A/N: My plan to have this whole thing written by the end of April didn't happen (shocker) due to personal drama but hey! Got this chapter and the next one plus some of fifteen done so...yeah.
Again, no clue when the next update will be coming. I've gotta get started on Sterek Big Bang soon and I've got Teen Wolf Bigbang stuff to finish up by the end of June, plus there's a whole lot more personal drama still happening (including a possible move sometime soon... *shrugging guy emoticon*). If you ever have any questions about when-ish an update may come, my tumblr (username: kitstiles) has a writing progress page that I try to keep updated as much as possible. Also feel free to check out my twitter page (username: charwright5) and watch me rant/cry/yell about my writing and sometimes even post sneak peeks of whatever fic is running my life at the moment.
And can I just say how amused I am at how everyone seems to be split into Team Derek vs Team Stiles in regards to who is the one suffering more and who the bigger dick is? Love it!
Maria didn't apologize.
And neither did Derek.
Melissa brought his dinner to his room, a thick slice of meatloaf that was still partially pink in the middle—just the way the wolves in her family liked it, despite all her comments over salmonella and E. coli—and a salad that would've been big enough for a main course for a human. He gave her a "thanks" and she gave him a small smile in return and an aborted hand move, like she was gonna run her hand through his hair like she used to before everything went to shit. Instead, she turned and headed back down the stairs with a flip-flip-flip, not saying a word.
Derek didn't delude himself into thinking it was an additional punishment or that she was letting him eat alone in the attic for his own enjoyment. If anything, it was for her own peace of mind, so she could eat in a more tranquil environment and without the tension brought about by two combative forces who were too stubborn to back down.
He had to get his hard-headedness from somewhere. Apparently he'd inherited it from his abuela.
He saw Maria the next morning when he came down from breakfast but she studiously ignored him, reading the morning paper and throwing comments on the local news in her daughter's direction. Derek didn't say a damn word to either of them as he set about making his own oatmeal, pissed that she wasn't apologizing for being rude, pissed that Melissa wasn't mad at her for hating her sons' very natures.
The whole thing had him in an even fouler mood than usual and by the time he parked his Camaro in the school lot, he was fuming. Even Erica noticed his toxic energy as she met him outside the main building, flanked by Isaac and Boyd, the latter in a leather jacket that matched her own, the curly-haired one in a black tee with a maroon scarf wrapped around his neck. Derek cocked an eyebrow at it but said nothing, heading past them on his way inside, unsurprised when Erica matched his stride.
"What's got your tail on fire, Alpha Man?" she quipped from his left, adjusting the fallen strap of her messenger bag with one hand, the other entwining with Boyd's.
Derek shook his head, not wanting to talk to her or anyone else about it, only to remember wallowing on his bed the night before, wishing he'd had someone to talk to. He knew it wouldn't change anything, that he'd still have a bigot for an abuela, that he'd still be stuck living with her for another year or so, the he'd still have to listen to her prejudicial comments over his sexuality and/or his very nature as a werewolf. But there was still something cathartic about just ranting, about getting everything off his chest that eased everything, made one feel lighter and elevated one's mood. And that was what he'd wanted the night before, only he didn't have it.
Yet there was someone walking right beside him, offering him that very thing, and he was turning it down. Granted it was being offered with the very likely possibility of an ulterior motive in trying to gain him as Pack Alpha. But when he thought about it, was that really any different than his so-called friends back in New York? His teammates only listened in the hope they could keep the social status of being member of Derek Hale's Inner Circle. Kate only listened in the hope that he'd get over it and get naked. And every single one of them all replied with the generic "that sucks, dude" or "poor baby", sounding completely disingenuous, saying it just because good manners told them to.
Really the only person who'd really listened with genuine interest and concern was Scott, but Derek had completely alienated him with his own uncaring attitude. To ask him to be a sounding board was beyond fucked up and almost cruel in a sense.
Scenting the air, he caught the chemosignals coming off the three Betas surrounding him, catching three unique flavors of concern and curiosity. Erica hadn't asked what was going on in the hope that it would earn them points or with the ulterior motive of "Look at us, Alpha! We give a shit! Be our leader!", but because she was genuinely worried and wanted to know.
The epiphany had him freezing, stopping so abruptly that Erica and Boyd went past him a few paces before realizing what happening and turning back to him, that Isaac ran into his back with a low "oomf!" before stepping around and standing to his right. The trio exchanged curious glances before focusing on him, Erica playing with the zipper on her jacket where it had been fastened right below her boobs, worried she'd said the wrong thing. Isaac began straightening out the tassels on his lightweight scarf, combing out tangles and knots. Boyd just stared in his unwavering way, eyebrows raising minutely in expectation.
Derek glanced around the parking lot, jaw working, taking in the students milling about. Some were in pairs, in groups, a few loners here and there. Some were loitering until the last possible second, refusing to set foot inside until absolutely necessary, some were already heading into the building on their way to lockers or classrooms, wherever.
His eyes landed on a familiar powder blue Jeep and he watched as Stiles literally slid out the driver's side, dressed in khakis, a dark tee, and a red plaid. He slammed the door and tugged on the handle to make sure it had caught as Scott got out the passenger side and did the same, nodding as the Omega's mouth moved and his hands waved about animatedly.
Sounding off to Scott, who was listening to every word intently, serious set to his crooked jaw.
"You guys ever wish you were born to a different family?" he muttered absently, not really expecting a response or any understanding.
So when Isaac let out an "all the time", his brows shot up and his head snapped to him, taking note of the sad lilt of his dishonest smile, the way his blue eyes seemed to droop just slightly, how false his nonchalant shrug was compared to the upset and discomfort in his scent. But his heartbeat remained steady and his pupils didn't dilate, so he was telling the truth.
Not for the first time, Derek wondered what the hell was going on in the Lahey home.
He glanced over at the other members of the Pack, noting Erica's sad expression, the way her brow was pulled down at the corners and her lips were tightly pressed together. Boyd's face reflected hers, chemosignals perfectly matched, and neither one was looking back at him, but focused on Isaac. Whatever was going on with him, they clearly knew about.
Derek felt ridiculous for feeling so sorry for himself, his bullshit more than likely nothing compared to what the curly haired one was going through—assuming his inferences regarding Boyd's comments over his dad being "not a good guy" were right, of course, which he had an overwhelming feeling they were. And then he felt a selfish kind of anger spark somewhere at the thought that he should feel bad for having familial problems when someone else had it so much worse than him. It wasn't his fault Isaac's dad was an asshole, just like it wasn't his fault Maria was a bigot. And while he knew people out there had it worse than him—and potentially even worse than Isaac—itd didn't lessen the bullshit he had to deal with or make it okay.
Suddenly he wasn't in the mood to talk, not wanting to get a bunch of crap about how he was lucky it was only that and not worse, like Isaac or some other nameless, faceless, random hypothetical person. He knew it was true, he just... selfishly, he didn't care.
An he felt like a prick for it. Because being selfish and only caring about himself had alienated his brother and hurt his mom and gotten him in the shit he was currently in. This was only gonna make it worse.
So rather than continue on with his original thought, he just nodded once in Isaac's direction, showing he heard the younger man and he understood, then brushed past all three of them as he resumed his walk into the school.
Three confused scents hit him, the Pack scrambling to catch up, Erica staring up at him with a perplexed furrow to her brow.
"Wait, that was it?" she asked almost indignantly, like she couldn't believe he would throw something like that out there and just leave them hanging.
Which just proved that even after three days, they were still strangers and she didn't know shit about him.
"Yep," he replied flatly, climbing up the steps, still flanked by the Betas.
Erica and Isaac exchanged glances before she let out a louder "what the fuck?", smacking Derek in the chest with the back of her hand and huffing. Isaac seemed to retreat in on himself, shoulders hunching and head lowering, as though he was a turtle that could hide in his shell.
"Is this because of me?" he asked quietly, uncertainly, like he wasn't entirely sure if he was allowed to ask in the first place and what kind of negative repercussions would be headed his way because of it.
Derek shrugged nonchalantly as they reached the top, pausing to let a gaggle of gossiping females pass by. "I just don't feel like talking about it," he replied gruffly, heading on his way once more, the others still surrounding him.
"You felt like talking about it thirty seconds ago," Erica pointed out, still offended he wasn't gonna finish his thought. Sucked for her. "What the hell happened?"
"I changed my mind," he intoned, staring straight ahead. "I'm allowed to do that. Supposed free country and all."
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "True, I guess. It just seemed like you were actually gonna say something that wasn't a denial about this relationship or that feeling, but god forbid you actually open up and say something meaningful to people who are only trying to be your friends."
The scent of her agitation just added to his and he curled his fingers into fists, jaw working as he ground his teeth. He stopped abruptly once again, the rest of them pausing with him this time, and he aimed his narrowed eyes in Erica's direction.
"Fine," he spat out, a snarl in his words as his foul mood grew fouler. "What's going on is that my abuela thinks my sexuality is just me being curious and that I'll grow out of it, that my being a wolf makes me a monster, and my mother enables all this bullshit hatred by not telling her to cut it out."
Erica actually had the decency to look chastened, averting her eyes and tilting her head slightly to the right in supplication. Isaac was making like a turtle again, despite not being at fault for the way Derek spoke with more growls than words. Boyd's eyes were slightly narrowed at the Alpha, not approving of the way he'd spoken to his mate, but not daring to call him on it for numerous reasons Derek refused to think about. Instead, he gave each of them a cursory glance through glaring eyes then continued on his way toward the main entrance of the school.
Until Erica's sudden outburst of "I'm sorry!" stopped him in his tracks and he peered over his shoulder at her, eyebrow cocked.
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, bouncing in place a little in anxiety, grimacing before taking a step forward, only to stop when he held a hand up.
"Just," he began harshly, "don't." He gave them each a final look of warning before turning back and marching to the building, feeling a black cloud forming over his head, bad mood manifesting itself into a raging storm inside his brain that had his nail beds tingling and his wolf grumbling.
He wasn't one for believing in foreshadowing in real life or thinking events were setting up later ones, but he had an overwhelming feeling his day was gonna fucking suck.
He figured his wolf's agitation was a biproduct of his own, the animal's mood feeding off the human's, creating a never-ending cycle of progressively shittier attitudes. But there was something restless about his baser-half, the way his wolf was pacing and practically scratching at the invisible cage Derek kept it behind, the occasional whimpers it let out as though something was wrong somewhere with someone.
He chalked it up to just his shit morning, the fact that he was barely on speaking terms with his family and the fact that that actually meant something to him now, how he'd brushed aside the pack of Betas and unintentionally hurt their feelings, something he was starting to actually care about. Maybe it was lingering guilt over dismissing Stiles the way he had the previous afternoon and...
The thought of the Omega had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and he roughed at it to make them go down. He tilted his head from side to side to crack his neck, rolled his shoulders, twisted this way and that, but there was still an itching under his skin he couldn't get rid of. It wasn't like the tingle leading up to a full moon or the antsy feeling he got before his heat, just a sense of...of wrong. It was the only way he could think to describe it. Just. Wrong.
He exhaled long and low, leg shaking underneath the desk, glancing around the room in an almost paranoid fashion. He practically felt feral, like an animal sensing danger, when there was none to be found within the relative safety of the school. Still, his ears began focusing elsewhere, tuning out Mr Yukimura's lesson on...whatever he was teaching that Derek hadn't even begun paying attention to. He stretched his auditory sense out into the hallway, listening to a group of chattering girls gossiping on their way to the bathroom, someone closing a locker, another person at a drink fountain, a smug asshole teasing "well, what do we have here?" to some unfortunate soul who was about to get shit solely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. His brow furrowed as he concentrated on that, as he tried to figure out what exactly was going on. Because his wolf was snarling, hackles up, and his entire body had gone tense all over like it was jut waiting for—
"Derek?!"
Yukimura's voice seemed louder than ever, like he was screaming right in Derek's ear and the younger man jolted back to focus. A few giggles sounded out from the other students as he stared almost wide-eyed and gaping at the teacher, who was still behind the lectern at the front of the room, gazing right back with raised eyebrows above almond-shaped eyes.
"You okay back there?" the older man questioned, expectant look still on his face, the curious stares of countless students all focused on Derek.
Derek just gaped more, croaking out noises he was sure were supposed to be words but he couldn't think to actually form them. His wolf was yowling in his head, pointing out that he wasn't okay, nothing was okay, everything was very fucking wrong. Yet no real words came out.
He caught the sounds of something slamming against lockers elsewhere in the school and his wolf got louder, his heart pounded faster, and he swallowed back a lump of fear. He had to get out, had to go see what it was, had to, had to, had to...
"Can I go to the bathroom?" he asked in a rush, the only viable excuse he could think of in order to leave the room.
Yukimura stared for a long moment, before putting on a placating smile at the wild look on his student's face. "Sure," he relented in a friendly tone, picking up a lacquered wooden paddle from his desk, "YUKIMURA room 312" painted in maroon and black.
Derek bolted up from his desk and up to the front, grabbing hold of what was essentially a bathroom pass, unable to leave as the teacher kept a firm grip on it.
"Next time," the elder man began lowly, face pulled in a slight grimace, second-hand embarrassment coloring his scent. "Try not to hold it so long."
He flashed an uneasy smile and gave a jerky nod of the head, pretending as though that had been the problem when in reality, everything in him had been screaming that he leave the classroom and go... somewhere. He wasn't entirely sure where or why, but trusted in his wolf, believed that his animal-half knew something he didn't, more attuned to whatever was happening elsewhere.
Yukimura released his grip on the paddle, allowing Derek to leave the classroom, walking briskly down the hall to the right before making a left, letting his instincts guide the way.
Which led him about halfway across the school and to the opposite side, down a deserted hallway that held the locker rooms, both empty due to the gym class that was currently in session elsewhere. The corridor was just as barren, not a soul to be seen, and Derek began doubting himself, his instincts, especially with the way his wolf was losing its shit inside his head, telling him this was it, just a little further, almooooost...
A clanging sounded out, something heavy slamming against lockers, rattling them and the locks they all held, and Derek sprang into action before the noise dissipated. Yanking open the door to the boys' locker room, he was greeted with the usual scents of BO and sweat and cheap soap, though not as strongly given it was only the first period of the day. But it was the fresh chemosignals hanging about in the air that drew his attention, anxiety, fear, hatred, entitlement, and a fresh wave of pain that accompanied a groan that held such a familiar cadence, it made his heart stop.
His entrance went unnoticed, another slam and clang hitting his ears, and he crept along as silently as he could in rubber boots on a freshly waxed floor, slinking down an empty row of lockers in order to get closer to the source of the noise. Part of him felt like it wasn't any of his business, that he should turn and leave without interfering, and he glanced back at the door to calculate how easy it would be to just sprint over and go back to class. But his wolf was whimpering in his head and his skin was strangely tingling and he just knew he couldn't do that, not without at least seeing what was going on.
Okay, yeah, that he could do. He could check out the situation, then leave and find a teacher, tell them what was up, let them deal with it.
Assuming it was even anything bad.
Although judging by the rabbit-fast heartbeat pounding away in Derek's ears and the smug scent of righteousness that came from a steadier thrumming pulse, it was something bad.
He paused halfway down the bank of lockers, wondering what in the fuck he was doing. Derek from a couple days ago wouldn't have given a shit about two randoms in a locker room. Hell, he wouldn't have been focused enough outwardly to even hear them in the first place, not half a school away at least. That took some serious attuning and listening, he would've had to have been actively seeking out the noise or the people making it.
But he hadn't been. He'd been in class spacing out, minding his own business.
And yet, there he was.
Fucking hell.
He smeared a hand down his face, peering over at the door once more, walking away becoming a more tempting idea by the second. He had no business there, no right to get involved. In New York, they were taught not to step in if they'd come across an already happening confrontation, that you never know who was actually in the right, who was assaulting who. You were just as likely to help the bad guy as you were the good and unless you wanted to go to jail for sticking your snout in someone else's business, you were better off just continuing on your way.
Which was exactly what Derek needed to do.
He stepped towards the door to do just that, only to stop at the sound of an arrogant voice taunting someone condescendingly.
"What? No smartass comments now? Where's that asshole wit you're so famous for, Stilinski?"
Oh. Fuck. No.
Derek was moving without his knowledge once more, a snarl leaving his pulled back lips, fangs on display. He rounded the back of lockers, stalked down another row, catching sight of the blond prick Lydia had been giving hell to the day before as his head whipped in Derek's direction. Blue eyes went wide, surprise and a hint of fear heading his way, but the Alpha ignored it, vision zeroing in on where the Beta's left arm led, where his forearm was pressed tight across a slender neck, right hand fisting a gray tee, the two teens dressed out for gym. Stiles was gaping, gasping, clearly finding it hard to pull air in. He peered at Derek out the corner of his eyes, unable to turn his head to fully look at him, the pressure on his throat holding him in place.
Derek almost felt feral with rage, wolf growling in his head, hackles raised and teeth bared, saliva hanging from its snarled lips. The human part of him felt much the same way, letting the animal's emotions and instincts drive his every move as he stormed over. The blond's eyes went wider, fear spiking in his scent, heart pounding louder the closer Derek got but the Alpha didn't care. He simply grabbed the asshole by his neck and ripped him away from the other junior, throwing him to the side so hard that he knocked down several rows of lockers in a domino effect.
With a snarl sent in the Beta's direction, Derek turned his attention to Stiles, features softening, concern overtaking everything. "You okay?" he asked worriedly, eyes frantically scanning him for any sign of damage—aside from the blossoming mark across his neck.
Stiles nodded dumbly, eyes wide and a little dazed, hand absently lifting to touch at his neck. The Alpha's own green orbs narrowed as he focused on it, hackles rising again at the knowledge that someone else had left a mark on his Omega, that someone else had hurt his Omega.
"Why the fuck do you care?" the Beta spat out, groaning as he lifted himself up, metal creaking as he got to his feet. "He's just a stupid pissant Omega."
His wolf growled so loud in his head that Derek couldn't even hear the same sound coming from his own throat. This bastard ass motherfucker had not only assaulted his Omega, but was now belittling and demeaning him, literally adding insult to injury. His vision sharpened as it slipped into his wolf eyes, crimson bleeding into his irises, features changing into his beta shift.
Not a single thought was in his head except the urge to maim, a bloodlust like he'd never experienced before taking over. This Beta asshole had fucked up beyond all reason, had messed with the wrong Omega, and Derek was gonna make sure he paid for it.
He grabbed hold of the blond around his neck, claws digging in and drawing blood without care, then slammed him against the opposite row of lockers in much the same way he imagined the Beta had done to Stiles. He snarled in the asshole's face, tightening his grip and constricting his airway, delighting in the way he was gasping for breath, in the way he was frantically grabbing at Derek's forearm and trying in vain to pull it away, in the way his eyes were flickering to a brighter Beta blue.
"What the fuck was that you said about Omegas?" he demanded to know, slight lisp to his words from his fangs, a snarl to them thanks to the growls he was still emanating.
The blond shook his head as best he could, mouth opening and closing rapidly, trying to speak, trying to draw in air, trying still to remove the hand around his throat.
"Der, someone's coming," Stiles warned, stepping closer, hand reaching out in an aborted move to touch the Alpha, unsure of how welcome it would be, if it was a good idea, if he'd wind up slammed against something once again or have the limb torn off.
Derek wanted to tell him he had nothing to fear from him, that he couldn't physically harm Stiles even if he wanted to, but the words wouldn't come out. All he could focus on was the fuckheaded dick he had a hold of, the stench of fear that was assaulting his nose, the fact that the scent underneath was the very same one that had been on Stiles the day before when he'd shown up to Calc covered in bruises, clearly the victim of bullying.
And Derek had a hold of his bully.
The knowledge of that had his attention snapping back to said bully, lips pulling back over his fangs in a dangerous smirk. It was the vengeance he'd wanted to get the day before, the lesson he'd wanted to teach about picking on Omegas and messing with what was his. And he was getting the chance to.
Out the corner of his eyes, he noted the panicked way Stiles glanced off to the side, hearing something out in the halls, his view obstructed by the row of lockers. And Derek had the distinct feeling he should take heed of the younger man's behavior, that a red flag had popped up in his head at it, but he could barely focus on it long enough to decipher any of it. His attention was held by the blond he had a tight grip on, the way his face was slowly bleeding into a darker shade of red with each passing second. His wolf was snarling in a dark sort of delight as the human part of him gave in to animal instincts, gave in to the anger and hate and frustration and every other fucking negative emotion he'd been bottling up since his dad's death, since his unwanted move to California, since he'd mentally rejected the Omega he was attracted to, since his abuela's bigoted remarks the night before and his mother's lack of response. He let it all take over, take control, spurring on his actions as he pulled the Beta from the locker and slammed him back into them, over and over and over.
"Derek, man, don't kill him," Stiles pleaded, finally gaining the balls needed to lay a hand on the Alpha's forearm, to draw his attention away from the bully-turned-victim. "Jackson's not worth the jail time."
Derek let out a rumbling growl in disagreement. If this asshole was dead, he wouldn't be around to give Stiles hell just for being what he was.
But...
But just because this asshole was out the way and taken care of, didn't mean all of Stiles' problems were solved. There was always gonna be someone who was prejudicial and hateful, who would shove him against lockers or walls or whatever hard surface, just because they felt superior and needed to display it.
Which. From an outsider's point-of-view, Derek was kind of doing the same thing. Shit.
No. No, he wasn't. He was protecting someone else, defending them, sticking up for them, fighting a battle they couldn't fight themselves. There were laws protecting Derek, condoning what he was doing, letting him get away with it. Hell, some folks might even praise him for it, congratulate him on a job well done.
That thought in mind, he threw the Beta to the side, watching him fall on the floor, pushing himself up on his hands as he coughed and wheezed. Derek didn't give him a chance to recover, grabbing hold of his shoulder and flipping him onto his back before straddling his torso and punching him in the face over. And over. And over.
"Jesus fuck, Derek, stop," Stiles pleaded behind him, grabbing hold of his fist with both hands when he pulled back to wail on the blond again, utilizing every ounce of strength to prevent him from landing another blow.
Derek let out a growl, his wolf torn between being pissed that their attack was being foiled and they couldn't avenge their Omega the way it wanted and wanting to do what Stiles asked, holding back, stopping the punches. Peering over his shoulder, he took in the younger man's pleading brown eyes, the worry in his scent, the bruising around his neck already fading.
"Please," Stiles requested lowly, swallowing. "He's not worth it either."
The Alpha felt his angry scowl softening but his beta shift remaining, the curl of his lip disappearing. He slowly lowered his hand, Stiles letting him go, the tension and aggravation leaving his body and causing him to slump.
A wet cough came from below him, soon followed by the door slamming open and angry footsteps matching over. Derek turned forward just in time to see Finstock round the corner, blue eyes wider and wilder than usual, fury a hard line between his eyebrows.
"What in god's name is going on here, McHale?" he demanded to know, spit flying and arms flapping about.
Derek stared down at the prone form beneath him, taking in the bloody nose, the cut lip, the black eye, the groans he let out and the stench of pain he gave off. His face was already swelling, blackening, bruising, and the Alpha felt that same dark delight from earlier come back, a twisted pride puffing up his chest at a job well done in paying the bastard back for what he'd done to Stiles.
He didn't speak, simply smirked in self-satisfaction, not fighting it when he was grabbed by the arm by Finstock and hauled to his feet. He knew he was in the shit, knew he was fucking in for it, but he caught a whiff of pride and gratitude in Stiles' scent and knew it was worth it, no matter the outcome.
Derek's principal back at Queens Alpha-Beta Lycanthropic High had been a man named Brad Royal who always took the time to say hi to him in the hall, ask how he was, and give a little bit of preferential treatment to. He never could tell if the behavior was due to his position as a star athlete who led two different teams in two different sports to state championships, or because he shared a last name with an entire wing of the school—which neither of his parents would confirm or deny any relation to the family who was such a huge donor to the school. But the man was affable, friendly, listened to his students, and not once had Derek found himself in the principal's office under negative circumstances.
Beacon Hills Lycanthropic on the other hand...
Where Royal had been more friendly and buddy-buddy, Deucalion was intimidation personified. His eyes were covered by aviator sunglasses, wrinkles visible on either side and around his mouth, lips pressed into a hard smile that was more worrying than welcoming. His tie was the color of blood, knot loose around his neck, top button of his white dress shirt undone. Sleeves were rolled up to reveal the corded muscles of his forearms, powerful hands clasped on top of the desk, jacket hung over the back of his chair. An air of authority surrounded him, thick in his scent and in his presence, and even Derek felt the urge to bare his neck to the man.
"So," Deucalion began, his English accent that of movie villains and charming bad guys you hated to root for but did. "Who wants to tell me what happened?"
Derek said nothing from his seat on the far right, simply stared straight ahead at Principal of the Year plaques and accolades earned by a job well done. His features had long since shifted back to human, green eyes narrowed and jaw tensed up as he slouched in his seat, arms folded and legs splayed.
Stiles was on his immediate left, slumped in his own seat, but more out of being timid than the aura of "no fucks given" Derek was exuding. His thumbnail was being gnawed to the quick, right leg shaking up and down, anxiety a pungent aroma swirling around him. Then again, his dad was standing directly behind him in full sheriff regalia, arms folded and his own blue eyes narrowed in authority and aggravation, although it was hard to tell who the emotion was aimed at, given the way John's eyes were switching back and forth between the three high schoolers.
Jackson—which was apparently the name of the asshole Beta bully—was sitting on the other side of Stiles, slumped with an arm crossed over his chest, ice pack held to his left cheek as he glared petulantly, tissues shoved up his nostrils to stem the bleeding. He'd been looked over by a nurse while they'd all waited for their parents to show, the brutish Ms Cross snapping his nose back into alignment right then and there outside Deucalion's office, and Stiles'd had to hide his smirk at the Beta's pained wails. Derek hadn't bothered hiding his own delighted grin, but the expression had been quickly wiped away when he'd caught sight of Melissa's angry march down the hallway, scowl on her face the likes of which he'd never seen, even during all his recent antagonizing and anti-social bullshit.
Hadn't been a good fucking sign.
Now all three teens were in the principal's office, a parent standing behind each of them. Jackson's dad—David Whittemore Esquire, he'd introduced himself haughtily—had his hands on the back of his son's seat, hate-filled eyes continuously sliding over to Derek. Probably came to the conclusion the younger man was responsible for the injuries on his kid's face and neck, which was a safe assumption given Derek's bloody nails and scraped knuckles.
Oh well.
Deucalion focused on each student in turn, something that made both Stiles and Jackson fidget when that tinted lens-covered gaze switched to them. Derek was honestly just impressed, having heard rumors that the man was blind. Made him wonder how the Alpha was able to locate them so well, mind racing with theories about Daredevil-like powers, that he saw in fiery shapes, or that he simply guessed on locations by the sounds of heartbeats.
Either way...
"No answer then?" he concluded when no one broke, when no one spoke up. "Well, I think it's perfectly clear what happened here. Mr Stilinski—" At that, he zeroed in on Stiles, the Omega stiffening with a sharp inhale, bracing himself for what was coming next, heart pounding in anticipation. Derek kept a watch on him out the corner of his eye, wanting nothing more than to hold his hand, cup the back of his neck, scratch his scalp, do something to show support and comfort.
"It's my understanding you weren't directly involved in this altercation. Finstock stated you were standing to the side and from what Nurse Cross told me, you have no wounds one would usually obtain during a fight. Is all this true?"
Stiles licked his lips then swallowed as he nodded, eyes widening momentarily as he remembered the Alpha's lack of sight. "Yeah," he croaked out, shuffling in his seat once more, tugging at his maroon gym shorts as a cover up.
"Do you wish to inform me as to what exactly happened?" Deucalion questioned, eyebrow raised over his aviators and Derek found himself mentally pleading with Stiles to tell the principal what happened, to take the opportunity for what it was and get out of any possible punishment. He was the victim in all this and...
And he wasn't gonna admit it.
Because Stiles refused to be a weak Omega, or be perceived as one. Admitting that he was getting bullied by Jackson in the locker room was admitting to being weak and admitting that he needed someone to fight his battles for him. There was no fucking way Stiles was saying a damn thing.
Derek both respected and hated the guy for it.
Stiles shrugged and shook his head. "Not really," he answered, voice still rough, making Derek's wolf whimper out of worry that it was due to the choke-hold he'd been in when the Alpha had found him.
The sheriff let out a disappointed sigh, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He clearly wasn't all that thrilled with his son's decision to keep shit to himself either, wanted the teen to come clean, to admit it all so he could get off scott-free. But instead, Stiles was being a little shit and fearlessly taking any possible consequences of his decision to not say anything. Dumbass.
Deucalion bobbed his head to the side in a dismissive manner, lips pursed, hands gesturing in a wordless way of saying there was nothing he could do about that except accept it. "Well, as I said, you didn't seem to be involved, so you're free to go with just a warning to stay out of trouble."
The elder Stilinski snorted. Apparently he didn't think that was gonna happen.
From the stories Derek had heard, he didn't think it was gonna happen either.
"Now. Mr Whittemore," Deucalion began, turning his attention to the mentioned male.
Jackson paused where he'd been adjusting the paper towel around his borrowed ice pack, putting the cold compress back on his face and looking sheepishly at the principal. He'd been playing the victim since Finstock had pulled Derek off him, sputtering through blood and crocodile tears about how the Alpha had just attacked him for no reason. The coach had given him a dubious stare, clearly not a moron and well-aware of what had really happened. Stiles had snorted loudly and rolled his eyes, but didn't comment further. Derek had glared and bared his still descended fangs in warning, shutting the bastard up.
But it didn't stop him from whining to Nurse Cross about the pain—which earned him a look that showed she truly couldn't care less—or looking pitifully at Principal Deucalion—despite the man being blind and unable to even see it, much less believe it—and Derek wanted to throttle him all over again.
Deucalion puffed up his chest and straightened his spine in a typical Alpha posturing move, displaying his authority and strength, before he continued on. "Three days suspension and I want you to leave school grounds as soon as we're done here."
Jackson's eyes went wide—as much as they could with the bruising forming from his broken nose—while his dad barked out an incredulous "what?!", his own back stiffening as his hackles raised.
"My kid is innocent in this," Whittemore Esquire argued in his charcoal suit, probably only just managing to not let out an "objection!" at the principal's ruling. "He was attacked by that little prick over there." He pointed at Derek, who cocked an eyebrow and looked down at himself, thinking there wasn't much about him that would be considered little.
Except maybe how much of a fuck he gave over Jackson's dad believing him to be beyond reproach.
Deucalion's brow furrowed over his sunglasses, wry sort of grin forming on his face. "I find it hard to believe that your son is completely innocent in all this."
Smart man.
"But I'm sure if he were, Mr Whittemore would let us know." He lowered his head to the younger Whittemore, pinning him with a hard stare that could be felt even through the aviators. "Tell us, Jackson. Were you innocent in all this? Were you attacked for no real reason?"
Jackson's blue eyes shifted away and he shuffled in his seat, but he said nothing.
Probably the best decision he'd made in a long time.
A smug sort of smirk formed on the principal's face at having been proven right, petty pride coloring his scent, barely noticeable to Derek's nose past the pungent aroma of his mom's anger and disappointment as it drifted over from behind him.
"That's what I thought," the principal stated, turning his attention to the third and final student he'd yet to address, smirk disappearing into thinned out lips, brow pulled into a hard line, and Derek only just managed to hold his ground and not bare his neck under the weight of that sightless stare. "As for you, Mr McHale, your transgressions are a bit more severe. Not only did you seriously injure Mr Whittemore, but you also went into beta shift at school, something that is strictly forbidden here at Beacon Hills Lycanthropic."
Shit.
He'd completely forgotten about that stupid rule—had completely forgotten everything while he'd been choking Jackson. The only thing he'd been thinking about was the basic need and instinct to protect and defend an Omega that was being harmed. He'd let his wolf drive his actions and take control of him, of his body as he gave over to his more animalistic side, not holding back or even considering reining it in.
And now he was about to pay for it.
Well, pay for it even more than he already was.
"Which is why," Deucalion continued, "you are suspended through next Friday, including the rest of today."
His eyes went wide at that, lips parting in shock. Six days. Nearly seven really, considering it was barely second period. Holy shit.
His mom let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head in disappointment. Stiles snapped his own head to Derek, his own eyes wide, leg stilling from its bouncing. Whittemore Sr smiled haughtily, nose in the air and arms folded, staring down at Derek in victory and condescension. Jackson wore a smirk of his own and John rubbed at his eyes like he honestly couldn't believe any of this shit.
"I would be amenable to a less severe suspension," the principal stated, hands gesturing in suggestion and nonchalance. "If you were to explain to me exactly what happened and why it was that you assaulted Mr Whittemore to begin with."
Out the corner of his eye, he watched Stiles go rigid all over, inhaling hardly and holding it in his lungs as he braced himself once more. He was waiting for Derek to tell, fully expecting the Alpha to say he'd come to the defense of an Omega, that he'd pulled a White Knight and rescued the pathetic weakling in distress.
Not that Derek thought Stiles was weak. No, the kid was tough as nails, had to be in order to survive all that he'd been through: losing a parent—and his wolf parent at that—constant bullying and belittling due to being an Omega, growing up with a single dad who was human and therefore leaving him to have to figure out anything and everything werewolf-related all by himself. And Stiles still smiled, still laughed, still joked, still kept a positive outlook and a happy attitude, even when faced with assholes like Jackson fucking Whittemore.
Like Derek fucking Hale.
And with the thought of that strength and bravery in mind, Derek knew he couldn't sell Stiles out or make him seem like the pathetic, weak Omega stereotype. So he simply gave a flat "no", mentally cringing at the disappointed sigh his mom gave out, wolf torn between a whimper at that or wagging its tail at the relieved exhale Stiles blew out. The human part of him was just as conflicted, feeling guilty at upsetting his mom yet happy he'd pleased Stiles, which just made him feel even guiltier. Fuck, things were getting way too complicated for him.
Scratch that. Things had already been way too complicated. Now it was beyond what he'd even thought was possible.
Shit shit shit.
A dismissive bob of the eyebrows was Deucalion's response before he let out a sigh of his own. "So be it," he concluded, pressing a button on his phone to speak to his secretary and request her presence. "Mr Stilinski, you are free to return to class. Sheriff, thank you for your time."
John nodded once slowly, giving Jackson a hard look then Derek an indecipherable one before patting his son's shoulder and telling him to come on. Stiles glanced at Derek briefly, face just as unreadable as his dad's had been, before he snatched his backpack off the ground and followed the elder man out.
Derek fought the urge to watch him leave, trying his best to ignore his wolf's whimpers at the Omega's absence, to ignore what those whimpers could mean. Instead he focused on the forms Deucalion had the secretary fill out, signing his own name where he was told to, his mom handed a copy before they were allowed to leave.
She was silent as they walked side-by-side down the hall, out the door, across the sidewalk. Derek peered down at her out the corner of his eye, taking in her tense jaw, her crossed arms, her black purse slung over her shoulder, her blue scrubs. It struck him right then and there how she'd worn green ones the night his dad had died, and that she hadn't worn that color since.
They made their way down the stairs and she drew to a stop before the concrete curb turned into tarred parking lot, turning to face him, fire in her dark eyes. He swallowed hard at the sight of it, wolf hiding behind its paws, knowing all that anger and disappointment in her expression and her scent was all aimed at him.
"A week," she grit out, shaking her head. "You couldn't even last an entire week at school before you got suspended." She huffed out in disbelief, hand to her forehead as she kept shaking her head. "What the hell were you thinking?"
He looked away, lips pressing together as his eyes scanned the deserted parking lot, all students in class, nothing but cars of various makes and models. He knew what he should say here, that he was just defending Stiles, and he knew that his mom would understand, maybe even be proud of him.
But...
But she hadn't understood anything about his wolfy nature so far.
But she thought he hated Stiles and had tried to attack him that first night.
But she hadn't stood up for him any time her own mother had made scathing comments about him for his sexuality or his werewolfness.
But he couldn't betray Stiles like that, deprive him of his pride and dignity.
His mind flashed back to when he was on top of Jackson, pounding away at him repeatedly, punching him over and over and over. He thought of Fight Club, of the way the Narrator had taken his anger and frustration out on Angel Face, of his own ability to relate to that moment and how he'd let his own aggravation at his shit day—his shit life control his actions.
"I felt like destroying something beautiful," he quoted monotonously, turning back to find her looking even more crestfallen than before.
God. Fucking. Dammit.
Melissa rubbed at her temples, head shaking again, before she crossed her arms over her chest once more. "You aren't as clever as you think you are," she stated harshly, dark eyes narrowed as she glared up at him. "I've seen Fight Club and I highly doubt you were in there trying to form a chapter of your own with that Whittemore boy."
He just shrugged a shoulder, letting her think whatever. Which most definitely wasn't doing him any favors. The guilt in his stomach already felt like a ball of lead the size of an orange and he felt it swell up, expanding to the size of a grapefruit. Because his mom, his Packmate, was disappointed and pissed and just so very fucking done with him, while he'd been trying to change, trying to fix shit, trying to dig his way out of the giant fucking grave he'd buried himself in over the past few months.
She let out another sigh, this one more resigned than anything, shoulders slumping as the fight and the anger left. "I gotta get back to work," she stated lowly before pointing a finger at him in warning. "And I would say that you and I aren't done with this conversation, but I have the distinct feeling that you'd have nothing to add, other than more shrugging and Palahniuk quotes. I just." She threw her arms in the air in exasperation, letting them hit her thighs without care. "I honestly have no idea what the hell to do with you anymore, other than just. Give up."
His eyes shut tight as he fought off a wince at that, his wolf howling in his head. The back of his eyes stung, rarely used tear ducts kicking into production, his skin tingling with upset and disheartening and an overwhelming sense of having fucked up.
"I'll see you at home," she concluded, turning and heading to her car, leaving him standing on the sidewalk.
Alone.
Not that he didn't deserve it.
The house was empty. And it stayed empty.
Derek did chores, did the laundry, cleaned out the fridge. He finished his late summer reading assignment for American Lit, got a head-start on his Shakespearean Lit project, read the next chapter in his Calc textbook in case Erica stopped by and demanded help.
Then was promptly bored.
And it was only three.
Shit.
Almost made him wish he'd fucked up his sheets again. At least then he'd have something to do.
He glanced over at the TV, almost tempted to actually watch something, the doorbell ringing and saving him from that bullshit.
Had to be bad if he was actually glad someone was at the door and he had to be social.
Stepping over, he paused with his hand on the knob, ears catching the sound of a now-familiar rabbiting heartbeat. Shit. His gratitude at the distraction suddenly disappeared and he found himself mentally swearing, debating if he was actually gonna open the door and subject himself to Stiles. Probably a really fucking bad idea, the logical part of him pointed out, considering the last time they'd seen each other, they'd both been in the principal's office after Derek had gotten in a fight defending him. But his wolf was whining and howling and demanding he open the door, that he make sure Stiles was okay, that he at least find out what the guy wanted.
No harm in that, right?
Famous last words.
With a sigh, he opened the door, barely sparing a glance at the Omega as he let out a gruff "Scott's not here" and began closing the door over once more.
Only for Stiles to slap a hand on the wood and push with all his might, trying to stop him.
"Good. 'Cause I'm here to talk to you, you dick."
Aw, hell.
He breathed out a swear before releasing the knob and stepping away, heading further into the living room with a silent invitation for the younger man to enter. "Whaddya want, Stiles?" he groaned, roughing his hands over his face as he made his way to the middle of the room.
"I wanna know what the fuck that was," Stiles demanded, closing the door and stomping his way over.
Derek turned to find the leaner man a few feet away, whiskey eyes a darker chocolate brown as he glared, leg shaking in anger, fists on his hips, jaw ticking. The Alpha cocked an eyebrow at the expression, at the body language, folding his arms in a somewhat casual manner and shrugging. "That was me telling you Scott's not home."
He resisted the urge to add a "duh" at the end.
Barely.
Stiles rolled not just his eyes but his whole head, clearly not amused with the answer. "No, dickwad. I meant at school," he clarified with a sharp bite to his words. "Why the hell didn't you say anything to Deucalion? You could've gotten away with beating Jackson's ass and maybe only gotten a couple days for the wolfing out." He shrugged and shook his head dubiously. "Why didn't you?"
The thought had occurred to Derek. Several times, in fact. And he always came to the same conclusion. "Figured you didn't want me to, otherwise you would've said it yourself."
He seesawed his head in concession, swiping a finger under his nose. "Still don't understand why you butted in in the first place," he pointed out, lowly, shrugging again. "Anyone else would've just left, walked away, pretended nothing happen. Wouldn't be the first time someone had witnessed an Omega getting picked on and didn't do shit about it. Yet you stepped in." His brow furrowed, tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyes narrowing as he analyzed the man across from him. "Why?"
Derek turned away, unable to handle the weight of that stare, what it could mean, the urges it was stirring inside of him. Because he wanted to tell, to confess, to explain that seeing Stiles getting hurt like that had felt like a stab to the chest, that it had set off territorial and protective instincts he hadn't even been aware that he'd even had in the first place. He hadn't really thought about what he was doing at the time, just reacted, just knew that he needed to save and defend the other man. It wasn't until later, while he was home alone and had nothing but time to think that he realized maybe it had something to do with the feelings he'd recently figured out he had towards Stiles.
But he wasn't gonna admit that, not out loud, and sure as shit not to Stiles.
Looking back at the Omega, he took in his red plaid and the dark blue tee he had underneath, the bulls-eye graphic in the middle looking so much like a certain comic book hero's famous shield. With a shrug, he feigned nonchalance, features as flat as his voice as he spoke. "I don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from."
Stiles' scent blossomed at that, grew stronger, that added spicy note to it that had Derek's wolf rumbling in pleasure and his cock twitching in interest. But it was soon overpowered by aggravation and frustration, the Omega glaring even harder, jaw working as he ground his teeth, throwing his arms in the air overdramatically.
"Fuck you," he spat out, pointing a finger at the Alpha in anger. "You don't get to do that shit, okay? You don't get to fucking act like you hate me and basically tell me to fuck off then fucking defend me from some Beta asshole and use a Captain fucking America quote in order to justify it. That's not fucking fair." He licked his lips as he crossed his arms, leg shaking, eyes glaring. "You keep acting like the world's biggest Alpha douchebag, only to turn around and do all this nice shit to completely contradict that and remind me why I still fucking like your broody ass." He gestured to Derek with his palm up, flicking his hand before refolding his arms, still glaring, huffing through his nose in annoyance.
Derek stood there stunned silent for the longest time, trying to take in and digest everything that Stiles had just said. Only he couldn't. Not all of it anyway. He kinda stalled out at the fact that the Omega had pretty much just admitted to having feelings for him.
Feelings other than the aggravation and irritation and frustration that was coloring his scent.
Shit.
His heart skipped a beat in his chest then picked back up double-time, making him feel every bit the fucking cliché. And with his wolf victoriously yapping in his head, tail wagging wildly, he found it hard to really, truly focus on anything but the fact that Stiles liked him. Liked him. Maybe even liked him as more than just a neighbor, an acquaintance, a classmate, his best friend's older brother.
Like liked him.
Oh. Oh no. Oh shit.
That wasn't part of the plan, wasn't what Derek wanted. It was bad enough he'd developed his own feelings; he didn't need them to be reciprocated. Besides, Stiles was still young—granted only about a year younger, but young nonetheless—so chances were it wasn't actually feelings involved, but hormones. Derek wasn't a moron, knew he was physically attractive, even somewhat made an effort to look physically attractive, so there was every chance that that was all Stiles saw in him. A hot older Alpha with muscles and the strength to defend him and a knot to fill him up.
The realization had him crashing back to Earth and his wolf whimpering as it hid behind its paws. Licking his lips, he swallowed hard, then cleared his throat, meeting Stiles' glare with a serious expression of his own. "You don't like me, not in that way." He held up a hand when the other man opened his mouth to argue, effectively shutting him up. "It's all biology and hormones, just your Omega nature letting you know there's an available Alpha. That's all." He shrugged and folded his arms, dismissing the whole thing.
Stiles' scent grew angrier, glare harder, jaw working even more than it had the entire conversation. "Bullshit," he ground out, taking a step forward, stabbing a finger at the floor. "I don't have this sort of reaction to any other Alpha I've ever been around, okay? Not even when Lydia's chewed Jackson out or when I met Scott or when Danny and I dated for a li'l while sophomore year."
Christ, 'cause Derek didn't hate the motherfucker enough...
"So you can't fucking tell me it's biology or Omega instincts or what-the-fuck-ever, all right? 'Cause it's not true."
Derek looked away, roughing his hand over his mouth and jaw, whiskers rasping on his palm. Trust Stiles to be as stubborn with this as he was with every-fucking-thing else in his life. The kid just refused to take no for an answer, refused to back down, refused to see anyone else's way.
But maybe...
Maybe he had a point.
Maybe he was right about all of it.
Maybe it was more than just biology and their dynamics making them compatible.
Maybe...
"Doesn't matter," Derek murmured, shoving both hands in his back pockets and shrugging again. "I already told you I have zero interest in a relationship of any form."
The anger drained from Stiles' face, from his scent, replaced with a sad sort of resignation. His eyes grew wet as he glanced around the room, nodding like a bobble-head, lips pressed together in a hard line. "Right. I remember," he replied, voice gravelly in a way it hadn't been previously. He cleared it, wringing the back of his neck as he ducked his head, staring down at where he was scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the carpet. "Then maybe, ya know?" he began, lifting his head up and staring at Derek with an expression so earnest it caused the Alpha's breath to freeze in his lungs. "Stop giving me fucking hope." At that, he turned and left the room, the house, left Derek.
He didn't slam the door, but he might as well have with the way Derek flinched at the latch clicking into place.