Sorry for the random, inconsistent updates. The reason? I have no idea whatsoever where this story is going. So if you know, it'd be really helpful if you could tell me. Taa.
PS: Hope you enjoy the chapter.
Stiles was halfway home when he realised. He indicated and pulled over to the side of the road. Scott squealed in next to him. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"I've lost my pen," Stiles wailed, frantically searching his pockets.
"Your pen?"
"Yeah, you know, my lucky pen." Stiles checked in the wires of his bike, working with Murphy's law*.
"You have a lucky pen?"
"Yes, Scott," Stiles said grumpily, glaring at him, "I have a lucky pen. And I've lost it! We have our exams soon, too...damn, where did I last have it?" He sat back on the motorbike's seat, mapping out potential whereabouts of the pen in his mind. "I had it at home, then I put it in my pocket. I had it when I left the diner..."
His face turned pale and his eyes widened. "Oh, God. I think it might be at Derek Hale's house."
Scott raised his arms and laughed. "I am not going back there. You're on your own, man!" He laughed again. "Tell you what, I'll meet you at the Chinese."
"Come with me, please. That guy freaks me out."
"I'll pay half." Stiles sighed.
"Fine. At least you'll know where to look for my body once I've been murdered."
Rolling his eyes, Scott turned on his bike. "You won't be murdered. He's not a killer. Just...go and find it. And if you see him, you have a bike, remember."
"So does he."
"You'll be on your bike."
"He could be on his!"
Exasperated, Scott threw up his hands and shoved Stiles' shoulder. "Then don't go and get it!"
"But I need my lucky pen!"
"He'll probably have gone home, anyway."
"Fine." Grumpily, Stiles put the helmet on his head, realised it was back to front, and changed it before it got stuck. "Can you get me duck? And crackers. Don't forget the crackers." Scott nodded, and turned back onto the road. Stiles did the same – but in the opposite direction.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are..." Stiles muttered to himself as he drove through the woods. They were helluva lot creepier at night. He shivered, wishing he had a jacket.
His headlights illuminated something glistening in the dirt, and Stiles pulled over quickly, rushing to the object. However, it turned out to be a discarded lighter; empty and smelly. He dropped it quickly and got back onto the bike.
Ahead, Derek Hale's creepy hangout was just a silhouette. Stiles prayed he wouldn't find the bike outside, and as he rode past it, he let out a breath. The bike was gone. Hopefully, Derek with it.
Stiles stopped and turned off the ignition. He stared at the house. Curiosity bit into him, and he swayed in deliberation for a moment, before decided to hell with it. The bike slowly pulled up beside the smashed windows and broken, fading door.
And there, on the wooden post, was his pen.
It seemed far too good to be true. Stiles swung off the bike, kicking out the stand and leaving it. He still wore his helmet, and left the keys in the ignition. Just in case, you know, he had to make a quick getaway from a scary person who would otherwise remain nameless.
Tiptoeing up to the post, he continued to stare around himself, convinced something bad was about to happen. Then he snatched the silver fountain pen from the wood and scurried back to the bike, jumping on it and not even pulling up the stand before he was off.
When he couldn't see the house any more, he finally stopped and let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Hat straightened and the pen safely in his pocket, Stiles continued on to the Chinese.
He wondered who had put the pen there. Maybe – no – it couldn't be – would Derek have done it? If he had, he must have known how much the pen meant to Stiles. Otherwise, knowing him, he would have stomped it into the ground, then marked the ink on a tree like some crazy ritual.
Maybe Stiles had actually taken a mid-ride nap, and he'd found it on the floor after all.
Yeah. That must be it.
*Look for something in the last place you expect to find it.