackets, grumbling to himself. Stiles couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something different in the air around them, besides the obvious not-a-werewolf-anymore deal. Even though the two of them had become more or less cordial throughout the past couple of month—saving each other's lives can do wonders—they weren't exactly friends. True, in some messed up way, they always seemed to be watching out for one another, but it's not like they had ever really cared. Not intentionally, at least. It had been, however, a nice change of pace getting some appreciation for once. Derek had even sounded sincere when he thanked him that morning.
I just need to keep him alive, for Scott's sake.
It was the only thing he could think of that made any sense.
"So I figured we could take a break and do something non-violent and non-threatening for once. It'll be good for your mental health." Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles as they walked out of the shopping mall. "What? I read it in a psychology textbook once. You know, going through different life-stages, losing your identity, whatever. Lots of stress."
Derek rolled his eyes. "My mental health is fine, Stiles. I just need to be ready for Kyle..."
"Kyle? Wait, who's Kyle?" Stiles stopped short as they approached his Jeep.
"I'll explain later," Derek muttered. It seemed to be enough for Stiles, who just shrugged and unlocked the doors.
The pair got into the car while Derek carefully brushed the sleeves of his new jacket and adjusted himself in his seat. He cocked his head to get a better look in the rearview mirror, pushing a couple stray strands of hair back into position. Stiles observed him with a curious expression painted very openly across his face.
"You know, you've become increasingly normal ever since this reverse bite thing. It's actually kind of ni-" Derek whipped around to glare at Stiles, eyes narrow.
"Don't you dare," he growled.
"I take that back. Still the same," Stiles mumbled, shifting the gear into drive.
The jeep croaked lazily as it turned onto the main road.
"So what do you want to do today? Even if you're not up for the simple act of having fun, at least let me enjoy part of my summer break. We've got the beach, the fair that's in town, oh and we can totally catch the baseball game, and–oh my god, have you ever been to McDonalds?" Stiles exclaimed, swerving a little out of excitement.
"Stiles. How primitive do you think I am? That my family was?"
"Well, I don't know, I just assumed you guys did things differently. You know, story time in the woods, chasing cars, etc."
Derek sighed. This was exasperating. Tiring. And not at all relaxing, which, for a second, had actually sounded quite nice. He did, however, somehow find some humor in the entire thing—"some" being the operative word.
"Just drive."
"I need a destination, bud. I'm not going to just waste gas truckin' around town." He was met with another cold stare.
Well, that's never going to change, is it.
"Fine. Driving it is."
The sun was starting to set as Stiles pulled to a stop at the edge of the woods on a hill overlooking the city. The waning rays spread like wildfire across the softly rolling clouds, streaking the sky with bands of orange and red as stars began to pop dimly in the distance against the darkening skies.
Oh Lydia, to have shared this moment with you…
"Why are we here?" Derek grumbled sleepily. They had driven in silence for the past two hours, Derek having dozed off in the warmth of the sun.
"This is where I used to come just to sit and think when things at home weren't so great. Scott was actually the one who showed me." He didn't mention that they had trapped Jackson here in the patrol van weeks ago during his… darker hours, for a lack of better words. The school year seemed so long ago.
Derek nodded slowly, choosing not to push. But Stiles was in a talking mood. Being back here did something to him. Calmed him down. Made him think. He had also just had two hours left to his own thoughts, and that never ended well.
"Yeah, especially after mom—" He felt strange sharing this with Derek. "—died. I just needed to get out of the house, had to get away from my dad."
Stiles could feel Derek staring. He turned and was a little taken aback at the expression on his face. His eyes were full of intrigue and a touch of sad understanding. And something else—a little spark of warmth that he rarely allowed out. Stiles couldn't help continuing. The dam had been broken. Derek would just have to deal.
"Not that I didn't want to be with him. I just felt—" he swallowed, trying to rid the knot in his throat. "—so guilty. Like, if it wasn't for me, she'd still be alive, she'd still be with us." He couldn't help flashing back to that night at Lydia's when his dad appeared, tearing into him. He knew it hadn't been real, just a hallucination, but to Stiles, there was no difference.
"I would come out here those days and just sit and stare out over the city, out into the sky. I never knew what to do, how to fix it. Instead, my insides—my very soul—would twist into itself and drag me down into some unending spiral of self-pity." He let out a nervous laugh, fingers tapping absentmindedly on the steering wheel.
"Probably developed some sort of complex or something. Issues. I have a lot of them, you see." He smirked. "Kind of like you, but without the perpetual need to hurt or maim." He took the silence as a cue to go on.
"It was just one of those things that I needed to do to keep myself from going insane—protecting people. My friends. My dad. It was the only way I could protect myself, because if I lost anyone else… I don't even know. And then this—" he made a sweeping motion with his arms "—all happened. Werewolves. Hunters. Getting my ass kicked constantly. And I'm useless in all of this. Utterly useless. I mean, the one time I actually did something… Well, Scott would have died had it not been for you." Stiles couldn't contain the words fighting to escape his throat. He really didn't want to be doing this, feeling so naked and vulnerable. Especially in front of Derek, who probably could not have cared any less. This wasn't him. This wasn't Stiles.
But it is, isn't it, he thought quietly to himself.
He turned to look at Derek, who he could see fidgeting uncomfortably out of the corners of his eyes. Or maybe his new jacket was too tight. Or something.
"Sorry. Not trying to fish for sympathy or anything," he muttered. "I know you've got a lot of problems of your own and mine aren't really anything, since, you know, at least no one's intentionally trying to kill me. Yet. I just don't really have anyone to talk to anymore, and I guess my brain's just been waiting to vomit all over the place."
"You have Scott," Derek said softly, eyes at his lap, averting Stile's gaze. He couldn't help looking up, however, when Stiles scoffed.
"I have Scott," he whispered, more to himself than for anyone else. "I had Scott. Scott still has me. He always will, and he knows that, and I know that, and everyone around us knows that. But I don't have Scott anymore. Allison—" He could barely contain the bitterness in his voice. "–has him now. But that's okay. It really is." He sat there for a second, lost in thought, before turning back to stare out at the city.
"It's funny, you know. One day, you're skipping through the woods with your best friend, and the next thing you know, you're underwater. You're reaching up, fingers barely scraping at the surface, expecting someone to grab your arm and pull you out. But then you realize that you've only got yourself, that the only way to get to the surface is by pushing past the boundaries you created to escape from the rest of the world. That, or you drown."
Stiles could still feel Derek's eyes on him. It was almost comforting.
"You know what I mean?"
Derek's voice was barely a whisper.
"Yeah. I guess I do."
They sat there a while longer in silence, the moon shining palely in the distant sky. Stiles couldn't help but laugh.
"Maybe I'm the one in need of mental health repair."
Thanks again for reading and thanks to those who have messaged me or commented! It's incredibly motivating to hear that people might actually enjoy my writing :) You guys are the best. Keep it comin!
