Not Even a Little Ordinary Day
Monday, January 24th
Stiles Stilinski had a love-hate relationship with his first class of the day. Or rather, with his first teacher. Ms. Blake who taught English and, by unanimous decision, was declared the hottest teacher on their staff. She was also the youngest if speculation was accurate. Given that she had started her career by mass texting a specific group of Juniors her number and then adding it would be the last text they received during her class time, everyone was excited by her hipness. Stiles found it a bit creepy. She was a bit creepy. He couldn't immediately figure out why, though he really didn't like the idea of his teachers having his cell number. Were those even in their student files?
Ms. Blake never did anything… wrong. She didn't flirt with anyone, didn't wear inappropriate clothing, no matter how fashionably she dressed. She didn't punish overzealously like Harris. All around Jennifer Blake was in the running for one of the nicest, most helpful teachers in Beacon Hills. Honestly, Stilinski had no freaking clue why his skin crawled whenever she looked at him.
Catching his breath outside her classroom, the new wolf gave a quick shake of his head and adjusted his backpack from where it had almost fallen off. He could hear the woman lecturing on last week's assigned reading of Atlas Shrugged. Pursing then rolling his lips, he sighed and opened the door slowly, to make as little noise as possible. There was no getting to a seat without being noticed, but it interrupted the authority figure in a less offensive way.
Dressed in a purple blouse, black skirt and pumps today, her pretty face gave him a concerned look then ushered him along to a desk with barely a pause in her sentence. See? Super understanding! So why did her sweet brown eyes send shivers of fear down his spine?
Settling into the free chair closest to the door, Stiles withdrew the novel and a notebook then risked getting singled out by pulling his hood up over his head. Folding his arms on the desk, pen in hand and waiting for whatever great insight the teacher could dredge up from their morning-afflicted class, the new shifter rested his chin on forearms with a soft groan. He knew school wouldn't be a cake walk, nevermind the drama with Scott or his attention disorder, his senses were probably going to give him a headache by lunch. Scents radiated off of teenage bodies; everything from deodorants and breakfast to mouthwash and last week's socks. Their skin, hair, clothes, shoes, breath… Every single person was radiating smells into a small enclosed space, along with every single movement he could hear and see. Papers shuffling, pens tapping, phones vibrating, heelsclicking, shoessqueaking, lungswheezingheartsbeating-
Heart beating. The teen took a shuddered breath and tried to reach further than just the classroom. Further than the classes next door, than the gym across the way… There.
A steady rhythm, strong and familiar, echoed alongside his own. Coming from the direction of the woods, so most likely Derek. The idea calmed him. Reminded him that he wasn't the first goddamn werewolf around. Derek had gone to high school here. Even if he'd been born with his abilities, he'd still had to learn how to be in an enclosed space with twenty other people all by himself at some point. Hell, Stilinski had been looking for teenage wolves on social media only a couple days ago. There were probably a hundred others just like him, going through the same exact thing.
Most people got off on being special. Stiles knew special was just another word for abnormal. Like ADHD and anxiety disorders. Like getting a little detail on your driver's license saying you can't drive without your prescription. When the bitten wolf thought about the possibility of so many other kids going through this, he was actually comforted by it. By the idea of being normal. He let the scents, the sounds, the quick little movements of note-taking or fidgeting, roll over him in waves until it became less overwhelming. Like stepping into a wave pool; the further in you went the easier it was to tread water, to keep your head above it all.
And ever so slowly, everything came to have meaning again. Ms. Blake was responding to a comment that he'd missed with a wide, showy gesture and, "...that's good, that's exactly what the author has been implying, I think. The mechanical things, the locomotives, motors, even the architecture: it's all a representation of the rational mind. Of these rational characters and scientists that are disappearing within the novel. Can anyone speculate on what they think will happen next based on this foreshadowing?"
The subject matter wasn't important today. Stiles was going to focus on keeping his head above water; on not drowning in the myriad of sensory stimulation around him. To that end, he kept Derek's heartbeat in the back of his head, whether or not he was really hearing it or just remembering now he wasn't sure. But it helped when he finally uncapped his pen and started to write. At first it was just notes, quick reminders of what he'd read, the connections he'd made while doing so. Then he expanded in little bursts of words whenever Ms. Blake praised a student for their comment, switching to yellow highlighter to emphasize them since whatever she pointed out would likely be used again later on a test.
The stink of the highlighter put him off at first, but then he noticed it was blocking out a majority of the human odors around him. Resisting the urge to take a deep whiff and short out his nose for a bit, Stiles coughed lightly against the chemical harshness and let his constantly moving hands write and tap away his distractions. That's when the boy observed a portion of his sporadic notes included which students were wearing heinous perfumes or colognes and which hadn't brushed their teeth that morning. Jesus Christ.
Stiles let his head fall onto his desk. He hadn't even realized he was writing that shit down. Yeah, school was going to be fun today. A shrill bell had him jumping a foot in the air, desk, papers and writing utensils going every which way with him. The young lycan's heart throbbed in his chest from the sudden adrenaline and silence fell over his ears thereafter. He didn't temporarily lose his hearing. Lungs still expanded and hearts still beat, but all conversation and movement ceased.
He barely gave the other students a second to look. Gritting his teeth against the discomfort, Stiles turned his back to the room and went about collecting his supplies, ignoring the students behind him. He shared first period AP English with the 'cool kids', the Golden Trio: Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, and Danny Mahealani. As he shoved everything haphazardly into his backpack, he could hear Whittemore start in what might account for a whisper if not for his recent abilities.
"God, what a freak." The sneer was palpable in the bastard's tone. Stilinski felt a muscle in his clenched jaw twitch.
Good old Danny-boy stepped up for him, "Ease up, Jacks." See, that was why everybody loved Danny.
"Why?" His strawberry-blond Goddess drawled. Stiles cringed, hanging his head low and his ears on her every word. "Even you have to admit, that was freaky. Paranoid much?" The turned teen froze, both hands on his zipped backpack and unharassed by other students as they pointedly went several feet around him to get to their next class.
The Hawaiian jock's next whisper was even quieter, in deference to the group walking right by his desk on the way out the door, "Guys, he was attacked in the woods last week. Give him a break."
Even through the wall he could hear the love of his short life's response. "Well, maybe he shouldn't have been out there in the first place," Lydia sniped, undoubtedly flicking her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder.
Stiles knew his heart hadn't stopped; he could feel it pounding away. But it felt like something in him stalled. Something that should've been his heart. God, way to hit the nail on the head, dearest Lydia. He felt his eyes burn and dropped his bag to press the heels of his hands against his eyelids, finishing the gesture using nails to scratch his scalp back and forth a few times. Turmoil itched his chest: a raucous mixture of frustration, disappointment and resignation bubbling in his guts. He knew compassion wasn't her typical public response, but… It's not like she's wrong, a cynical inner voice hissed. With a sigh, the werewolf swung his backpack around and made to leave right as his name was called.
"Mr. Stilinski?"
Ah crap. Crappity, crap, crap. He'd forgotten he was late somehow. Nerves pricked his spine, flashing a wave of cold sweat along his body. Turning back to the seemingly harmless woman, the boy started immediately apologizing, "I'm sorry, I-Ms. Blake, it won't happen, well, it might happen again to be honest, but I'll try really-"
"It's okay," she smiled and the flash of teeth sent his hackles up, small hairs along his neck standing on end like he'd been shocked. He deliberately pressed his lips tight to keep from baring his own teeth at her in a much more unfriendly way. She went on, "I understand you're still recovering and probably had a hard time this morning. I won't mark you down tardy. This time, Mr. Stilinski."
With a nod of dismissal, Stiles was released to his next class. But as he turned into the door, his English teacher walked over to her purse, hanging on the corner coat rack. That's when he caught it: the scent. She walked within three feet of him, and he finally identified what made him so uneasy around her, what was turning his stomach now. Copper.
The scent of blood.
His heart started to double-time and he hightailed it out of there. But not to his next class. Making a pit stop in the boy's restroom, the teen shapeshifter almost ran into the sink before turning on the cold water and splashing his face repeatedly. The tornado whirled. Questions spiraled around the disgusting notes of eau de toilette and rationalizations. Whispers of thoughts trailed outraged inquiries, but nothing brought him closer to any kind of truth.
Ms. Blake smelled like blood. And not like how his father had, recently clawed and bandaged with ointment. It was covered by perfume, but he managed to identify it-a lot of it. The odd… texture of the scent, like if he'd licked it, would be dry and flaky. Old blood. He hadn't noticed any bunches in her clothing; she hadn't missed work for a hospital stay. Why did she smell like that?
Breathing and heart rate calmed, Stiles finally stopped pouring water over himself to grip the edges of the porcelain sink instead. His face dripped, hair pressing dark and flat to his skull. He wouldn't get any answers right now. He probably wouldn't get any answers for weeks if the reason was supernatural an he wanted to keep his head. He hoped like Hell she wasn't dangerous; how could she be when she'd been teaching them all month already? Didn't the Beta have enough on his plate dealing with a psychotic Alpha werewolf?
Another bell went off and Stilinski groaned in tandem, bending over to let his head thunk onto the cold ceramic, pain echoing across his forehead to his ears before dissipating with the last shrill ring. He just couldn't catch a break.
A quick pass with a paper towel and the wolf trotted out of the room, up a flight of stairs to the electives hall. The first door was his computer science class, and honestly, he was so freaking far ahead he might as well be teaching it. Well, assistant teaching it. Danny could be the professor. Yet another time period he shared with the handsome boy, but the only one in which he regularly sat directly behind him. The teacher, Mr. Greenwell, gave him a nod of acknowledgement as he passed by, and otherwise let him be as the man wrote down the day's task. They usually took an average of ten minutes to complete, giving him the rest of the class to fuck around on the Internet.
And, you know, figure out back doors into other people's computers. He'd learned a lot sitting behind Danny. Stiles kept his fingers off the keyboard until their teacher was done writing, knowing that his loud fidgeting wouldn't be appreciated by the man or his fellow classmates until it could be covered by the rest of them working. Generally this was a quiet hour, with Mr. Greenwell spending almost all of it reading some science fiction novel at his desk unless asked for help. He was a very hands-off teacher, which would probably infuriate Stiles at any other subject. But when it came to computer basics, he held his own easily enough. The buzz of electronics filled his ears as computers fired up from resting modes. Quiet conversations started up, harmless things either asking each other for help on the Excel assignment or making plans after school. Most of the students started up their programs right away, Stiles included, though he also dragged out his prior notebook.
Between loading sequences and breaks for thought, he started slashing out the notes on people's hygiene. Jeez, he never realized just how invasive being a werewolf was until it was written down in front of him. About halfway done, a shift in the rhythm of students made the young wolf look up at Mahealani. The boy rested his fingers on the space bar, scanning his work before he'd turn it in. Stiles did his best to scan what was available on the screen. Not outright cheating, just making sure he had the right idea, double-checking his work. Even doing that was a distraction though. It made him think about what Danny had said, how he'd stuck up for him and what that probably meant about what the rest of the school knew.
Biting his lip to the point of real pain, Stiles was barely able to finish his faux-payroll assignment and save it before he leaned around the aged computer. "Hey, Danny?" he hissed.
Advanced hearing caught a barely audible sigh, and the lycan remembered that no matter how nice the guy was, Stiles was still in the running for the most annoying of his class. That only showed how kind the lacrosse jock was when he looked over his shoulder and asked, "Yeah, Stiles?" in a low voice.
God, it was unfair how attractive the boy was. Maybe he should grow his hair out? Stiles hardly remembered his question, or at least the one he meant to start with, "Uh," he leaned a little closer to give himself a second to organize his spiraling thoughts, "What're people saying? I mean, about… that night?"
He got a side eye from the teen, dark eyes calculating in a way that meant the Hawaiian native knew he was being used for information. Danny still answered, "Only that someone was attacked in the woods. A body was reported in the news the next day, and you were absent so Scott freaked out in the middle of class. He had an asthma attack and stayed in the nurse's office for an hour." Stilinski grimaced, guilt tangling his tongue. Ahead of him, Danny read his face easily and added, "I think his mom told him you were alive so he should stay in school and visit you after lacrosse tryouts." Obviously what Stiles really wanted to know was as easy to see as the nose on his face. His guts churned and he leaned lower to the long desk of computers, ignoring and ignored by the person sitting next to him.
"So, but-no one knows anything else?"
With a quick eye roll, Mahealani muttered, "Not everyone is the son of the Sheriff, Stiles." The new shifter tilted back into his seat, tapping his fingers agitatedly across the empty space for a second. His conversation partner started to turn back to his computer, assuming their chat was over.
Stiles noisily folded up against the desk to whisper his next incredulous question, "When did Allison Argent start making time for Scott?"
"Scott didn't tell you?" Danny asked back with a confused frown.
Mouth dropping open with no sound, the werewolf searched for a half ass reason why his best friend hadn't told him a thing about his crush finally speaking to him. Besides the fact that he'd passed out for the half day he'd been home from the hospital, he didn't really get why it hadn't come up either. Making a vague hum, Stiles tried, "My phone was in evidence, um… He told me about the party." God, that was lame. A small wince crossed his face as he started to inch back into his seat.
Apparently taking pity on him, the lacrosse star consoled, "There was a lot going on. However they started talking, it happened after school."
Nodding in gratitude, Stilinski turned back to his computer and let Danny do the same. He absently sent on his assignment to the teacher via e-mail, then rested his cheek on his palm. Damn it, he hated fighting with Scott. He couldn't even remember the last time it'd happened. Well, the last time it wasn't resolved within minutes and a bit of negotiations. They'd never really fought before. The idea made him anxious, started his feet tapping and fingernails to itch. A small thought reminded him the sensation was part of the change, increasing his anxiety.
Then he remembered Derek's words, so much softer than his usual growl. The way he'd grabbed Stiles and let him calm down using the rhythm of his heart and breath. The memory distracted him, putting his troubles with Scott on the back burner until they could be resolved. It had to be a wolf thing, right? Two bodies falling into sync like that only happened on TV, in supernatural romcoms or something. His life felt more like a supernatural horror show. Where it started with him almost killed and turned, maybe he can kill the wolf that bit him-whether that turns him human or not depends on the movie-with inadvertent help from a Hunter that wound up dead, and then his English teacher could pop up in a surprise twist to finish him off.
Speaking of… Stiles held that thought in his mind and started to log in to his own Google Account with his recently saved bookmarks. They were all shapeshifter oriented, but there were a few databases linked in that expanded to other creatures. And the databases were what he really needed to figure a species out if he didn't want to slog through every freaking page looking for the word 'blood'.
Oh my God, there was a lot of folklore about blood-drinking monsters. Though the couple day old lycan was pretty sure Ms. Blake wasn't a chupacabra, he wasn't sure he could rule out things depicted in only animal form. After all, neither he or Derek could transform into the Alpha's wolf-man evolution and they were still werewolves. Who the Hell knew if any of these 'facts' were legit either. Silver didn't hurt wolf-shifters. His home experiments had taught him that. Stiles had never seen an upside down reflection in her eyes or heard a tik tik sound around the educator, but she could still be an aswang. Wendigo were supposed to be obviously non-human but what if they weren't?
Sighing in frustration, the teen deflated in his uncomfortable plastic seat and slid down until he was almost eye level with the desk, ignoring a side eye from his tablemate. For all he knew the woman could simply be a vampire. Or at least a vampire with a less than noticeable kill count; a vegetarian vampire like on Supernatural. Oh, if he would be so lucky. Maybe she went out of town to make her kills, like a serial killer avoiding the cops tracking her down.
It was good he was already staring at his screen so he noticed it was the end of class. That damn bell was about to go off again. Scowling preemptively, Stiles shoved his supplies back in his bag and erased his history before logging off. God forbid by some twist of fate, Allison Argent used the computer and noticed his search history. The wolf still couldn't help flinching when the alarm rang, signaling time for their third period.
I'm getting freakin' earplugs before tomorrow. This is insane! Still complaining internally, Stiles didn't bother to look for Scott in the halls on the way to the Language classrooms as he knew their paths wouldn't cross without someone catching a tardy slip.
Mr. Stilinski's class blocks for his junior year were fairly tedious, especially in the mornings as he didn't have a class with his best friend, Mr. McCall, until fourth period. His third lesson of the day was third year German. There'd been a slight miscommunication their freshman year and Scott ended up taking Spanish. Because it was easier, obviously. Stiles still thought it had more to do with him not wanting to be schooled by his abuela. With Lydia guiding the cool clique to French and Scott in Espanol, the teenager was essentially alone in German. Well, with the exception of-
"Stiles!"
His first step in the door and he almost fell on his ass from the unexpected weight. Getting bear hugged suddenly could send even a werewolf off balance, no matter how petite the female. With a soft oof, Stilinski gracelessly held onto the girl in his arms to get back on his feet, then was slightly shaken when she quickly backed up and grabbed his shoulders to scan him up and down. The blond demanded, "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"
"Heather, nice to see you too. Don't mind the shoulder, it's totally fine. Not like I was just mauled or anything." That was irony, right? Or was it just sarcasm? Either way, the statement was true, even if others took it the wrong way.
With an apologetic wince her hands flew off him, "Sorry, sorry, sorry." Stiles had known her since they were in diapers, actually longer than he'd known Scott. She was kind of the epitome of 'pretty girl next door' in looks but wasn't actually next door. If not for his Mom passing and the year he'd determinedly pushed the girl and her mother away, he might've considered her like a sister. It's too bad he was infatuated with Lydia from a young age too, since if he didn't think of Heather as a sister, she was certainly kind and pretty enough to date. Though she'd never shown any interest, especially since creating her girlfriend clique in middle school.
Just past her shoulder, Emily was glaring at him, which he totally didn't blame her for. Most people who didn't know him took offence to his mouth. Hell, people who did know him often still took offence. Sighing in contrition, Stiles added, "It's fine. Really, I'm okay. The bandages are pretty padded and I have painkillers." That he's never opened. "Thanks for asking. Seriously," he ended with a soft smile, trying to keep the words as unsarcastic as possible despite his habits.
Heather gave him a small smile in return, looking a bit rueful. Likely because this was the most they'd spoken since they did a group project together a full year ago. That had been incredibly awkward, but this was actually nice. It was a nice thing to know he had other people who cared besides his Dad and the McCalls.
Their teacher entered behind them, forcing Stiles forward. They ended the conversation with a mutual nod, Emily rolling her eyes and herding Heather to their usual seats. The class settled quickly, since a third year language course meant nothing but the kids that were serious about being there attended. Only two years were required to graduate, but as the teachers said: Universities liked commitment.
Mr. Douglas pulled out a stack of papers while greeting the class, "Guten Morgen, meine Schüler." He didn't pass them out yet, instead leaning against the front of his desk to pick out students and ask about their weekend in German for participation points. Stiles noticed the man glance at him before deliberately looking away and calling on someone in front of him. Yeah, he didn't think the verb 'attack' was in the textbook either. About five minutes later, the teacher counted out papers for the first in each row to pass back and announced their usual Monday new vocabulary section. The lecture would be in both German and English, allowing for complex questions and a worksheet to help them take notes.
The routine was soothing without being dull, engaging the entire class so that Stiles could take moments to center himself against the sensory stimulation without looking like a moron. Or like he's taking short naps. He even managed to get all he needed from the lecture written down thanks to the way Mr. Douglas had organized the worksheet. Colored highlighters helped the young wolf sort which words he'd gotten right on the first try and which he'd need to practice with.
Maybe it was the stink of the pens or maybe he was just getting used to his senses, but German wasn't nearly so bad as English period. If anything, now that his senses weren't getting in the way, it was his own disorders distracting him from taking sensical notes the whole time. Going on three hours inside without his Adderall and Stiles started to stare out windows, distracted by the gnawing of his stomach, the wind rustling the trees, by worries about seeing Scott next period.
The margins of his worksheet took on a brainstorming pattern, bubbles of thoughts connecting one to the other. If Scott doesn't speak to him, he'll just apologize. If Scott asks about the scars, he'll take him out to the lacrosse field at lunch and try to get his claws out, make his eyes glow, something… If Scott-if Scott-if Scott-
This was going to drive him mad. Telling himself to stop, Stiles started fidgeting with the pen instead of writing and still half-listening to the lecture. He knew his best friend and had to stop second guessing himself. Odds were if Stiles tried to talk to him in class the boy would give him the cold shoulder, basically allowing Stiles to say whatever he wanted until he got a reaction. Or detention. Neither could tell where the tactic came from, Stiles or Scott, but both boys tended to use it against other people when angered. If he tried during lunch, he'd probably get a taste of Scott's explosive, though short-lived temper. Before he was Bitten, talking at lunch would probably have resolved things faster. But Stiles had something of a temper too when provoked hard enough, and that was something he couldn't risk anymore.
During class it was.
And to the new wolf's dismay, he was realizing that he was going to apologize. It was inevitable, wasn't it? He couldn't reveal the transformation at school in guaranteed safety, if he even really managed it. But Stiles wanted his friend back. With an unusual amount of anxiety running through him at the prospect of losing Scott, he knew he was going to lie to keep his best friend. His brother. His Pack.
Brown eyes went wide as he instinctively turned to the window facing the encroaching woods. It felt like enlightenment, knowing suddenly as he did that his father, Scott, Melissa, and Derek were his pack now. That they were family and becoming a werewolf had pushed those protective emotions to extremes. It explained how sensitive he'd been on their last grocery trip. He teased and bought only healthy foodstuffs, but he usually didn't get as anxious as he had over the Sheriff's diet. Man, he hoped Derek could rein him in, or that he listened when Dad told him he was being an ass. Because Stiles was overprotective as a human teenager; what was he going to do as a werewolf?
The bell went off, causing the lycan to flinch and grind his teeth. Ear plugs, he thought viciously. Taking a deep breath to unclench his hands where they, thankfully, had not literally clawed the desk edges, Stiles swiped his supplies into his backpack and took off. He didn't have advanced placement in history, not least because of his sophomore essay on male circumcision in Finstock's Economics class. Focusing on dates and narrowed history topics didn't come easily to him, constantly having to narrow down his home assignments and going off topic all the time on in-class essays just about guaranteed that he had a regular class with Scott.
He made it to the class door before he realized he wasn't even winded by the quick run. Shit, way to lay low Stiles. Checking the hall, then peeking his head around the door got him a number of odd looks. This was probably how he got his reputation as a loon. Not that he really gave a damn; it worked for him. Scott wasn't the most observant kid around. Especially because he seemed to be daydreaming.
With a roll of his eyes, Stilinski zipped over to the empty seat behind McCall before anyone else could take it. He saw the curly-haired boy straighten up, but otherwise that was the only indicator the wolf had been noticed. Biting his lip while getting his things out with more clattering than necessary, Stiles felt his leg shake in nerves as he considered what to say first. The teacher, Mr. Westover started writing topic points on the board in preparation. Finally, the teen just leaned forward and hissed a comical whisper, "Hey Scott."
Dark brown eyes glared over one tense shoulder then looked forward again. Stiles' stomach knotted. "My dad found out the animal hairs at the crime scene-they're wolf hairs." No response. His leg shook hard enough to audibly tap.
"Dude, there are no wolves in California. Not for like, sixty years." Stiles watched the back of his friend's head tilt, likely in confusion. Not uncommon for Scott. The tardy bell rang and their teacher closed the classroom door before beginning to lecture on the judicial branch of government.
He ignored it in favor of leaning forward even further to take advantage of Scott's lessening temper, "I'm sorry I thought I was becoming a werewolf, okay? I just freaked out."
This time his friend's shoulders deflated, an exasperated sigh following along. From pissed to upset, he could work with that. Stiles remembered what Danny told him about Scott spending an hour in the nurse's office with no small amount of guilt. He softly added, "I shouldn't have gone out to the woods. I'm sorry, dude."
The double scoop of sincerity and apology was probably the kicker. Scott finally turned around to clasp his shoulder, the scarred one as no one seemed to really remember which side he was injured, "Alright, I forgive you already. I'm sorry too."
"Mr. McCall, is there something you'd like to share with the class?"
The poor boy's eyes went wide as saucers before quickly alighting on the nearby Mr. Westover. Whoops. The man hovered by Scott's desk, looking thoroughly put out with them. While Scott gaped like a noob, Stiles sucked it up and took one for the team, hoping his distraction was sufficient to delay any detentions.
"Ah, I was just begging Scott to go over my homework. You know, so you don't have to read about the history of male circumcision instead of the Supreme Court." Giggles erupted among the students right on que, because all these teenagers had the maturity of a toddler. The well known off-topic essay was the bane of every teacher's existence, especially when it sent Coach Finstock into a frothing rage after reading. And by frothing, Stiles meant that he could barely get his angry words out he was so frazzled and spitting annoyed, which was an impressive feat by Stilinski standards. Though to be fair, it's not like Finstock had to read every word and actually grade it.
Westover sighed, and shook his head dismissively, "Thank you for your sacrifice, Mr. McCall." More giggles and the class settled down into the rather dull lecture, or at least quieted down verbally. With his enhanced senses, the wolf could tell there was a higher than average number of texting going on and smartphone fidgeting this period than his last three. Sitting closer to the front, Scott couldn't get away with that, but he did manage to get distracted anyhow.
Whiskey eyes watched with amusement as Scott's pen slowed and finally fell still, hand going limp. By the angle of his best friend's head, Stiles could tell he was staring just above the whiteboard in front of him but obviously not seeing it. Poking him with a pen and making the poor kid jump a little, he teased, "You're thinking about Allison, aren't you?"
"Shhh," the curly-haired mop returned, barely over his shoulder, "Shut up, Stiles." Said boy grinned and mockingly said the pitiful comeback right back at him. Because sometimes he acted like a child too. Kids had more fun.
Scott resumed focus, or tried to anyway. His best friend could tell he was restless and more interested in the clock's second hand moving closer minute by minute to signaling lunchtime. As if by osmosis, Stiles found he was growing more unsettled as well. His attempts to pay attention to the teacher grew pitiful, and he completely lost track of the lecture as gold-brown eyes were drawn again and again to curly brown hair. The wolf could see the individual strands clearly without aid; he was mesmerized by how they vibrated with every shift of his friend's weight.
Stiles leaned forward, resting his chin on tense forearms as he gazed ahead, vision fixed on his pack brother. His fingers twitched in time with the boy's movement. A low, playful growl started to vibrate in his throat without conscious thought. The sound was inaudible, though it still gently rocked the pen on his desk. He watched with fascination as tanned skin started to prickle under his stare, tiny hairs standing at attention.
"Dude!" his best friend said under his breath, startling the new wolf from his concentration. Scott ran a hand over his neck, straightening up in offense, "Knock it off, will you?"
"What?" Stiles blinked rapidly, thoughts stuttering and struggling to realize when he'd stopped thinking. A cold sweat broke out in his pits and down his back as he finally comprehended what he'd been doing.
McCall hunched forward over his notebook, getting back to being a diligent student at last. He answered absently, "I could feel you staring, man," and shook his hair as if to cast off the feeling. The moment was already dismissed.
But the bitten lycan hadn't just been staring. He'd wanted to pounce. Aw crap, Stiles thought nervously and began gnawing on his fingernails, desperately hoping they didn't become claws. It hadn't been a hostile desire, which was likely his only saving grace against transforming in class.
Yet his heart rate had sped up and wasn't slowing down. He swallowed and involuntarily bit harder on his cuticles, tasting blood and the quick sting-heat of broken skin healed in an instant. When the action eased his breathing and the taste of blood on his second finger slowed his pulse, it dawned on the shapeshifter that he was developing an entirely different problem.
Releasing his trembling fingers, Stiles bit his lip in dismay and instinctively looked out the window. He couldn't hear Derek's heartbeat anymore. His eyes skittered away to the teacher, the clock, and the woods again. The minutes stretched like agonizing hours, every second a debate between his anxiety about shifting in class and his dread for his new habit of self-harm.
Not that it was a habit. It wasn't. Really.
His father's voice rang clear as crystal in his head. One's an incident. Two's a coincidence. Three's-
The shrill school bell announced the beginning of lunch, and relief flooded his system along with a split second idea he ran with. Stiles slid his school supplies into his open bag, making a right mess, and clapped Scott on the shoulder, "Meet you at lunch, be right back!" He didn't pay attention to his friend's reply.
Jogging as slowly as he could manage among the lunch crowd, the teen wolf made it to the back door closest to the lacrosse field and had to restrain himself from sprinting into the inviting woodlands. He passed between the cheap stadium seating, tossing his still half-open backpack underneath. The run had invigorated him, changing his anxiety into adrenaline, all his senses peaking at once. The second his sneakers hit the tree line he was gone.
Stiles ran like he'd never run before. The sheer power in his limbs, his lungs and heart, was exhilarating. The world moved so much faster beneath his feet, the wind whipped through the layers of his shirts, fiercely cold against his too warm skin. He didn't know where he was going; he didn't give a damn. The cool, wild air in his sinuses and the thin game trails under his feet guided his path. Even while he was in motion, his mind was cataloguing the world for every nuance and shift. Squirrels and chipmunks, smaller game and startled birds fled before him. A thicker animal musk made his mouth water, and his hindbrain screamed prey.
Sharp hearing caught the tread of another being, running as fast as him, parallel and not far. A familiar heartbeat said pack and Derek's fierce expression came to mind. The young wolf grinned, fangs lengthening, and he thought about wolves hunting together to separate and bring down a kill. Endorphins rushed through him hotly, and the only reason he didn't shout in excitement was how breathless the sprint left him.
The sound of his hunting partner shifted, angling towards him. Still grinning, the bitten switched tracks from hunting to play-fighting in an instant. Just before the larger wolf lunged to tackle him, Stiles twisted to catch him, arms outstretched to clasp Derek's shoulders and make him hit the ground first. His quick brown eyes caught the minute surprise across Hale's face, but it didn't last long.
While Derek hit the leaf litter first, he used their momentum to tumble the lighter teen once more and press Stiles into the dirt. The new wolf lost the last of his breath in a rush, but didn't let go of his elder or stop grinning as a playful growl vibrated in his chest. He snapped his fangs toward the man's nose in distraction, then pressed the advantage as Derek leaned back.
With a knobby knee and a hard pull, Stiles managed to be on top for a hot second before something changed. The other Beta's scent went acrid, his stoic face snarling, and entire body tense with anger. Stilinski instinctively went limp, letting the irate wolf manhandle him back into the leaves and tilting his chin up to expose his neck helpfully. Hale panted, fierce and surprisingly human as he loomed over the teenager. The bitten wolf blinked up at him, uncertain what he did wrong though his more rational mind was still reeling at his odd impulses.
"What the Hell was that!" Derek demanded, still holding the teen down to restrain him from taking off again.
Stiles widened his arms, palms up in surrender, as his thoughts churned, "Uh… I felt like a run?"
The other man snarled, "You did that on purpose?" He stammered, lies on the tip of his tongue but held back by sheer will. Hale was a much better wolf than he was, he'd definitely be able to catch a falsehood, even with their blood up from the run. As if sensing his intentions, or maybe reading his scent, Derek gave him a short shake, "Tell me what the Hell you were thinking!"
Stiles forced the truth from between his teeth like ripping duct tape from skin, which he actually had first hand experience with. "I almost pounced on Scott. So I bit myself. I just needed to get away, it's lunch hour anyway," he ended with a whine, completely aware of how pathetic he was being.
Derek studied him for a half minute, then crouched to the side instead of directly on top of the submissive wolf. The boy sat up sheepishly, busied his hands by picking leaves out of his clothes. With furrowed brows, the stronger wolf picked the first topic, "If you almost attacked him did he notice anything?"
"I didn't attack him!" Stiles said indignantly. His limbs gave a guilty fidget, "I just-he kept moving. And I guess, I was teasing him just before, so I wanted to-you know. Tackle him, mess with him. Like I thought," he gestured back and forth between them, "I thought if we weren't hunting together, we'd… Play." Oh God, that sounded awful. He could feel a blush forming, getting redder the hotter his cheeks and ears felt. Stuttering, he clawed a hand through his buzz cut while he wondered why the heck that had even come to mind.
Who even looked at Derek Hale and thought play in the same sentence? Unless, well… The other kind of-stop that thought!
The born wolf helped out by interrupting, "You're really in tune with the wolf." Stilinski made a noise of confusion, but bit his lip in the hopes the reticent man continued. He was rewarded for once. Hale even looked mildly approving as he offered, "Control comes with time and practice. You used pain to keep yourself in check because you haven't found an anchor yet."
"An anchor?" Stiles echoed, curiosity stronger than his discomfort over the fact he was being told 'Good Job!' for hurting himself.
The dark haired wolf sighed through his nose, but offered a hand up to the boy as he stood. Surprised but pleased by the gesture, the teenager accepted and stood upright with barely a flail. Derek directed them back along the game trail, toward the school, and then explained, "An anchor is something meaningful to you. Something to bind you to your humanity."
Personal, in other words, the new shapeshifter speculated before deciding to skip asking after Hale's anchor. If it was personalized to the werewolf, it was probably private. Could it literally be anything? "So are we talking a noun: person, place or thing? Or, uh, a catch phrase?"
There was almost a stutter to the born wolf's steps, and Stiles wondered what he'd said to throw him off guard. Derek watched him with a frown, but it seemed more thoughtful than annoyed, "It can be anything, but it has to be essential to you being human. My family used a talisman and a mantra. Alpha, Beta, Omega. It represents the idea that we could rise to one or fall to another. We'd say the three words, and with each one, we'd tell ourselves we were getting calmer, more in control."
"Like focused meditation," the teen commented. He considered the mantra for a minute, but ultimately had to disregard it. "I didn't grow up with it though. Not like you. I think… I'll have to focus on my dad. Hurting him was just-I can't do it again."
His companion's frown deepened, "A person as an anchor is risky. I've seen it work perfectly for lovers, but if they break up or die, the anchor fails. Usually sending the wolf into a tailspin." Stiles' lips fell open, dismay written across his face, as he reconsidered his anchor. He softly cursed, letting his fingers twitch and tap where they would. Derek reluctantly added, "But using the Pack as an anchor is common too. And that is usually harder to destroy."
Stilinski gulped involuntarily, the Hale fire a silent elephant between them, then caught himself staring and tried to distract himself with the local wildlife. Of which, there was none since his dash through the woods had sent all the critters into their holes. But he had a good idea what had been the last Hale's anchor before he became just that. The Last Hale.
Like most of the difficult thoughts he'd had that day, Stiles sidestepped it. Fairly sure where the school was ahead of them, the young wolf darted over to jab Derek's shoulder, garnering a reactive snarl before he skipped ahead. "Race you to the school! Bet I'm faster than you!"
He barely heard, "I caught you last time!" shouted after him as he took off into the wind. The lycan could still hear the other Beta though, beginning with a crash through undergrowth to catch up in a hurry and then going silent except for his lungs and heartbeat. Stiles knew he wasn't being quiet by any means and wondered if one day he might be skilled enough to silently stalk the woods like Derek did.
Focusing on his steps, his breathing, the new wolf pushed himself harder than before. There was so much going on with his body, watching where he put his feet, keeping the right direction, it was easy enough not to get distracted for the five minutes he stayed far ahead of his mentor. When Derek started closing the distance, his adrenaline coursed harder and he could feel the change come over him smoothly. Fingers heavier with claws, fangs pressing against his lips and his ears warming with the extra hair covering them from the wind. His eyes glowed blue, bright and excited with renewed energy as he focused on keeping ahead of the other wolf.
For heart straining minutes, Stiles managed to keep the lead before the scent and sounds of the high school reached him. The woods ended a mere twenty yards ahead of him and he'd have to slow down in order to walk out of the woods normally. Raising his arms in victory, the teen announced, "Calling it! I win!"
And yelped shrilly when he was suddenly tackled from behind, thankfully onto his side so he didn't get a load of leaves down his shirts. When he caught his breath again, the teenager started to laugh. Endorphins buzzed through him as he rested on his back, plaid covered shoulder overlapping with leather. He breathlessly muttered, "You are such a sore loser."
Derek huffed, giving up, "You are fast." He staggered up, proving that Stilinski really had given him a run for his money. Sweat colored his grey henley black, and Stiles looked down to realize he'd sweated through his first T-shirt as well. Crap, he'd have to do something before returning to Scott. Not that he really thought the boy would notice considering the incident with his bite scars. But someone more clever, like Argent might. Derek at least helped him back up after throwing him around, and added, "Not as strong as me, but I work for that. And you shifted back when you started laughing."
Amber eyes blinked. "Huh." He shrugged off his jacket and plaid overshirt, explaining to raised, bushy Hale brows, "Can't go back to school all sweaty." Stripping the graphic T and balling it up to use as a rag real quick, he was surprised to find his chest different than his remembered yesterday. Long fingers followed his happy trail up past his belly button in wonder. "Is it just me or are my muscles getting airbrushed? And a little hairier?"
Derek snorted, the twitch of his mouth catching Stiles' eye for the way it almost smiled. With a roll of his eyes, the Beta said, "Did you think you'd get stronger and look exactly the same?"
"No?" Stiles answered, tone still a question which went ignored. He wiped off his skin, goosebumps rising up as the sweat evaporated in the cool air. Dropping the cloth, the boy quickly dressed, buttoning up his white and blue plaid and half zipping his jacket to warm up. As he stuffed half of the dirty shirt into a back pocket, Stilinski looked back up at Derek and felt settled again. Like the moment they'd had before school. He was tempted to thank the born wolf, though the exact words why escaped him.
Hale warned, "Your lunch hour is almost up," making the younger werewolf flail in sudden panic. Stiles cursed and started jogging back to collect his backpack in a hurry.
"Thanks, Derek. See you later!" he called softly, knowing the words would be caught by superior hearing. Stiles hustled into the school, through moderately crowded halls until he reached the cafeteria. His thoughts had still centered around his wolfy mentor, wondering if he'd ever figure out why being with his Pack was better than the awesomeness that was Adderall for his ability to concentrate, until he noticed just where Scott had ended up.
Near the center of the table groupings McCall sat staring adoringly at Allison Argent, surrounded by the Golden Trio with their hangers on. Huffing through his nose, Stiles shook his head and went to the empty food line. The staff had already begun clean up, so he served himself some fries and fried chicken, snatching a half bottle of water as an afterthought. Shoring up his self-esteem, Stiles dropped his tray at the end of the table with a clatter. He ignored the stares from the popular kids as he dragged a spare chair over to sit with Scott on his left and some lacrosse jock's girl on his right.
"Hey Scott," he greeted, and then rolled his eyes at the lackluster response. McCall barely smiled at him before turning back to his hunter girlfriend with a concerned look. The rest of the table went back to ignoring him. Business as usual. At least they didn't bother to bully him. He's not sure that was better actually, but right now matching hostilities wouldn't be a good idea for him anyway. The werewolf focused on stuffing his face, knowing he had very little time left to eat before the next class.
"How do you know we're not actual competition?" Argent interjected, leaning forward to speak to Jackson around Lydia. She glanced back at Scott, "You can bowl, right?"
The curly-haired teen stammered, "S-sort of."
Jackson sneered back, "Is it sort of, or yes?"
Scott's temper was tapped; his best friend could tell even without the hint of acrid anger wafting off of him. The new first line athlete leaned forward, "Yes. In fact, I'm a great bowler."
The teen wolf watched agape with fascination. What a trainwreck! No one had a chance to dispute it though, as the bell rang and prompted everyone to leave their seats. The table emptied even while Scott smiled nervously back at Allison and stayed with Stiles, who was gulping down the water.
Once the popular crowd was a sufficient distance, Stiles commented dryly, "You're a terrible bowler."
"I know!" cried the Hispanic teen, dropping his head into his hands in distress. "I'm such an idiot."
"What the heck was that about anyway?" the officer's son asked, curious since he hadn't tried to listen in across the room with all the other students' conversations going on. Maybe one day he'd be able to figure that out. Maybe Derek would teach him.
Scott sighed, "It was awful. First Lydia asked where Allison and I were going to hang out-"
"Hang out?" Stiles emphasized with sympathetic misery. His friend nodded sadly. "You don't hang out with hot girls, Scotty. Next thing you know, you'll be her gay best friend. You and Danny can start hanging out."
Ignoring that last part, the lacrosse player continued in anguish, "I ask Allison out on a date and then we're hanging out. I make first line, and the captain is out to get me. And now we're going bowling." He gave a pathetic human growl of frustration. In jerky movements, the kid snagged his bag and tray, letting his best friend trip to follow after him.
Stiles consoled him on the way to the math hall, patting him on the back as they split ways. Scott was stuck in Algebra II while Stilinski was rewarded for his genius by slogging through AP Calculus. Mrs. Martin noticed him as he came in, giving him a motherly concerned expression in silence. And though she was a parent and a teacher, at least she was sensitive to not embarrassing her daughter and so other students reaped the benefits.
The pretty blond lady started the lesson as usual, using the chalkboard for example problems with the latest equation. Stiles managed to keep up, shifting between the class work and the assigned homework written up on the far corner of the board. His long time crush sat near the front despite her relationship to the teacher, and eventually her chemically fashioned perfume permeated the room to him, making his nose itch. He absently tapped his pencil, distracted by the thought of whether his love for her cold, beautiful brilliance would survive his lycanthropy. She couldn't wear that shit all the time, right? Not that she'd even bother to throw water at him if he was on fire. Based on her reaction to his attack and the cafeteria where she didn't even stare at him in annoyance like Jackson had, she'd probably just walk right by. At least Jackson would probably stomp on him in a so-called attempt to smother the flames.
Mrs. Martin began explaining a new subset of rules that Stiles diligently wrote down in his math notes, mind turning away from her daughter. He wondered if Natalie Martin would change her last name when the divorce was finalized. She was still going by Missus despite the separation so he wasn't sure. Though it probably said something about Mr. Martin that one of the first things she did with the dissolution of her marriage was go back to work. It wasn't like she needed the money, having had her own family money before wedding her wealth to the Martin clan's.
The hour went by quickly, much to Stiles' dismay. Not that he particularly enjoyed Calculus, but his last class of the day was a real pain. Having finished his life science credits in his first two years and wanting to avoid further math in Physics, Stiles had signed up for Chemistry before hearing about the sheer awfulness that was Adrian Harris.
At least he had Scott as his lab partner most days. When the chemist wasn't forcibly separating them because he thought Stilinski was particularly irritating. But just before he could skulk into the labs, his phone went off with his father's ringtone. Confused and instantly worried, since his dad never called him during school hours, the teen wolf stepped aside to a fountain nook away from the crush of student bodies.
"Dad?" he greeted cautiously.
"Stiles. I caught you before your last class, right?"
The shapeshifter turned his back to the stone walls, scanning the crowd just in time to watch Scott and Allison flirt on their way into Harris' class. "Yeah, and if you have an excuse to get me away from Harris I'll even make you spaghetti with meatballs tonight."
The Sheriff laughed softly and sarcastically asked, "Oh really? And would those meatballs be turkey instead of beef or pork?"
Stiles scoffed with offense, "Hey, you wouldn't notice. They taste just the same in spaghetti sauce."
"I'd notice," his father deadpanned. With a sigh, he continued, "But have you seen or heard from Derek today?"
What essentially boiled down to a frolic in the woods raced through his mind and Stiles inexplicably blushed without quite knowing why. He didn't think he had any shame left to care about being seen as foolish. "Uh, yeah. You could say that. Why?"
"He's still not answering the phone. And this time we'll need more than his statement."
The wolf's heart started to pound, "What?"
"The morgue is ready to release Laura Hale."
Stiles felt his pulse in his ears, throbbing with his sudden influx of grief and sympathy. "Shit… Ah," he glanced up at the ceiling, remembering that the late bell would ring shortly. "I'll take him to the station after school."
"You think he'll answer your call?" his dad asked skeptically.
The teen wolf crossed the empty hall to hover before the still open door, in Harris' line of sight if he bothered to look up, for the chance he wouldn't be called tardy if he was technically in the classroom. "He doesn't need to. He's at the school." Stiles caught the teacher's eye, and in answer to the sneer of anger, continued, "So we'll see you at the station, Dad." And was amused when adult turned away in seemingly impotent rage. The shrill bell sounded the beginning of class, something his father clearly heard over the phone.
"Right. Alright, try not to annoy Harris anymore than you already have. Kay, kid?"
A small smile quirked his lips even with their previous conversation. Stiles signed off, "No promises. Later, Dad."
With his father's goodbye, he quickly slipped his phone into a pocket and headed for the last remaining empty lab space. It was by a window which didn't indicate good things for his ability to concentrate. At least it was only a row behind Scott, even if it was behind Allison as well. Partnered up with Isaac for the day, Stiles removed his Chemistry text and papers, glad that the lesson on the board didn't seem to signify an experiment.
Isaac was probably worse in Chem than Scott was, and Stiles always needed to remain alert on lab days in order to keep up his grade. Still, book lessons were harder to stay focused on when he couldn't do much with his hands. His feet tapped while he solved the equation on the board, half-listening to the lecture with the highlighted segments of the chapter already in front of him.
Yet he still found a moment's thought for Derek again. And how he apparently couldn't even take a call from the Sheriff while stalking his son from the woods. Stiles sighed, tapping his pencil rapidly until the tip broke on him. He growled softly, inadvertently catching Isaac's attention, and bent down to retrieve a pen. Not that he blamed the other wolf. He certainly hadn't been eager to give a statement about his sister.
Glancing between his best friend and the hunter, watching them steal moments of cuteness in class, made the teen wolf grind his teeth. How could an Argent seem so innocent? Was it just her youth making her seem so, or did she not know anything about the supernatural? He switched trains of thought back to Derek and as if by instinct lifted his head to window.
Across from him, right outside the treeline, stood Derek Hale like the looming predator he was. After a short startle and curious hum, the new lycan muttered, "Dude. You look like a creeper. Pedo-wolf much."
Far away he saw the man's mouth move and focused hard enough to catch, "Don't call me dude," just before Derek stepped back into the shadows. A glow of bright blue irises were Stiles' only evidence that the man was still watching out for him. The teenager smiled and turned back to the front. He'd leave worrying about what they were doing after school, after school.