It was too bright for the early morning when Stiles peeled his eyes open. He shouldn't have been surprised by the lack of company in bed with him. Derek had probably left the moment Stiles had fallen asleep, but Stiles couldn't stop worry from prickling through his veins.
It felt bad, but bad in a way Stiles was familiar with, in a way he could handle. There was always that sickening knot of worry gnawing at his chest. He worried about his dad every time he left the house and Scott every time he didn't answer his phone and Lydia and Allison and even Isaac, now he had to worry about Derek too. It left little room for him to worry about himself.
Dragging himself from his warm sheets that still smelled like Derek, Stiles realized he was still wearing the clothes from yesterday. With a begrudging sigh, he heaved them off and threw on something more comfortable and that smelled a lot less like the alpha. He kind of already missed the lingering ghost of a scent. Stiles shivered.
Seriously, he needed to get a grip. He was not some love-obsessed tween that picked through the sheets for their lover's stray hairs. Although if he looked he could probably find some of Derek's—No Stiles. Too far. Shaking his head, Stiles hurried downstairs, the prospect of breakfast quickening his pace and giving him a boost of energy. He practically tackled the fridge.
"Stiles," his dad's voice had him jumping and whirling around, "I got a call from the pharmacy this morning and picked up your meds. Why didn't you tell me you were out?"
You were busy. I didn't want to be a bother. I was going to get them eventually I just had some stuff to help Derek Hale with...Then I was making out with him in the supply closet at the school. "It's no big deal," Stiles shrugged; "I just forgot."
His dad paused for an assessing moment, squinting and searching Stiles face for something. Stiles gave nothing away. "Right, well," his dad sighed and tossed him the too familiar small orange bottle of pills, "Try not to forget again. Those things are important."
Stiles put on his biggest grin. "Trust me," he popped open the bottle and took his regular dose, swallowing it dry; "I know." Returning to his breakfast, Stiles failed to notice his dad crossing his arms over his chest, frowning.
"Stiles...?" he said again and Stiles offered a 'hm?' in reply, digging through the fridge; "Don't you have to get to school?" Oh Shit!
Arriving late was embarrassing enough without Mr. Harris' need to publicly humiliate Stiles every chance he got, but Scott staring at him like Stiles was a puzzle Scott just could not put together, definitely made it worse. For Scott it was a pretty normal look, except this time there was some other emotion clinging to his stare, like pity, or worry, or anger. It was hard to differentiate.
"Mr. Stilinski," Mr. Harris' irritating voice was as condescending as ever, "Thank you for finally joining us. How about you take your seat?"
"No, I thought I'd just sit on someone's lap," Stiles quipped, licking his lips nervously when Scott turned an unbelievable shade of red. Great. Stiles internally groaned taking his seat behind his best friend, not missing the way Scott scooted down in his chair a little at Stiles' presence.
"Now that Mr. Stilinski's interruption is over, let's get back to work," Mr. Harris snapped.
"Dude," Scott whispered, turning towards Stiles; "We need to talk."
Stiles stiffened. "...about Derek?"
Rolling his eyes Scott retorted; "No, about Norway's butter shortage. Yes, Derek!"
"Wait. There's a butter shortage in Norway?" Stiles perked up, clearly interested, before sagging at the serious look on Scott's face; "Right. Derek. Are you...?" Stiles licked at his lips, "Are you okay with what happened?"
Scott's brow furrowed. "I don't know. How about you tell me what it was I saw and I'll tell you how I feel about it."
Now, Stiles hesitated. He wasn't exactly sure how to explain when he didn't even know himself. "Derek and I-we," he felt himself blushing and Scott's intense staring was making it worse. Stiles struggled for words. Were making out in the janitor's closet? Slept together, but not like that. Are sort of, not really, kind of dating because we may or may not like each other?
"Is Derek hurting you?" Scott couldn't keep the angry growl of the wolf from his voice, startling Stiles. When the other man said nothing for a brief moment, still searching for words, Scott clenched his fists and his eyes flashed gold; "I am going to kill him. I knew I shouldn't have left you with him last night. If he-"
"Scott," Stiles said, quietly but sharply, silencing his friend. They did not need to draw attention to themselves by having Scott wolf-out in the middle of class. "It's not like that. At all."
"Then what is it like?" Scott snapped, but he slowly regained control, calming his rage; "Why can't you tell me what is going on? If you have something to hide, then maybe it's a problem!"
"Mr. Stilinski! Mr. McCall!" the teacher shouted, and the boys snapped forward, "Is there something you'd like to share with the class? Hmm? No? Then be quiet or you'll be staying after for detention."
Stiles, for once in his life, was glad that Mr. Harris interrupted them. It gave him more time to ignore his...situation with Derek, whatever the hell it was. His eyes fell to the assignment on his desk. Covalent bonds. Two atoms sharing electrons, being bound together. The balance of attraction and repulsion. Yeah, that was not helping.
Stiles' thoughts drifted as he mindlessly filled in the answers. He thought about the closet, small and hot and pooled in moonlight. The sight, the touch, of Derek was still fresh in his mind. Stiles remembered Derek's words—You're perfect—and his hot breath. It made Stiles shiver. Everything in that closet he could remember perfectly; even the mop and bucket, the barred window, the reinforced door, the small uneven tile he had been sitting on...
Suddenly pieces he hadn't realized were there began to fall into place.
A supply closet. Why would they need to reinforce that? It didn't make sense, and that was something Stiles could not let go. Now, he needed to know. That tile on the floor it had been under the mop and bucket. It had been hidden, in a locked, reinforced room. It was no coincidence Derek had been drawn there.
Derek had called Stiles looking for Scott, who of course was not answering. He said he had heard the sound of a fellow werewolf, desperate and in pain, had said that he needed to investigate it. Stiles refused to let him go alone. Hence, they ended up in the supply closet. Someone had shut them in, right? The door hadn't shut by accident. How did the mystery person sneak up on Derek, on the night of the full moon none-the-less.
Stiles was chewing at the eraser of his pencil, lost in thought, when the bell rang. He jerked in surprise before stuffing his books into his backpack. Scott turned on him, obviously ready to continue their conversation, but Stiles spoke first.
"The closet," he said as if it explained everything, Scott did not seem to think so; "Dude! Derek was drawn to the school last night, and then we heard something in the closet and someone shut us in there. Why was the janitor's supply closet reinforced with barred windows and a double bolt lock?"
"A coincidence?" Scott asked, trying to keep up with Stiles as they practically ran from the class room.
"Two things make a coincidence, Scott" Stiles clarified; "One; Derek was drawn to the school," he paused as they stopped outside of the supply room; "Two; we get shut in a closet with enough reinforcements to keep an alpha werewolf in—or out," Stiles wrenched open the door, "and Three," falling to his knees and pushing discarded cleaning supplies out of the way Stiles continued; "There's a trap door in the floor."
"So," Scott commented, glancing around to make sure no one was watching them, "that doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't mean—Come on Scott!" Stiles turned towards his friend in disbelief; "Don't you get it?"
"Get what?" Scott whined; "If you are just deflecting Stiles, I swear to God-"
"Dude. Here me out," Stiles examined the door. It was almost hidden amongst the tile surrounding it, only it was elevated slightly, had a thin metal lining and a small square handle. "It was a trap. Last night. Think! Allison almost gets in a car accident, she needed you. Whoever did this knew you would help Allison over Derek. They also knew Derek would investigate anyway."
"...right," Scott was trying to follow along, trying very hard; "But Derek and you got away. Whoever it was had you, but locked you guys in here and didn't stop you guys from getting away."
"Exactly," Stiles pulled at the handle. Locked. "It had us. They didn't count on me being with Derek. They hadn't been expecting that. Expecting me."
"Okay...So, no offense, but if they were after Derek why didn't they just kill you and take him or something?" Scott asked, peeking out the door and keeping watch.
"I don't know," Stiles shrugged; "Maybe because they didn't expect Derek and I to, like, make out the moment we were alone together."
"Why do you have to...?" Scott whispered sharply, the tension in his voice catching Stiles off guard; "Can you hurry up? I really don't want to be here."
"Alright, alright," Stiles rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet; "One more thing. Do you smell anything...weird?"
"You mean other than you and Derek?" Scott shuddered and Stiles frowned; "No, it just smells way too much like pine sol."
"Okay, thanks," Stiles mumbled, losing himself in thought as he stepped around Scott and back into the hallway. A hand catching him by the arm had Stiles snapping his attention back to his friend. The uneasy look on Scott's face made Stiles' throat constrict. He hated that look.
"Stiles," Scott started, deadly serious and concerned; "Be careful. With Derek, with this-" he motioned towards the closet, "Just, don't get in over your head."
Stiles nodded and tried to ignore the way Scott's smile made him feel like the biggest asshole ever. Too late.