Starting Chapter 3 with only one review :( Although, I've gotten a crapload of views so people are interested enough to keep looking at it... So I'll push a little further. Blatant pandering! Also FYI there's no beta on this and I usually write at 4am, soooo my bad if I miss things.

Croatoan

Chapter 3: Around the Campfire

The night was winding down, they'd been out in the backyard for hours; gathered around the firepit, hanging out on the logs encircling it and relaxing together, which was a bit of a foreign activity for them. Eventually the fire began to die out and Stiles drunkenly volunteered to rebuild it, almost falling headfirst into the flames; Derek snatching him back by a flailing arm, pushing him back onto his log with a snarl. Allison and Kira volunteered to add more wood to the pit instead, doing their best to be friendly to each other and visibly panicking Scott by doing so.

At some point Lydia had turned on her phone and put music on, bobbing her head along and ignoring her friends as they indulged in juvenile antics like making s'mores and sword fighting with sticks. She busied herself with mixing drinks and keeping everyone supplied with ice and booze, ever the hostess no matter where she was. She eventually abandoned her post as barkeep after her fifth mixed drink, loudly proclaiming to Jackson she needed to try out the hot-tub, dragging him off into the house to change into their bathing suits.

Even with prior warning Stiles was unprepared for Lydia's barefoot return, his mouth dropping open as he caught a glimpse of her around Isaac's lanky torso. She was in a classic looking pale pink one-piece, the cut high on her hips, a twist of fabric between her breasts enhancing her already considerable bust. Her arms were around two fluffy white towels she tossed at the edge of the hot-tub, dimples appearing in her cheeks as she smiled brilliantly over her shoulder at Jackson.

Isaac nudged him to catch his attention before Jackson noticed but it went unheeded, he continued to gape at her openly. Derek stepped into his line of sight and crossed his arms, Stiles craned to see around him; he only moved into his way again, clearing his throat sharply. Stiles slumped in defeat and looked back into the fire, nursing the now warm and half-empty bottle of rum in his hand.

He didn't drink often, and now he remembered why - he was surrounded by self-absorbed lovebirds that never realized what a perpetual third, or fifth, or whatever wheel they made him feel like. He tried to concentrate on the music coming from Lydia's phone, abandoned on a lawn chair, doing his best to ignore the sounds of water splashing and her giggling at Jackson. He took another absent-minded pull from the bottle, watching his best friend from across the fire, awkwardly trying to entertain both Allison and Kira.

Scott didn't know shit about being lonely, he always had some puppy-dog romance to completely immerse himself in. Stiles' experience on the other hand, was limited this one time he almost got laid by a girl who was subsequently murdered, and then that one time he got possessed and lost his virginity to a girl who turned out to be Peter Hale's daughter. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly gifted in the romance department; he had even ruined his one shot with Lydia when she kissed him by having a panic attack through it.

He was starting to think that Scott was right and this trip was going to turn into a disaster. It had started off sounding like a fun week in the beginning, before the girls invited themselves along. Suddenly, their whole excursion felt more like a couple's cruise or a honeymoon hotel, he had been promised a pack bonding retreat and he felt isolated and cheated.

This was not the trip he'd signed up for; he felt like enough of an outcast with the gang on a good day in Beacon Hills. He was the only real human in the pack, even Allison had her kickass hunter moves; he simultaneously felt like a liability and a curse, still plagued by crushing guilt after their tangle with the nogitsune. He'd almost gotten all of his friends killed by not keeping his shit together and allowing the evil spirit to possess him, that wasn't something easy to shake off.

He ached to relax, distract himself with a meaningless fling, or even throw himself into a mindless, meaningless rivalry like the rest of the pack but he couldn't. His mind was always in hyperdrive, too focused on finding the next threat, the next clue, the next something. To somehow prove himself worthy in his circle or superheros.

He snorted with a wry smirk, shaking his head at the thought as he took another swig from the bottle, almost missing his mouth. He'd always whined about being Robin to Scott's Batman, but the truth was, even Robin had an awesome utility belt. Stiles had a broken jeep and an adderall addiction.

He was becoming rapidly more irritable as the night wore on, his mood not improved by Lydia's flirtatious squeals in the background. Scott, as usual, was oblivious to his plight, too preoccupied trying to balance pursuing Kira and retaining his close relationship with Allison. Actually he wasn't sure what the deal was with Allison, that's just what he was hoping for the sake of peace. Honestly, Stiles wasn't sure what was going through his head these days or what he was really aiming for, but then again Scott himself barely ever knows why he does the things that he does.

At least Isaac was doing him a solid and keeping him company; sharing both his log and bottle, even if he did keep making doe eyes at Allison over the fire. She shot him occasional dimpled grins and fluttered her thick eyelashes at him, but otherwise kept her attention trained on Scott, trapped in a lawn chair between her and Kira. Stiles felt a small pang of guilt, he wondered if he was somehow inadvertently tipping the scales between the two betas.

He looked over to see Scott's eyes meet Isaac's over the fire and felt him tense up next to him, the two werewolves exchanged easy smiles; Isaac snatched the bottle from Stiles as soon as he broke eye contact. Stiles leaned forward to cup his chin in his hand, elbow digging into his knee, which he was sure he would've found painful if he could feel feelings anymore.

"You guys got one hell of a pissing match goin' on, huh?"

Isaac hissed at the bite of the alcohol, baring his teeth briefly, squinting at him. "Right? I thought we were all getting better – you know, I thought he came to terms with everything." his eyes flicked over to Allison, tucking a dark curl behind her ear.

"Did he really flip out on you this morning?" Stiles was leaning on his hand too hard and pulling the skin on the right side of his face upward, muffling his words as he stretched his mouth. Isaac shook his head, looking into the mouth of the bottle.

"Nah. I mean he tossed me out of the room, but that's sort of a normal thing. Plus he was out of it." he furrowed his brow further. "He's been weird since we got out here though. Competitive."

"Huh. Here I was thinkin' Jackson would be the one startin' shit when we got here." he grunted, Isaac took another drink and handed him the bottle. He snatched it and brought it to his lips on instinct, taking another swig of warm rum.

He somehow miscalculated the amount of space in his mouth and overfilled it, spurting the excess at the fire. The flames swelled, igniting the spray of liquor, the fire climbing towards his face; Isaac clapped a hand over his mouth in a panic, tipping them both over with his momentum.

They landed in a tangle of limbs, Isaac's tall frame pinning him on his back, shaking with laughter at his stupidity. Stiles coughed and choked beneath him, doing his best to cover his mouth with his limited mobility, tears leaking from his eyes. The girls shrieked and laughter erupted from around the fire, the loudest coming from the direction of the hot-tub.

"Shuttup," Stiles croaked from the ground, Isaac pushing himself up on his hands and shook his head at him, leaves clinging in his brown curls.

"I have no idea how you've managed to live this long."

His tone was playful but the alcohol burned through his veins and the comment only angered him, despite the fact Isaac had just saved him from burning his face off. He was just a wreck in every aspect of his life. "Me neither," he admitted, noting the distinct slur in his voice with a touch of resentment.

His eyes widening suddenly as Isaac began floating off of him like magic, it took several moments for the fog in his mind to clear enough to process Derek lifting him off by the back of his jacket. Stiles scrambled to his elbows as Derek dropped Isaac on his feet and patted him roughly on the shoulder, pushing him off to the side slightly. His hazel eyes narrowed at Stiles and he leaned forward, reaching forward with a snarl; Stiles screwed his eyes shut and gulped, fully expecting physical violence. He felt Derek snatch the bottle from his hand, which he'd somehow managed to both keep a hold of and keep upright while being tackled; his eyes flew open in outrage.

"Hey-"

"Can you get any stupider." Derek was not amused in the slightest, Stiles blinked up at him and extended his lower lip, blearily reaching out for his stolen booze.

"Depends on if you're nice enough to gimme back that bottle."

"What a great sales pitch. No." Derek snapped, snatching his outstretched arm by the wrist and hauling him up. He pushed the bottle at Isaac's chest and turned back to him. "You're done."

Stiles struggled to find his footing and almost collided into Derek's torso; the wolf grabbed him by the shoulders with an irritated grunt, frowning as he swayed in his hands. Scott had risen from his chair, raising his brow at Derek questioningly; he just shook his head, spinning Stiles in his hands and turning him towards the house.

"Let's go."

Stiles was vaguely aware of being pushed inside while a chorus of his friends bid him good night, the world swimming, his body warm, stomach churning. He was rather baffled as to how his legs were moving fluidly beneath him as hands on his back propelled him through the kitchen. He reached out towards the fridge as he passed it, filled with the sudden urge to get something to eat, that would help; but the hands on his back were firm and unyielding so through the dining room he went.

He caught sight of the living room, the soft, inviting couches and lurched forward towards them; nearly choking when he was pulled back by his shirt and redirected towards the stairs.

"Hey-" he whined, looking behind him, eyes going comically wide as he realized Derek was the one pushing him. He turned in his grasp as they reached the staircase, pointing back to the living room. "Hang on, I-"

"Stiles, knock it off." Derek's patience was at his limit, he knew he'd end up babysitting his pack the whole week but he hadn't expected it to start quite so soon. Stiles' gaze was fixated in the other room over his shoulder as he gestured uselessly at it, opening his mouth to continue to argue. "Don't." he snapped, cutting him off, "You almost set yourself on fire twice tonight. Twice. Bed."

"Dude, that's what I'm tryin' to say-"

Derek spun the boy around roughly, finished with his protests, pushing him up the stairs. He stumbled on the steps and fell onto his hands; Derek grabbed his shirt again before his face got annihilated, sure to keep a firm grip on him for the rest of the trip. He faltered at the top of the steps, feet dragging, trying to turn around again.

"Hang on, hang on." Stiles twisted and flailed until he'd managed to face Derek, who had retained his grip on the back of his shirt, the fabric now pulled up over his shoulder and making Stiles hunch forward awkwardly. "Hang on," he pleaded, holding up his hands.

Derek scowled and let go before he pulled his shirt off entirely, Stiles straightened, pulling the fabric back down. "I'm just gonna head back downstairs real quick-" he concentrated on keeping his words from slurring, going to move around Derek to the stairs, stopping short when he stepped in his way.

"No."

"Derek, c'mon," his tilted his head back as he moaned insolently at him, trying to go back the other way. "I'll go to bed, I won' go back outside, seriously. I just want some water, and then I promise I'll just chill in the living room or something-"

Derek's hand on his chest was like a brick wall. "No."

Stiles tried to push past him uselessly. "Dude, seriously, c'mon,"

Derek snapped; grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt with a snarl, slamming him up against the wall, he impacted with arms flailing and a graceless thud. "Enough." he growled, eyes flashing dangerously. "You are wasted, you need to go to bed. You almost caught on fire twice."

Stiles' heartrate stuttered and skyrocketed as Derek crowded him against the wall, pinning him with a firm, persistent pressure no amount of squirming would free him from. He gulped and glanced up at the wolf's irritated expression, trying to talk sense through his drunken stupor, the sharp green of his hazel eyes piercing through him in frustration. His teeth flashed as he spoke, sharp canines elongating; Stiles' gaze dropped down to his mouth, his own falling open, throat going dry. When Derek didn't speak again, words fell from Stiles' mouth without thinking to fill the space, addressing the vicious-looking fangs inches from his face. "Well hey man, it's touching to know you care so much." he cooed sarcastically, watching as Derek's lips pull tightly around his teeth and dip downwards.

Somewhere deep in his brain, sluggish alarms began to ring as it processed what 'fangs' meant, warning him of imminent danger through the haze of alcohol. He began to blink rapidly, taking stock of his surroundings. Wall. Derek. Teeth. He was going to get his throat ripped out.

Stiles' eyes began the long trek back up his face to meet Derek's gaze, becoming aware that he had fallen silent, idly wondering what his headstone would look like. Derek scowled down at him, assessing him for another long moment before speaking again, a bit hesitantly. "Where's your room."

It wasn't a request, it wasn't a demand; the suicidal part of Stiles' brain told him if he started whining about the living room again he had at least a 20% chance of winning. Instead he pointed awkwardly over Derek's arm gripping his shirt, blaming the rum for how croaky he sounded. "Second door on the right."

Derek paused again before releasing him as hesitantly as he'd spoken, raising an eyebrow and leading him down the hall. He kept a firm hand on his shoulder to ensure he didn't escape, which was probably a good idea with how fidgety and energetic Stiles felt. He stopped them at the second door on their right as Stiles had instructed, the corner bedroom facing the front of the house. "You sure this is yours?" Derek asked, displeasure audible in his voice even to Stiles as he turned the knob and swung the door open.

Stiles nodded and stumbled in, pointing to his backpack on the floor next to the bed. "Yup. See? S'mine." he nudged it with his foot as he passed to further illustrate his point, moving to the door to the balcony. He opened it and a gust of cool air blew through the room, he glanced back at Derek hovering tensely in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

"You're going out there?" his voice was rough with disapproval, Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn't that much of a walking disaster magnet.

"Yes." he sighed, "I won't fall off. I just want some fresh air. Then I'm gonna pee and then I'll go to bed, don't worry. You can go chaperone everyone else now, I'm fine."

Derek didn't look happy about it, clenching his jaw for a second. "Fine. If you fall off, I'm not helping you. You're sleeping out there." He shut the door behind him and Stiles snorted, turning out the door and walking onto the balcony.

It was a short little walkway, only about three feet wide and five feet across, looking out over the front yard and driveway. It was more open in the front than in the back, with less tree cover the night sky looked massive and endless, clouds dissipating to reveal bright stars. The breeze was brisk and cooled his heated skin, combing through his hair, his skin prickling at the sensation as he closed his eyes. It was so quiet here, so unlike the suburban hills of California; the only sounds in the stillness the chirping of the crickets, the 'whoo' of an owl. The wind whispered through the trees, gently rustling the leaves, branches creaking with movement. The scent of pines and mint wafted by as the wind whipped around him, making his world spin and tumble, whispered to him and tossed at his hair, swept beneath his arms and made him feel light as air. The feeling of wonderful buoyancy washed over him and his stomach dipped, the wind slashed at his skin, thundering in his ear; he was lightheaded and weak, swaying where he stood.

His eyes flew open and his hand shot to the railing; the world suddenly stopping hard and fast and he gripped the rail for dear life to keep from falling, or sliding, or floating away. He blinked hard at the camaro in the front yard and waiting for triple to become single, his lips numb, his skin ghosted in a sheen of sweat. He licked his lips a few times as he waited and the rush of blood in his ears abated, he straightened and tried to stand on his own, wavering slightly. He glanced back up at the yard; a bright moon hung far in the dark sky, stars twinkling beneath the clouds, treetops swaying in the night.

He turned back to his room with a sigh, staggering back in through the doors and leaving them open for fresh air. He headed towards the bathroom; a simple, functioning space adjoined to the room next to his. He shut the doors and relieved himself, almost forgetting which side his room was on before stumbling off to head to bed.

When he entered his room the door was ajar, he walked over to it and poked his head outside, seeing no one in the hall. He shrugged and shut the door again, turning around to see a sealed bottle of water on the bedside table, grinning in relief. He cracked it open and chugged half of it, not realizing he was dying of thirst until he'd seen it. He had barely screwed the cap back on when his strength finally left him and he fell onto the bed, the world spinning lazily beneath him as he shut his eyes. He tried form coherent thoughts and failed, he did somersaults beneath his closed eyelids, his stomach rolling as if he were free-falling; he sank deeper in his mattress as he fell further, falling and falling until he fell asleep.

*End Chapter 3

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