Chapter Two - Heartbeats

"So what'll it be, Greek, pizza, or Chinese?"

Derek dropped his highlighter and copy of Macbeth at his sisters words. He looked over at her and stretched his arms above his head while leaning back in his chair, the front two legs lifted off of the floor. "Just pizza's fine, I guess," he answered through a held back yawn. He pressed the home button on his phone and the screen lit up, the time reading 9:26. Shit, he hadn't stopped taking notes since he got back from school and hadn't realized just how much time passed. Laura clearly got off work only moments ago, and he probably should have ordered something so there would have been dinner ready for when she got back, but it hadn't even crossed his mind. He was less than a week into his classes and they were already overwhelming him; although he supposed that was the type of torture guaranteed to come with taking mostly AP classes.

"Pizza it is then!"

He followed the sound of her voice, walking the few steps from his room into the makeshift living space where Laura was curled up on their couch, the phone already wedged between her ear and shoulder. Their apartment was cramped, to say the least. It consisted of their two bedrooms, (although, Derek's was probably smaller than the average Upper East Siders walk in closet) a bathroom which they shared, and a kitchenette, which rested along one end of what a generous person would call a living room. Instead of putting in a formal table and chairs though, they used the extra few feet of space to squeeze in a sofa, a small coffee table, and a television. It only had three channels, but it played movies and that was really all they really needed.

The rest of the room was scattered with towers of books and empty coffee mugs. It wasn't that they couldn't have afforded a better place if they wanted, but Laura had insisted it would be better to save as much as they could in order to send Derek off to school. He had protested for months about how he could make it all himself and that she deserved to live somewhere nice, but Laura was stubborn. As unbelievable as it was, even more so than Derek. So they lived in their dingy apartment. He probably still would be hassling Laura into moving, but he had kind of fallen in love with the place. Somewhere between when the the shelves started gathering dust and the books became well loved, it had become theirs. It had a life of it's own, and even though he hated the idea of it to begin with, he couldn't let it go anymore.

Laura hung up the phone and tossed it onto the cushion in-between them, "Just so you know, I asked for anchovies on it. You know, for not ordering it earlier," she smirked triumphantly at him, and Derek was about to make a comment on how she really shouldn't qualify as his guardian because she acted like a child, but his phone vibrated, interrupting his plan.

Stiles

1 New Text Message

He stared at his phone, too surprised to actually check the text. Why would Stiles be texting him? Derek had never answered the first text that Stiles had sent him, assuming it was just so he could add him as a contact. But at 9:30 on a Wednesday? The only answer which Derek could come up with was that Stiles found another catering company and must be texting him to cancel.

"You okay there? You're eyes are doing that unimpressed squinty thing which usually precedes a series of unrealistic threats. And I thought that look was supposed to be reserved for me and me alone. Am I not obnoxious for you anymore, Der? Is your signature glare cheating on me? Because if it's filing for divorce, my innocent smile is totally getting away with everything and living your pouty ass on the curb."

Derek shook his head, "Yeah, fine," he muttered, (Laura huffed at him, her comedic performance which was in her opinion worthy of oscars, going unnoticed) and finally swiped his thumb across the screen, unlocking it and opening the message.

Did uou know taht snails can sleep for three years?

A surprised smile spread across Derek's face and he typed out a quick: What? A few seconds later his phone vibrated again.

Annnnnnd., when pauossumns are playing dead its not a jokev/? they just pass out from complete terror

Derek honest to god snorted. There was no way he was ever admitting it, but it happened. He messaged back quickly, still shaking his head with laughter as he answered.

I have to say, this is the first time I've ever hoped that someone is drunk texting... I get that possum may be a hard word to spell but your attempt is actually scaring me.

"Okay seriously, who are you talking to?" Laura asked, leaning over to take a look at his phone.

He quickly pressed the lock button, turning the screen black so she couldn't read it, "It's ahh, just Stiles,"

"I thought you hated him," she raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, he's still an ass, but we're supposed to be doing business with him now, so that kind of involves having to talk to him," he shrugged as his phone lit up again, but she didn't want to risk checking it now that she was watching. It's not that it would have been bad for her to see... except that it totally would've been. She would never stop harassing him if she read their conversation; he could only imagine Laura printing out countless copies of Stiles' text messages on t-shirts and sweaters, then conveniently shrinking all of his other tops.

"Alright, whatever you say," she trailed off as a smile formed on her lips. "I'll go grab plates, do you want a drink or something?" Derek just shook his head as Laura walked off.

Since the accident so many things had changed for them. They had to move and adapt almost everything about their lives, and were both at first desperate to find some form of stability. A reminder that they were still just Derek and Laura. Obviously, there was nothing of monumental importance that they could keep the same, but it was the little things which added up. The little things like the plates. When they lived in their old home and were a complete family, it was always a tradition (regardless of the constant complaining and bickering between siblings) for them to eat together at least once a week. They didn't have the same elaborate table which these meals were always held at anymore, and often weeks would go by when they just wouldn't have time to eat with one another, but when they could, they would always use plates. Sure, it would have been easier to just eat the pizza right out of the box or on napkins, but it reminded them both that they were still a family.

By Thursday night, Derek's wishes for the texts he received to have been sent long after Stiles was sober, had been proved correct. There was a picture of him and most of The Pack stepping out of one of the bars that Erica Reyes' family owned, all of them supporting equally glazed over expressions. What he wasn't expecting, though, was for Stiles to walk into the deli just as he was about to read the article following the picture. He knew that Stiles wouldn't be able to see what he was looking at from the entrance of the store, let alone the other side of the counter, but he reacted automatically and made an attempt at shoving his phone into his back pocket. A loud crack clarified the extent at which his plan failed, and his eyes trailed to the floor to see that he had missed his pocket entirely. Derek quickly picked it up off the ground and looked over to Stiles who was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smirk.

He rolled his eyes and glared, "Do you want something?"

"Well, now that you're asking, I'm kind of curious to see what you were doing on your phone that caused you to jump about six feet in the air the second the door chimed," Stiles leaned over the counter and feebly reached over for it, but using his other hand, Derek grabbed onto Stiles' wrist and pushed him back.

"Not happening."

"Alright, alright," Stiles said, defeated. "Obviously that's not why I showed up anyway, that would only be somewhat creepy," he dragged out the last few words, chuckling. "I just thought that I would come to confirm the plans for Sunday? There's kind of a lot to go over, and seeing as the store seems to be pretty dead," Stiles peered over his shoulder, "or totally dead, which is just so wrong because this place is all kinds of amazing, you should grab two cups of coffee and sit down while we talk."

Derek considered the request for a second. It was pretty unnecessary to meet over something that could be discussed over the phone, but Stiles practically came from a different world than him, so it was pretty much given that they did business differently. And Stiles was right. The deli was dead. Laura had left hours ago- and thank god for that, because the last thing he needed was her to witness more material that she would no doubt use against him. Making up his mind, he nodded. His eyes flicked down to where he was still holding on to Stiles' wrist, and he automatically flinched back. "Coffee. Sounds good," he rushed out, and quickly turned around to pour some from the freshly brewed pot into mugs. Stiles wandered around the deli as Derek worked, walking past the extensive amount of food; everything from sandwiches and salads to bagels and pastries, over to the scattered arrangement of tables.

They spent the next twenty minutes tucked away at one of the booths, discussing the details for Sunday. A soft light filtered in from the windows, darkening ever so slightly as the time passed. Derek listened to everything that Stiles had to say about Sunday, making sure to take down notes on anything he didn't already know. They had done catering before, but by the sounds of it this was going to be something entirely different. It wasn't so much the information that took up time, but instead he found himself listening to Stiles run off on tangents, telling stories of past brunches. Derek never interrupted him though, coming to the realization that he was enjoying the minutes which steadily ticked by, somewhat disappointed on the few occasions when a customer entered and he was forced to put a hold on their conversation to serve them.

Derek had known that it was going to be a bigger deal than anything him and Laura had put together in the past, but the massive list of food in front of him was not what he had been expecting. By the looks of things it was going to take a few more people than just him and his sister. Derek folded up the list and tucked it into his jeans. He would need to talk to Laura about bringing in a few part-time employees to help with the brunch. Or maybe he could just get a couple people from school who needed a bit of extra cash to help out.

"Anyway," Stiles said, interrupting Derek's thoughts, "seriously, just thanks so much for doing this-"

"It's fine," Derek shrugged, interrupting him, "I mean we're the ones getting paid so I should probably be thanking you."

Stiles grinned, but shook his head, "No, really it was so last minute, I don't know if we would have been able to find anyone else. And my dad was insanely pissed at me, so I think that getting someone to cater softened him up a bit," Stiles unzipped his bag and dug around in it until he found a creme coloured envelope. He hesitantly slid it across the table to Derek. "I wanted to give this to you by the way. To say thanks."

Derek stared at the envelope, confused as to whether he should open it or not.

"It's an invitation to the Argent's charity ball tomorrow night. I don't know if you would be interested in going, but it was the least I could do," he smiled and Derek thought back to a few days ago when he was criticizing the entire idea behind the event with Laura. He was tempted to just hand it back, because really? Stiles thought that he would be interested in going to something like that?

He rationalized that just about anyone else would have sacrificed their unborn child for the opportunity to receive an invite, and it was a nice thing to do, but Derek couldn't manage to get passed the superficial coating behind the gesture. Having a few conversations with Stiles alone was more than enough interaction with the whole lot of them, and serving the rest at brunch was already going to push him out of his comfort zone; he didn't need to take it once step further and attend the same parties. He smiled regardless, picking the envelope up off the table. As much as he didn't want to go, there was no need to be an asshole about it. Besides, maybe he could sell it. Or give it to Laura; it would probably make her shit rainbows and glitter for a month straight. She kept up with The Pack's lives more so than Derek, but instead of turning a harsh eye to them all, she found their lives genuinely entertaining.

Derek had seen her blog dedicated to Lydia Martin's clothing. He bookmarked it. Screenshotted page after page, just in case she decided to delete it one day.

Laura wasn't the only one who was talented in the art of discovering blackmail.

"Alright, I should start cleaning up and head out. I'll see you..." he hesitated, unsure of what to say. He didn't want to say tomorrow and pretend that he was even considering going to the ball, but he didn't want to seem like a dick and say Sunday, completely ignoring the invitation. "Later. I'll see you later," he settled on. It wasn't the most favourable of answers, but it at least didn't leave him stranded, an unfinished sentence floating in the air. Stiles simply waved, seemingly not fazed, and left Derek to finish his work.

The party was shit. It was the only conclusion Stiles could come to. Maybe it wasn't quite as disappointing for everyone else, but from his seat at the bar there was no looking up. He waved his hand behind him, motioning for one of the bar tenders to bring him another shot of rum, while he watched the bodies in front of him dance and press against one another. Usually he would be more than happy to get in the middle of it all, but he just couldn't bring himself to tonight. Something was off. The shot was passed to him, and he threw it back, not even feeling the burn anymore. He couldn't remember exactly how many he had taken so far, but it was numbing him and that was all that mattered.

The coloured lights flashed and the music pounded, the beat of the song in time with his racing heart. He could make out Lydia in the crowd, dancing with someone he didn't know. That was good. Maybe it would clear up the rumors about them.

After only a few more minutes, the liquor hit him in another wave and his eyes were unable to stay trained on the two of them for any longer. He made attempts at zoning in on other faces in the crowd but it was useless. His disorientation left him clueless, and it wasn't until Jackson lightly punched him in the shoulder that Stiles noticed he had even been approaching him. Clearly though, the other teen had been there for awhile, as he was holding a drink in both hands. He gave one to Stiles and took a sip of his own.

"What's up, man?"

Stiles chose to take a mouthful of whatever Jackson ordered over speaking. He couldn't really tell what was in the mix, not that it mattered. It was all just the same. He didn't really have an answer for Jackson, didn't really have an answer for himself. It shouldn't have been a loaded question, but somehow the implications of it weighed down on him. Instead of making up some half assed excuse, he shrugged and downed the rest of his drink.

Jackson watched him curiously for a moment before he lost interest in figuring Stiles out. "Well, I was gonna head up to the roof with Isaac and Boyd to smoke a bowl if you wanted to come?"

"I don't really feel like it," he answered as he leaned back against the counter and gave the empty glass back to the bar tender.

"You should come up anyway. Scott's not smoking 'cause of his stupid lacrosse shit that he has to keep up, so it doesn't even matter."

After a few seconds of just sitting there practically lifeless, Jackson realized that Stiles wasn't even considering coming with. He gave him a quick slap on the back and walked off, leaving Stiles alone again. Sure, Jackson was a good friend, but he couldn't really be bothered with anything below surface level. He was always just in on things for the ride; never digging into other peoples lives, and never letting others in on his own. His company was nice, but Stiles didn't really mind being left alone for a moment either.

His contentment with the stillness of his thoughts only lasted seconds though; his legs were starting to ache from being situated in one place for so long, and he figured that he might as well make his way up to meet with his friends. Disappointingly, standing up from the the stool proved to be better in theory and severely problematic in practice. He stumbled over himself and came close to crashing onto the floor in a heap. Luckily, he grabbed onto the bar counter and steadied himself, letting out a small, humorless laugh. Maybe walking wasn't such a good idea.

He slowly raised himself back onto the stool, only realizing then just how completely hammered he was. He asked for a glass of water, hoping to sober himself up. The fresh air would have done better to distract him from the now undeniably present clench in his stomach, but he didn't even want to think about standing up again. Desperate for something else to pull his attention to, Stiles pulled out his phone and tried to unlock it.

Incorrect Password

Incorrect Password

Incorrect Password: Three Attempts Remaining

"Fucking hell," he held back an urge to concuss someone with the device, and took in a deep breath before slowly keying it in one last time. Finally succeeding, he opened his contacts, scrolling down the list. Dad was one of the first names and he made sure to swipe past it, not wanting to accidentally call him.

Derek was a few more names down the line, and he barely registered what he was doing, the phone suddenly pressed against his ear, seemingly of its own will.

It took a few rings before he heard the click of someone picking up, and if Stiles had been sober he probably would have realized that it wasn't exactly an appropriate time to be calling someone. Regardless, a groggy voice answered the phone, "Stiles?"

"Derek! Dare! Darey-Barey! You sound grumpy... Turn that frown upside-down," Stiles said, smiling into the phone.

"Stiles, why the fuck are you calling me at two in the morning?"

"Well," Stiles frowned, trying to remember why he called. "It seemed like a good idea?" he tired. "Oh! No I know! You said I would see you! Remember, I gave you the card and then you sai-" Stiles lost his train of thought as the stools beside him filled up with Lydia and the guy he didn't know who had been dancing with her. "Heyydia!" He grinned sloppily at her, completely forgetting that the phone was pressed against his ear and that he was supposed to be having a conversation with someone on the other line. A fairly one-sided conversation, but a conversation nonetheless.

Lydia started to talk to him about something that Stiles couldn't be bothered to pay attention to, as his focus was drifted to what the guy next to her was doing. He had two drinks in front of him and Stiles watched as he pulled something small from his pocket and dropped it into one of them. He started to slide it across the counter to Lydia when Stiles caught on to what was happening.

Adrenaline shot through him, sobering him up enough to allow Stiles to drop his phone onto the counter and push back to stand on his feet. He dragged himself closer, taking a good look at the stranger in front of him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" The words were all but spat out of Stiles' mouth, his head snapping up to meet his eyes. There may not have been too significant of a height difference, but Stiles' build was nothing in comparison, and if he was any smarter would take the chance to back down while he still could.

"I'm just enjoying myself here... But I think you've had one too many drinks and should probably get some help before you do something you'll regret," he matched Stiles' cold stare as he spoke evenly, obviously ready to stand his ground.

Stiles felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and Lydia whispered to him, "Stiles, he's a really nice guy, just leave it alone... I can take care of myself. You just need to get home, do you want me to get Scott to take you back?" Stiles shoved his shoulder back and pushed Lydia off of him.

"This dick clearly is everything but a nice guy, Lyds. He's trying to fucking dru-" Stiles heard the resonating crack before he actually felt any pain, and his words stopped immediately. Without warning he lost his balance, and instead of regaining it for a second time, he fell to the floor as his blood pounded through his body. Blurred flickers of white filled his vision briefly before it was replaced entirely with blackness.

Warmth. That's all he could feel. Warmth. It filled all of his senses. He was being taken somewhere. Maybe somewhere safe. Or maybe he was just dying. Probably dying, he hadn't had very much luck thus far his life, the chances of it spontaneously changing were too slim to even consider.

There was a steady rock of his body, as if he was thousands of miles out at sea on a small boat, the ripples gently carrying him back to shore. And then there were the lights. Red. Blue. Green. White. They danced around him. Soft words were whispered to him. He couldn't be sure what they were saying. Whatever it was though, it gave him hope that everything was going to be okay. Hell, if anything else, at least dying felt nice.

Derek shook his head as he pulled into the parking lot for the event, not even bothering to turn the car off before storming out. What was he doing here? Why had he taken his sisters keys and driven all the way across town to get this one stupid kid who probably knew at least a hundred others who would be willing to take care of him at the snap of his fingers? He couldn't even come up with an answer. He was too tired to even try to. It was just the shouting on the phone. The muffled words followed by what sounded a little too much like bone breaking. He had been scared into coming. If he had done nothing and Stiles ended up hurt Derek knew he would be at fault. And that terrified him; the idea of an ever growing list of names who's harm he was responsible for. That underlying horror tugged at him, forcing him to race out and meet Stiles. Forcing him to thrust the ticket he never planned on using at the bouncer who shot him a judgmental look, eyeing Derek's clothing suspiciously, as if he couldn't understand how someone like him came in possession of an invite.

"Judgmental bastards," he grunted, pushing his way through the doors. He searched around the room frantically until he found the corner where people parted. Stiles was passed out in the middle of it all, a bruise forming on the left side of his face. Before he had the chance to think twice, he moved through the crowd and slung Stiles into his arms. It was as he turned to walk away that he realized the rest of The Pack were among the people standing around him. Well, he must have looked strange. Someone none of them knew just walking into the room and picking up the friend that they had all spend the better part of their lives following around. He started to feel uncomfortable under their gazes and made a weak attempt at smiling.

"I swear I'm not stealing him... I'm Derek? You can check on his phone history or whatever, he was talking to me when I heard some shouting so I thought it would be best to come see what was going on. Which was obviously a good idea because by the looks of it none of you idiots were about to step in and do something for him," he had meant to mumble the last bit to himself, but by the reactions he got it had clearly come out louder than intended. "Right," he said, growing increasingly tense, "I'll just head out now."

Derek quickly rushed out of the building, not waiting to see what would happen if he stayed. He jogged to his car and threw open the passengers side before he dumped Stiles inside. Not wanting to have come all the way out here just to kill him while driving, Derek secured the seatbelt around his body. After he walked around the car and settled into the drivers seat he allowed his head to fall against the steering wheel. It took him a few seconds to compose himself and build up enough energy to drive away. Once he was one the road he drove without thinking, automatically taking the rout back to his apartment. He had no clue where Stiles lived to begin with, and he figured that it wouldn't exactly be the most brilliant idea to bring him home in this state.

He heard Stiles shuffle after a few minutes of silence. Derek wasn't sure if that meant he had woken up, but even if he had, he figured that Stiles wouldn't remember anything that was happening.

"Why are you always doing shit like this to yourself, Stiles?" He was asking himself more than anything, and didn't expect an answer. To his surprise though, a muffled voice responded from the passenger seat.

"Helps m'forget."

Derek looked over at Stiles, having forgotten for a moment that he should have kept his eyes on the road. He couldn't be sure if the boy was just drunk and rambling or if he was actually answering Derek's question.

He shook his head and returned his eyes to the windshield.

A/N: Ahhhh so if you've been following this for awhile you'll realize that this is just an updated/prettier/less terrible version of what chapter two used to be. So yeah, now that I've fixed these up I should have chapter three up in the next week. Excitement, whooo. I don't know why I ever thought stopping this fic was a good idea? It's really entertaining to write.