A/N: THIS IS LATE I KNOW I AM SORRY! As Marla Singer says in that movie the rules say we can't talk about (I have no idea about the book, I read it once and honestly can't remember most of it, just that I ended up confused, enlightened, and depressed all at once at the end), "here comes an avalanche of bullshit!"

Sterek Big Bang fic wound up being longer than I originally thought. What I figured would be an 80K max fic ended up at nearly 200K and I'm literally still adding to it with edits and such. In fact, should probably finish that right now...Whatever, I did this. So yeah, this update was supposed to happen in August, I know, I'm sorry, but HI THAT FIC IS NEARLY TWO-HUNDRED THOUSAND WORDS CUT ME SOME SLACK.

Sorry for yelling. Sorry.

Don't know about next update. Because now I have Christmas gifts to make, another Big Bang to work on that's due end of February, and like I said, I'm still not quite done with Sterek Big Bang. It's got another 3K or so to go. Sigh. But this will get updated if/when I have time. Hopefully. Maybe. Shrugs.

Dunkin' Donuts and Wal-Mart are owned by their owners. Don't sue. This twenty dollar bill is literally all the money I have.

Oh! Minor warning for a brief allusion to a character having been bullied sooooo...I know "bullying" is in the warnings, but some folks just flat out don't read those or tags or what have you. But it's written here so don't get pissy with me, okay? And just to clarify something from the last chapter: anytime Derek refers to Isaac, Erica, and Boyd as "the pack", he is acknowledging the fact that the three of them together form a pack unto themselves. He is not seeing them as his own pack. Other than that, enjoy the update!

After his body had finally calmed down and he'd stopped trembling and coming, Derek came to several conclusions.

First of all, sheet sets should be sold in bulk, four sets to a batch, family packs just like everything else seemed to be. He'd invest in about a dozen. Staring at the shreds of fabric littered about him on the mattress, he'd wind up using every damn one.

Second, he was having more sex dreams and waking up covered in more come than he had while going through puberty and popping random knots in his sleep. Always fun.

And third, he was totally gone on Stiles. He could deny it all he wanted to, but he wanted the male. He wanted him in his bed, in his mouth, in his nose. He wanted to breathe in that citrusy sweet scent with every inhale, wanted to taste pale flesh to see if it tasted as good as it smelled, wanted to feel his pounding heart against his own. It was a sexual attraction the likes of which he'd never felt, beyond what he'd had for Kate and he'd had her naked and in his mouth on several occasions, not to mention had been in her mouth, too.

But with Stiles, everything was turned up to another level he didn't think existed. It was all encompassing, a heat that felt like the sun had exploded and had scorched the earth, a need that had him crying out for the other male under his breath as his body shook with the tremors of an extended orgasm brought on by his knot and his overactive imagination. All he could think about was those stupid fucking cliches about needing someone, needing them like air, like burning, like water in the desert and warmth in the winter and all that shit. It went beyond anything Derek had experienced, what he'd thought was possible, and it was driving him and his wolf both insane.

Crawling up the mattress, he slapped his alarm off before collapsing back down on the bed. He should get up, get cleaned up, go for his run, get rid of any pent up energy and aggression so he could make it through the day at his usual low-level of homicidal. But he couldn't move, was overly lethargic with the weight of post-orgasmic bliss and a clawing emptiness tearing at his insides at how lonely the whole thing was.

Stiles' scent may have been in his nose as he'd come, but it wasn't Stiles himself. It was a stale, worn-down version of his scent, hidden beneath layers of must and dead skin and Derek's own scent. His come was painting the inside of his boxer-briefs and leaking onto his sheet, rather than painting mole-dotted skin. His scent had been rubbed into the mattress, rather than a writhing Omega mingling his own scent right back. His knot had been pressed between his torso and the bed, rather than locking him inside Stiles, keeping them tied together as he trembled and ached and vibrated.

Derek flopped onto his back, starfishing over his mattress, smearing a hand over his face as he stared up at the beam running lengthwise down the roof. What the hell was it about this kid—and he was a kid, both in human laws and within werewolf biology—that had gotten him so riled up? He was scrawny, loud, obnoxious. He talked with his hands too much, rambled more than actually said anything, flailed about and potentially took down innocent bystanders in the process. Derek didn't know jack about him, other than he liked first-person shooter games, listened to blink-182—a fact he was only made aware of due to Scott repeatedly telling him over the years about how he'd met this cool kid named Stiles in a forum for the band—and played lacrosse.

Oh, and that he'd lost his mom. But Erica had lost both parents and Derek didn't feel a millionth of an attraction towards her as he did for Stiles, and it had nothing to do with her already being spoken for. Physically, she was a lot like Kate, with big blonde hair and big boobs and a love of tight jeans and leather jackets. Both fit the blonde bombshell stereotype and clearly enjoyed flaunting it, taunting those around them with what they couldn't have and adding to younger males' spank bank material.

But all Derek could think of, was how Erica wasn't Stiles, how Kate wasn't Stiles, how Stiles was neither of them and how the Alpha wanted him more than anything for some inexplicable reason.

Okay, maybe not totally inexplicable. The thought had popped in his head on several occasions, how biologically, they were perfectly suited for each other. They were designed to be attractive to one another, for an Alpha like Derek to seek out an Omega, and an Omega like Stiles to seek out an Alpha. It only made sense that Derek be driven crazy by his scent and be plagued by persistent—and unfortunately incredibly realistic—dreams about mating with the kid. It was all his instincts telling him that he wanted to get in that and claim and mate and breed—despite male Omegas not being capable of even breeding, but still, their scent screamed fertile and breedable and that's all his wolf cared about. It wasn't Stiles himself; it was a note in his scent speaking to a possibility of appealing to an Alpha's need to procreate and carry on the bloodline. It was the fact that his scent was his own, not covered or blended with another Alpha's who had claimed him and Derek's own Alpha nature was responding to it by wanting to take what was available.

Certainly explained why he'd gotten so pissed at that other Alpha's scent being on Stiles. Derek's wolf wanted to claim that scent and didn't like someone else encroaching on what it believed belonged to it.

Didn't explain the overwhelming feeling of mine Derek got whenever he got a whiff of Stiles, but that could've been chalked up to hormones and territorialism once again. His entire world had been thrown upside down and he'd lost his pack Alpha and Anchor so yeah, he was gonna go a little crazy and possessive with what he felt was his.

But Stiles wasn't his. And honestly, it was better off that way. If the kid knew what was good for him, he'd stay the fuck away from Derek and be claimed by that other Alpha, the tropical Armani scented one.

A sharp pain twinged inside his chest, a fist wrapping around his heart and squeezing so hard he could barely breathe. He curled up in a ball, eyes clenched shut tight, forcing himself to inhale then exhale, to get his lungs back on track. He knew he didn't wanna lose anyone else, that the thought of it scared the everloving shit out of him. It had hurt back enough with his dad and he had a feeling it would be worse with each additional person that was ripped away from him. He wouldn't be able to stand it if he lost Stiles, he just knew it. And pushing him away by being an asshole was the best way to make sure he never had the kid in the first place.

Yet the anger and hurt that had rolled off the Omega the previous night haunted Derek, made his heart clench even tighter and his wolf whimper and howl in agony. It seemed like pushing Stiles away was a plan that was seriously backfiring, causing himself just as much pain as it was creating for the younger man. He seriously wondered if it was worth it, if any of it was worth it: trying to shove Stiles aside, being a dick to Scott, being an ass to his mom, rejecting Erica and her never-ending quest to make him Alpha of their ragtag pack of mongrels. The human part of him knew that forming attachments—or keeping them—was a terrible idea that only lead to depression and a soul-deep ache that seemed like it would never heal; the wolf part seemed like it was getting attached anyway.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

And the more he laid there thinking about it, the more he wondered if maybe the wolf didn't have a point. His dad had raised both him and Scott to always trust their animal-half, to listen to what their wolf was telling them. Animal instincts were basic, primal, didn't get caught up with emotions or logic, just got down to the nitty-gritty and the core of everything. Their wolf was to be trusted more than their head, their heart, their gut, or whatever other random body part that humans claimed to follow when making decisions. And Derek's wolf was currently telling him that it wanted to spend more time around the pack of betas that had latched on to him, that it wanted to grab hold of what was left of his own familial pack and never let go, that it wanted to go back to being social and tactile and friendly and loving.

That it wanted Stiles.

Muttering out nonsense half-words, Derek hauled himself up off the mattress, stalking his way to his drawers. He stripped himself of his undies, cleaned up the tacky half-dried come that was still coating his dick and his thighs, completely half-assing the job before pulling on clean boxer-briefs. He threw on a pair of shorts and a wifebeater, shoved some socks and sneakers on his feet, then took off out the house for his run.

He knew he couldn't actually run away from his thoughts and his problems. But damn, if he wasn't gonna fucking try.

He ran harder than he ever had before, his legs burning, his knees on fire, his muscles like scorched jelly by the time he stopped. He was wobbly in the shower, bracing himself with a hand on the wall as he struggled to stay upright and wash himself off. But the ache and fatigue in his body had proven themselves to be a damn good distraction, mind more focused on the pain and how the hell he was actually gonna drive than anything he'd been thinking about while still in bed.

Dressed for the day in a pair of dark jeans, a black v-neck, and his leather jacket, he left the house before anyone else woke up, making it to Wal-Mart not long after, thankful it was one of those twenty-four hour places. The female cashier gave him a judgmental look for buying half a dozen sheet sets, but the scowl and low growl he gave her put the human in her place. He tossed the bags in the backseat, swinging through a Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru for breakfast before deciding to drag himself to school.

He somehow managed to work himself into a semi-decent mood by the time he parked and climbed out his Camaro, not quite happy but not depressed or pissed off at his own damn wolf anymore. Even the sight of Erica sashaying her way over, blonde curls bouncing against her leather jacket, didn't agitate him the way it usually would and he had a hard time trying to figure out why, a frown forming on his face at it.

"Nice to see you, too, Alpha Man," she greeted sarcastically, saccharine sweet smile on her face as she tilted her head to the side in an inquisitive manner, painted red lips stretched wide.

He rolled his eyes at her, hitching the strap of his backpack further up his shoulder, taking in the way her hands were on her cocked hips, the black strip of fabric he figured was supposed to be a skirt, the shiny pink fabric of that day's corset, her heavily shadowed eyes drifting down and going wide as they caught side of the paper cup he still held in his hand.

She gasped indignantly, stomping a foot and surprisingly not snapping the skinny heel of her boot. "You went to Dunkin' Donuts and didn't get me anything? Seriously?"

Derek snorted at her objection, head rocking with the action. "Didn't realize I wasn't allowed to go anywhere without buying you food."

She smacked his chest, lips twisting in a sneer from her displeasure at his words. "Of course you're not. Alphas are providers, are they not?"

His eyes narrowed at that, leather jacket creaking as he folded his arms over his chest, careful of the coffee cup. He'd honestly thought that she'd give up on the Alpha thing, that she'd keep to her word over not bringing it up, that his agreeing to deal with her presence during ride homes would be worth it if she'd let that whole thing go. But apparently he'd been wrong, because she was once again making a reference to it. And during their first conversation of the day.

Fuck, he hated socializing.

She frowned for a brief moment before realization dawned on her and she rolled her own chocolate eyes. "Not that Alpha. The dynamic Alpha," she clarified. "Thought it was, like, in your nature to do that whole hunt and gather thing." She waved a hand around before sweeping it through her hair, almost dismissing the very thing that made Alphas Alphas.

He cocked an eyebrow at her and the flippant way she was describing the very essence of his dynamic, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, we are," he grumbled before dropping his hand and giving her a hard look. "Although it's gone out of style with grocery stores and fast food joints now being a thing and Omegas becoming more independent." He realized what he was saying, a frown forming on his face before it shifted into a sneer and he shook his head. "And it's usually providing for a pack or family or a mate, not some random chick you've been blackmailed into giving rides home from school."

"Not blackmailed, coerced," she corrected, pointing a painted finger at him, smiling proudly. "I don't have anything to blackmail you with. Yet." Her grin grew into something more salacious, eyes sliding to something behind him, tip of her tongue sticking between her teeth. "Then again—" She trailed off and giggled, head cocked to the side again, scent turning amused and devious and there was no good coming from any of that.

His eyebrow quirked up again, head turning to follow her line of sight.

Which was clearly a huge fucking mistake, considering who he soon found.

Standing across the lot was Stiles, surrounded by his usual group of friends, eyes fixed on Derek and Erica. Even from that distance, Derek could see the Omega's jaw working in anger, his leg shaking in agitation, his arms folded as he swiped his fingers under his nose and turned away. Lydia said something he shook his head at before ducking it, focusing on his sneakers, arms wrapping tighter around himself and obscuring the graphic on his white tee, red and blue plaid paired with burgundy jeans.

The redhead's lips twisted in annoyance, head turning to find out what had upset her friend, eyes narrowing when they came across Derek. He glared right back, refusing to be intimidated by a short junior who thought herself queen of the damn high school, his wolf refusing to submit to someone it felt was beneath them, Alpha dynamic of hers or not. Her loose hair flew about as she huffed, rolling her entire head as she turned back to Stiles. She looped their arms together before she headed towards the school, Stiles willingly going, both ignoring their friend's calls as the group stared after them.

"Still wanna try to convince me there's nothing going on between you guys?" Erica asked, smirk evident in her voice.

Derek stared after Stiles before he was lost in the throng of students making their way inside, glancing back at the group of juniors and being hit with a glare from Scott before he turned back to Erica. "There's nothing going on between us," he stated flatly, his wolf whining and grumbling in disagreement. Adjusting his backpack once more, he stepped past her on his way to the front entrance, hearing her exasperated sigh before she moved to his side and walked with him.

"Whatever you say, Alpha Man."

He peeked at her out the corner of his eyes, brow furrowing. Yeah, it was what he said. He just wasn't sure how much he believed it.

Derek managed to get through his first class with zero issues, able to actually focus and learn like he was supposed to. It wasn't until the bell rang to begin second period that shit started going bad again.

Because the desk in front of him was empty and Lydia kept glancing at it with pursed lips and a bobbing foot where her legs were crossed, her worry stinking up the air around them.

Not that Derek felt like he was any better. Okay, so he was able to hide it better than her, a skill his dad had taught him—one of the last things he'd taught his son actually—after he'd turned eighteen and fully matured as a wolf, but there was no fighting the frown on his face as he stared at the unoccupied seat before him.

Part of him wanted to believe that maybe Stiles' schedule had been switched around, that he'd dropped the higher level math class and was now in a different period, but it wouldn't explain Lydia's concern and anxiety over his absence. Surely she'd know if Stiles had switched out.

He could've gone home due to a family emergency or something.

He could've gotten held up talking to a teacher.

He could've been skipping.

Not that he thought the sheriff's kid would skip.

Then again, the biggest troublemakers tended to be the kids of law enforcement agents and priests. And from the stories Scott had told him about Stiles, he seemed like the kind of guy to do stupid shit due to boredom and/or curiosity, morals and laws be damned. It was perfectly logical that he'd skip a class here or there.

A knock sounded on the door, Derek's head snapping to it as he strained his ears to figure out who was on the other side, what was going on. A rabbit fast heartbeat reached him, panting lungs, like someone had run there.

Miss Kali let out a harsh sigh before slamming her chalk down, breaking it into small pieces, dust flying up. "You better have a good reason for being late, Mr Stilinski," she grumbled as she stalked her way to the door, opening it up and staring him down.

"Not really," was his low response, voice raspy, quavering, and Derek frowned at the sound of it, eyes glued to the door and mentally begging Miss Kali to move so he could see the Omega and find out what the hell was going on.

She let out another sigh, this one more annoyed before stepping back and gesturing for him to enter with a sweep of the arm. "Take your seat. And I'll see you after school for detention," she stated harshly, making her way back to the board and picking up a new piece of chalk. "Now, back to what I was saying."

Derek tuned her out, world completely zeroed in on Stiles, watching as the Omega finally stepped into the room and shut the door behind himself. The Alpha inhaled sharply at the sight of him, taking in the bruised right cheek and the split lip, the way he seemed to be favoring that side as his backpack hung off his left shoulder, hand holding onto his ribs. His eyes were trained on the floor as he walked around the edge of the classroom, Derek unable to look away, noting the grimace on his face as he moved.

His fingers curved into fists and he felt the prick of claws on his own palms, gums tingling as his fangs threatened to slide down. Someone had clearly hurt Stiles, the smells of pain and fear and humiliation flooding Derek's nose as the Omega passed him and gingerly lowered himself onto his seat. And the second Derek found out who that someone was...

No.

Stiles wasn't his to avenge, wasn't his to protect. Besides, that sort of shit wasn't allowed at school.

Then again, there was a supposed zero-tolerance policy on bullying and that had all gone to shit, given Stiles' current condition. And Derek could always find them after school, off campus...

What the fuck? He shouldn't be considering this shit, shouldn't be trying to figure out a way to kick the ass of some unknown asshole. Whatever happened didn't involve him or need him to become involved. Stiles wasn't his, wasn't his, wasn't his.

His wolf was snarling in his head so loud it was impossible to think of anything but the sudden bloodlust he was feeling, the overwhelming urge to protect and defend what was his—not his, he mentally reminded himself, not his, not his, not his. But it didn't seem to matter to the animal. It wanted to sink its teeth into whoever had hurt Stiles, wanted to tear flesh and rip someone apart, wanted to take revenge and make sure they never touched Stiles again in any way, shape, or form.

There was a reason why Alphas scent-marked their Omegas, their mates, so that whoever touched them knew who they were fucking with and who would be coming after them.

Not that Stiles had been scent-marked by Derek.

Or was Derek's.

Or any of that shit.

Leaning forward, he inhaled deeply, sorting through all the pain and hurt and anger and upset, getting to that citrusy-sweet core of Stiles' scent, that very smell that made him him. Derek felt himself calm, his claws retracting, his nature calmed by the presence of an Omega, the way they were designed to be.

But that hurt scent came back when Stiles grabbed his things from his bag on the floor, a low grunt of pain leaving him as he straightened back up in his seat, a grimace playing on his lips. Lydia snapped her head to him, but Stiles shook his own back at her, waving his hand in dismissal, acting like all was okay. Derek glared at the female momentarily, although he had to agree with the look of utter disbelief that passed over her face as she turned back to the board, shaking her head and sighing as she went back to her notes.

Without thinking it through, Derek lifted his hand, gingerly pressing it to the back of Stiles' neck, veins automatically turning black as he was hit with a wave of pain. The Omega flinched and he immediately pulled his hand back, not wanting to force himself on the guy—anymore than he already had, he mentally realized, flashes of pinning the younger man against walls and cars coming to mind. Whiskey eyes glanced over a plaid shoulder before Stiles snapped his attention back to the front of the classroom then nodded subtly. He shuffled in his seat, grimacing and grunting as he lowered the back of his plaid, putting his neck more on display.

Derek peeked at Miss Kali, noting how she was completely absorbed in the lesson, although her ears were probably keeping tabs on what was happening behind her. Benefits of being a fully matured wolf, being able to multi-task like that, and he figured it had to come in handy for teachers and parents alike.

Reasoning that he was fairly safe, he reached up once more, cupping his hand on the left side of Stiles' neck, veins going black once again. The Omega inhaled sharply before letting out a long, relieved breath, slumping in his seat as his pain was drained. Derek grimaced as the hurt hit him, wave after wave of it, and he ducked his head as he grit his teeth and screwed his face up. He could feel it in his bones, the throb from bruises and the sting from cuts, pulsing all over him. But he didn't care, it didn't matter. He'd take all of it and more, as long as Stiles was okay, as long as Stiles wasn't hurting.

The scent of shock came from his left, curiosity and a smug sense of being right from his other side and he ignored both, ignored the females who were clearly more engrossed in what he was doing than what they were being taught. All his attention was on the male before him, on making sure he was okay and pain-free.

Eventually the hurt lessened and the black lines on his hand and arm turned gray before disappearing and he knew he needed to pull his hand away, knew his touch was no longer necessary...

But he couldn't.

Because Stiles' skin was soft beneath his palm. Because he could feel the bump of moles beneath his fingers and he wanted to trace them, taste them. Because the Omega was warm and put his wolf at peace and strangely, just having his hand cupping the younger man's neck, it was the the closest thing to happy he'd been since his dad's death.

His thumb flicked the younger man's earlobe before sliding behind his ear, rubbing the soft skin there and making Stiles shiver. His scent turned pleasant, sweeter, stronger, a sharp spice added to it that he'd only scented when he'd had Stiles against the wall, against his car.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Slowly, reluctantly, Derek withdrew his hand, ignoring the way his cock was pulsing in his jeans at the scent of Stiles' arousal and the way his wolf was snarling at him to touch again, to touch more. He cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat, noting out the corner of his eye how Erica was flat-out staring at him with a cocked eyebrow, scent full of "the fuck was that?" that he promptly ignored.

Stiles peeked over his right shoulder, curiosity in his own scent, before his whiskey eyes came across Erica. Almost immediately, his scent shifted to upset, embarrassment, remorse, before settling on anger. His brow pulled in a hard frown, lips a tight line, and he turned to face the front of the room, shaking his head at Lydia once again as she quirked an eyebrow at him. The redhead peeked at Derek, eyes narrowing and lips twisting before she followed her friend's lead and focused on their lesson, her foot wagging up and down in agitation.

Fuck.

Derek had fucked up. Again. He thought he was doing good, thought he was helping out, thought he was doing the right thing, but instead he made shit worse. He was sending mixed signals to Stiles and pissing him off. He was clearly also pissing Lydia off, too—not that he gave a shit about that. He was giving more fodder for Erica to use to insist he had a thing for the sheriff's kid, more reasons for her to annoy him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Sinking low in his seat, he frowned at his empty notebook, tapping his pen tip against the paper before scratching random lines and circles in the corner. Shit was never gonna get easy for him, especially not when he kept complicating it all through his idiotic actions.

God. Dammit.

Through some miracle, Derek was able to slip out the classroom before Erica, Lydia, or Stiles could corner him and question what the hell had happened. Because he didn't have an answer. He'd acted totally on instincts, without really thinking it through. An Omega was in pain and as an Alpha, he knew it was his job to take care of it, to take care of the Omega, and he'd drained the pain away without fully considering any consequences his actions might have.

He'd still do it again though.

Shakespearean Lit passed without incident—not that he was even mentally present throughout it. His mind was focused on a mole-covered neck and how it felt beneath his hand, the pain he'd pulled from the Omega, trying to find out who'd hurt him and how he could make that person pay.

How that last part was never gonna happen in a million years because Stiles still wasn't his and he kept thinking it, but it never seemed to fully register for him.

How his wolf was pretty fucking pissed that the human part of him kept thinking it.

How his wolf needed to get the fuck over it.

How good Stiles' felt under his hand and if the rest of his skin was just as soft.

How that thought needed to stop because he was having enough of those fantasies at night and school was not the place for that shit.

Fuck.

Art was another boring still life and he was honestly sick of fucking fruit. He didn't even fucking like apples in the first place, hated the taste of them, yet he was stuck drawing the damn things once again. Isaac took the easel next to him, but didn't say anything, just kept his focus on his own paper, which Derek was glad for.

It was halfway through when shit got weird again. Which seemed to be a fucking theme that day really. His pencil lead broke off and he made his way to the sharpener over by the door, soon joined by a petite redhead he wasn't entirely sure wasn't Alpha agitation corporalized into five-feet, three-inches of sass and rolling green eyes.

She didn't say anything, just stood to the side, pencil in her own hand and stiletto-ed toe tapping against the floor. He cocked an eyebrow as he peered down at her, stepping back and gesturing to the sharpener, allowing her to go first. But she shook her head, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, scent both aggravated and curious. With a shrug, he stepped back to the device, sliding his pencil in and grabbing hold of the crank, turning it so it could do its job.

"Just so you know," she began, voice low with a rasp he didn't think someone as classically beautiful as her would have. Then again, there was something strangely sexy about women with a voice like that, Kate's coming to his mind. He promptly shoved that thought aside, focusing on the female beside him as she continued. "You hurt him in any way, and I'll inflict ten times as much pain on you."

He turned to her with a confused sneer, hand pausing, taking in the way she was more focused on her cuticles than his reaction. He didn't need to ask who she was referring to, knowing there was only one "him" that they had in common, one "him" they both knew. His features softened, becoming more of a serious expression as he kept his eyes on her, despite the fact that she wasn't looking back at him.

"I barely touched him," he pointed out, keeping his own voice low, away from prying ears. "And in case it failed to escape your notice, I was actually taking his pain away, not causing any."

Her lips pursed as she folded her arms, eyes finally lifting to pin him with a hard look. "There's more than one kind of pain that can be inflicted upon someone. I figured you of all people would know that." She quirked an eyebrow at him that said he knew exactly what she was referring to and he better not play fucking stupid.

And given the way his wolf howled and his chest clenched tightly, he did know.

He licked his lips as he turned away from her, scowling at the sharpener, hand still paused where it was gripping the crank. "Stiles has nothing to worry about. At least not when it comes to me."

It was the truth, completely and totally. Derek would rather claw his own face off, tear his own throat out, flay his own skin, and rip out his own organs than ever hurt Stiles.

And wasn't that a fucking revelation?

And one he shouldn't be having in the middle of school in a fucking art room.

And one that completely went against his every thought that he'd had since the night he'd met Stiles when it had strangely become his mission to piss the guy off and hurt him to the point where the Omega would never want anything to do with him and he wasn't at risk of attachment on either end.

Shit, fuck, shit again. It was those fucking thoughts from that morning all over again, how he'd finally admitted—at least to himself—that he wanted Stiles. But wanting Stiles and actually having Stiles were two totally different things and while he was slowly coming to grips with the first, he wasn't about to give in to the second. Stiles was never gonna be his. Because while Derek wanted him, he didn't want to be with him.

Lydia let out a thoughtful hum, dimpled smile forming on her face. "Well," she started, haughty tone in her voice. "It's kind of late for that, isn't it?" With a saccharine smile on her face, she turned away and clicked her way back to her spot. Allison stared at her with wide eyes, mouthing her question over what the hell that was, Lydia shaking her head at it before holding her pencil up to her paper.

The pencil she hadn't sharpened.

She'd come over solely because Derek was alone and she saw it as her opportunity to threaten him.

Sneaky bitch.

A small huff of amusement left him, lips curving up at the corner as he fought off how impressed he was with her move, turning to the sharpener and using it for its intended purpose, for what he'd actually wanted to do when he'd gotten off his stool.

He thought of what had occurred to him while talking to her, wanting Stiles but not a relationship, thinking it made as much sense as anything had since he'd been forced to move to Beacon Hills. His wolf didn't seem too thrilled with that idea, but it could get the fuck over it for all Derek cared. For the human-half of him, it was a good mental compromise and he felt something settle inside him at it.

Until he thought about how he still wanted to engage in more explicit activities with Stiles and how that was never gonna happen due to the fact that he was underage and the sheriff's son.

He was never gonna win when it came to that fucking Omega.

He should've expected it and Derek kinda hated himself for having not seen it coming. Sitting down at his usual table in the cafeteria, his apple was swiped from his tray by a hand full of painted red nails, his green eyes trailing up a leather clad arm to find a smirking Erica standing across the table from him.

"You can at least ask," he grumbled, watching as she sank down on the seat across from him, Boyd on her right, Isaac taking the chair to Derek's left.

She took a big bite, wiping up a drop of juice from the corner of her lips as she chewed with a smirk. "You gonna eat this?"

He glared at her, unamused, jaw working in annoyance. "No," he stated flatly. "I hate apples."

That had three sets of eyes focusing on him, confused scents coming at him from all angles, Erica cocking an eyebrow at him. "Then why'd you buy one?" she asked the question clearly on the minds of her two packmates, tilting her head to the side.

Derek honestly had no answer for that. He was barely even aware of grabbing the damn thing when he was in the lunch line, wasn't paying attention to the extra cost of his meal. He figured it was his wolf acting without his permission again, or that his head wasn't quite screwed on right that day, his mind all kinds of fucked up. Waking up early after another wet dream, Stiles' anger before school, draining his pain, the Omega being pissed again after that, Lydia threatening him during art, his random revelations throughout the day. Today had been rough on Derek's mental status.

And it wasn't even halfway over yet.

Shit.

He shrugged a shoulder, leather jacket creaking, excuse coming to mind and smirk turning up the corner of his lips. "I figured you'd steal it from me and then my fries would be safe from you," he quipped, Boyd covering up his own smirk with his sandwich, Isaac ducking his head to hide a similar expression.

Erica snorted, brown eyes rolling. "Oh, like that'd stop me," she pointed out before reaching across the table.

But Derek was faster, pulling his tray away out of her reach with a victorious grin. She rose up out of her seat, stretching her arm as far as it could go, but he simply turned away from her, holding his tray even further away. "Not fucking happening," he remarked, chuckling as she pouted and sat down with a huff.

"Asshole," she grumbled, biting into her stolen apple with more force than necessary.

"So I keep telling you, but you don't listen," he stated, putting his tray back down in front of him and picking up the burger he actually remembered picking out. She stuck her tongue out at him and he returned the gesture, flashing back to playful fights with Scott when they were younger.

Only Scott never flipped him off with a sugar-sweet smile like Erica was at that moment.

Not until they were older anyway.

The gesture wasn't exactly friendly in recent times though, but whatever.

He rolled his eyes, Erica swiping a few fries from his plate while he was distracted and he smacked her hand for it, her smirk growing in response as she shoved them in her mouth.

"If I was a less secure man," Boyd drawled, dark eyes looking back and forth between the two of them. "I'd seriously think the two of you were flirting."

Isaac snickered and Erica rolled her eyes while Derek snorted, shaking his head.

"Fuck no," he declared, grabbing some of his fries for himself, slapping Erica's hand as she reached across the table again, pointing at her in warning. "I'm done with blonde bombshells who steal my shit."

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and blew him kisses, giggling when he made a gagging noise. "Besides," she began, devilish smirk reappearing on her face. "He's hard up for the sheriff's kid."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Erica," he grumbled as he buried his face in his hands, ignoring the scents of shock hitting him from the two other males at the table.

"You're not denying it," she sing-songed, managing to swipe more of his fries and he gave up protecting them, sliding his tray halfway across the table. "Bribe me all you want, Alpha Man, but you know I'm right."

He was gonna kill her. He could do it, too. He'd seen enough Law and Order. He'd seen Snatch. He just needed to find a pig farm to feed her remains to. There'd be nothing left and he'd never have to deal with her stealing his food or bringing up his feelings for Stiles or bugging him to be pack Alpha—not that she was guilty of that one recently, but it was only a matter of time.

"Wait, seriously?" Isaac spoke up, scooting forward in his seat as he leaned over the table conspiratorially, his scent a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "Stiles? You have a thing for Stiles?"

"Oh my god," Derek groaned, slumping down in his seat and turning his still-covered face skyward, begging to be whisked far, far away from these crazy assholes and their prying into his personal life.

"What's wrong with Stiles?" Erica questioned defensively, leather jacket creaking and Derek imagined her folding her arms under her chest. "He's smart, he's funny, he's cute, in a doe-eyed newborn deer kinda way."

"Walks like a newborn deer," Boyd quipped, Isaac laughing and Erica slapping his arm for it.

"He's a good guy and if Derek likes him, that's good enough for me. For all of us." The heavy emphasis on the last three words meant she was giving the other two boys hard looks that wordlessly told them they'd be going along with everything she was saying, whether they wanted to or not.

Derek once again wondered why the hell they needed an Alpha with her around. She seemed to be doing a damn fine job of it.

"He's a spazz though," Isaac argued petulantly, like Erica was setting him up with Stiles and he just didn't wanna go out with the guy. "He's loud and obnoxious and flails all the time. He can't talk without his hands flying about—" Derek felt air hitting him and he figured Isaac was impersonating Stiles' habit of gesturing wildly as he spoke. "—and he talks all the time, never shuts up, just rambles constantly. And he's kind of an asshole in all honesty."

Derek's hands slammed against the table before he was even aware of them moving, hard eyes focused on the beta next to him. His lip was curled up as a low growl rumbled from his chest, wolf echoing the noise in his head with its hackles raised, and he was vaguely aware of his eyes flashing red.

Which, wow, overreaction.

But no one fucking insulted Stiles like that and got away with it.

What the fuck?

Again?

What the fuck was up with him? Why the hell was he so goddamn protective over this kid all of a sudden? It was like that stupid early morning revelation had opened some stupid fucking floodgate and he was now acting like an overly protective Alpha, constantly leaping to his Omega's defense. It was mate behavior, not the behavior of someone who was barely accepting of any sort of physical attraction or feelings towards another.

Christ.

He cut the growls off as quickly as they'd begun, shooting up to his feet and snatching his backpack from the seat next to him. Without a word, he turned and stalked away from the table, hearing Erica mutter "way to go" to Isaac and the male sputter and stammer in response. He was vaguely aware of eyes on him as he stormed out the cafeteria, slamming his hand on the door to open it and leave, but he ignored all of it. He didn't care. He was fine. He was okay.

He was fucking lying to everyone including himself.

Isaac tried to apologize before the bell rang for Physics but Derek cut him off, refusing to hear any of it and effectively ending any and all attempts at conversation. A pop quiz was given and he bullshitted his way through it, pulling out the summer reading he was behind on to fill the rest of the time. Isaac sat curled in on himself and stunk of remorse and despair so bad throughout the entire class period that once the bell rang, Derek had told him it was okay and that he forgave the beta, even if he wasn't entirely sure how genuine the statement was. It seemed good enough for the curly-haired one though, who smiled in relief and nodded before heading to his next class with lighter footsteps.

American Lit was spent with Derek's nose buried in his text book, refusing to lift his head on the off-chance he'd catch a peek of Stiles or Scott or Allison. Ms Blake seemed to take note of his foul mood—or rather fouler than usual mood—and he wasn't called upon to answer any questions, something he mentally shot her a thanks for.

It wasn't until he was changing out for Phys Ed that he was forced to socialize, surprisingly brought into conversation by Boyd who stopped by his locker as Derek was stripping his shirt. He looked up at the beta, noting the stoic expression still on his face as always, eyes roaming the broad frame leaning against the row of lockers and taking in the fact that he was already dressed in his usual burgundy mesh shorts and gray tee that he used for class. And in his hand, between his index and middle fingers, was a folded up piece of paper, one Derek was obviously meant to grab.

The Alpha cocked an eyebrow as he eyed the paper skeptically, turning bodily to the other man and folding his arms over his bare chest. "If this is about Stiles—"

"I couldn't give two shits about Stiles," Boyd interrupted, unamused expression on his face. "Unlike my better half, who someone is or isn't into is not something I actually care about. Fuck him, don't fuck him, that's your deal."

Both his eyebrows raised at that and he was reminded of why Boyd was his favorite out the three betas who continued to hang around him uninvited. "So what is it about then?" he questioned, nodding his head to the paper.

"Saturday," he explained in that same flat tone, watching as Derek finally took the paper then folding his arms over his chest. "Erica told me you were looking for a place to shift and knowing you, you wanna do it as far away from other wolves as possible."

Derek snorted at that, muttering out a "no shit" as he unfolded the paper and looked it over. It was directions, starting from the McHale-Delgado house to the Preserve, only they didn't match the ones he'd found online, seeming to be longer.

"I get it," Boyd stated honestly, gesturing to himself. "I'm not a fan either, which is why I found a more secluded spot that other wolves tend to stay away from. I figured you'd wanna use it, too."

He opened his mouth to say thanks, only to snap it shut with a click, brow furrowing. This seemed oddly like a trap, like another ploy in getting him to be their Alpha. The last thing he wanted was to wake up on Sunday, aching and sluggish from the shift and running around all night, to be told that now that he'd spent a shift with another wolf, he had to be their Alpha because he was practically pack after all that.

Sensing his hesitation, Boyd pushed away from the lockers and held both hands up in innocence. "It's not a trap and it doesn't mean anything pack-wise. You're a cool dude and I'm fine being friends. Erica's the one obsessed with the Alpha thing."

Derek slowly nodded, folding the paper back up and slipping it in a pocket of his backpack. "Why is that?" he asked, too curious to stop the question from slipping past his lips but not regretting it.

A sigh was the beta's initial response, arms folding in a more defensive manner than anything, peering around the room before focusing on the other man. "She told you about her parents, right? The accident?" he inquired, Derek nodding as he slipped his gym shirt over his head. "Well, it's partially that, the whole having someone to watch over you and take care of you, protect and provide, that sorta shit."

"That why she's always stealing my food?" he deadpanned, lowering himself down onto a bench in order to slip his feet into his sneakers.

Boyd joined him, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. "Nah. That's another thing entirely. This is more from not having a guardian-like figure in her life. Her and Isaac both."

Derek looked over at him at that, eyebrow quirked. He'd gotten the sense that something was off with the other beta, remembering how subdued he seemed at times, how skittish, the OCD-like way he arranged and rearranged items on the table of the diner the night before. He remembered the godawful stench of regret and remorse and how he spent the entire class period shrunk into himself over a perceived slight against the Alpha. What the fuck was happening to the guy?

"What's up with Isaac?" he asked lowly, knowing it was a delicate subject, his mind running wild with a million ideas, none of which were good.

Anger was a sharp spice in Boyd's scent, his hands clenching into fists, muscle in his jaw ticking as he ground his teeth. "That's for him to tell you, if he wants, but let's just say his dad isn't a good guy."

Shit. That had been half of Derek's negative theories.

"Look, I'm not advocating on Erica's behalf or backing her up or any shit like that," Boyd began, scent shifting to something more neutral, more serious. "Her intentions are good, even if she's going about it the wrong way, and her heart's in the right place. But that's not why I gave you directions to that place to shift. I just." He stopped, turning away and staring at the closed locker in front of him.

Derek sat completely still, barely breathing. It was the most he'd ever heard Boyd say at one time, more than he'd heard him say put together. And clearly it was some important shit, otherwise he wouldn't be wasting the words. So the Alpha kept quiet, waited him out, sneaker-clad feet flat on the floor and his own hands clasped, bent over his knees.

"I get what it's like to wanna get away from people and wolves and feel pack-less," he went on, still not looking at the other man, bobbing his head in concession before continuing. "Maybe not to the degree you're feeling it, but I do get it. And as much as you try to act it, I don't think you're as big a dick as you want people to think you are." At that, he turned his head and gave Derek a pointed look.

The Alpha looked away, his turn to stare at the lockers, his one still open. He rose up to his full height, closing it over and locking it up, leaving the dial on zero and staring down at the combo lock he kept in his grip. He thought of the directions, of Boyd's understanding, of the beta's stance on staying out of things and keeping to his own business. And he realized he appreciated the guy more than he originally thought.

"Thanks," he muttered, hearing Boyd stand up, cotton shifting as he shrugged.

"Erica's got a good feeling about you, and she's yet to steer me wrong," he stated noncommittally. "And to be honest, I got a good feeling about you, too." He slapped the Alpha's shoulder once in a friendly manner before walking away, leaving Derek to his thoughts.

He honestly didn't think he was a good guy, not anymore. But maybe he was changing, just like he'd changed after his dad's death. Sure, he was never gonna be completely the way he was, that was just fucking impossible. One couldn't suffer a loss as huge as that and come out the other side totally unchanged and still one-hundred percent themselves. Yet it was possible for him to be mostly the guy he'd been before, the guy with friends and a social life, the guy who his brother liked being around and his mom was proud of, the guy who was a pretty decent boyfriend and loved being in a relationship, loved all the shit that came with it, all the shit that went beyond just fucking.

Maybe he could be that guy again.

Maybe he was becoming that guy again.

He swallowed hard as he released his hold on his lock, smearing his hand over his face. Maybe he was and maybe it was Erica forcing him out his shell with her pack bullshit. Maybe it was Stiles and fucking everything about him. Maybe it was Beacon Hills and the stupid fucking California sunshine bullshit.

Maybe he was never the giant asshole he thought he was. Maybe it was a charade, had been a charade the whole time, an image he put up as a defense mechanism so he could never get hurt or lose someone ever again.

Maybe he was clutching at straws.

Maybe he was full of shit.

Maybe...

Fuck maybes. Maybes were giving him a headache and not letting him sleep at night. Maybes were distracting him during class and putting thoughts in his head that he didn't want to be there. Maybes were...maybes were maybes, not definites, and there was no use dwelling on any of that shit.

With a sigh, he turned away from his locker, hoping like hell Finstock was gonna make them run again. Running from his problems and thoughts still wasn't a thing he could do, just like it hadn't been earlier that day. But just like earlier, he was gonna try his damnedest to do just that.