A/N; So, as I hate it when you have to read entire scenes from the show over and over again I wont be doing that. Unless Danny is in them or has something directly to do with a scene that has to be rewritten to fit my story, you won't find the entire episodes here verbatim. We've all watched the show, you know what happens. Why waste time with those scenes right?

I'd like to thank everyone who read, reviewed and alerted this story already. Honestly, thank you. I get all giddy inside when I get email telling me someone has added an alert, or favourited. Not to mention reviewed! I love to know what you guys are thinking.

Disclaimer; Though I often wish so ferociously for it to be true, Teen Wolf does in fact not belong to me, at all. Not in the slightest.

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Chapter 3; Teenage Dream

Danny

I woke before dawn.

For someone who had slept most of yesterday away, I was surprised I had even slept that long. Stretching out my arms and arching my back I tried to recall the last time I had slept so soundly.

I got up and tiptoed down the hall, quietly shutting the door to the bathroom. Finishing up my morning business I gave my face a quick wash. Looking up at my reflection in the mirror after wiping my face dry I observed the dark circles under my eyes that were not there. I felt revitalized. Standing there in my checkered boxer shorts, scrunched down tube socks and overly large orange UT Dallas football tee, I ran my hands through my hair. Halfheartedly trying to tame the unruly mess that had erupted in my sleep. I allowed herself a moment to take in my appearance. My skin was glowing, holding on to its last vestiges of summer sun. Thick lashes framed my eyes, which, no longer sleep deprived, were a soft pale green, so light at times that they almost appeared grey. My small straight upturned nose and cheekbones were similar to Stiles' complete with a smattering of freckles across my nose that faded with the shining sun, come winter. A single solitary beauty mark graced my left cheek, mirroring Stiles' almost exactly. Our best friend mark, we had always called it. Believing, as children, that it had hopped from Stiles cheek to hers, to mark our friendship. A ridiculous notion mind you but at the tender age of six, when it had appeared, it had seemed like the only plausible fact. I bit my lip, stifling my laughter at the memory of my aunt and uncles reaction, their stunned faces in reaction to seemingly foolproof toddler logic.

Slightly red from where I had bitten down on it I licked my lips. They were forever annoyingly pouty, the top one swelling out, almost burying the bottom with its soft pink plump. My hair was a very dark caramel blonde, a tangled mess of waves. The popular definition was 'dirty blonde' but I loathed that title. Dirty blonde, like I didn't wash, or had dirt covering a hidden platinum blonde. It was an in between colour, not quite brown but not blonde either. A soft caramel that the summer sun had brightened with streaks of gold. It hung down to my waist, thick and unruly, it was quite often out of control. A mess of waves and rough curls that I prided myself in perfecting on a daily basis. For now I ran my fingers through it, detangling knots and smoothing down frizz before pulling it in to a long loose braid.

Turning off the bathroom light I continued my quiet trek down the hall, making my way downstairs to the kitchen. Tracing the familiar path in the darkness, I ran my fingers along the wall and flicked the light switch on.

What I really needed was a large cup of tea, desperately. In the biggest mug they owned. I mechanically filled up the kettle and put it on the stove, it was when I was teaching up to the cupboard for tea bags when I remembered that neither uncle John nor Stiles usually drank tea. Shit. I exhaled a defeated puff of air, floating my bangs upwards before regretfully closing the half open cupboard. I stopped when a colourful box caught the corner of my eye. Hesitantly pulling open the door I she couldn't stop my lip from quivering as my eyes instantly pooled with tears. The bottom shelf was delicately stacked with brightly coloured boxes of tea. Earl Grey, Chai, Peppermint, English Breakfast, all my favourites were there. Next to them even sat a box of hot chocolate mix, a small bottle of vanilla extract and a package of cinnamon sticks. I could remember ranting over breakfast one morning, many years ago, about how, in different teas, they brought out the delicate undertones of flavour. Stiles and my uncle had both laughed me off, calling me a posh tea connoisseur. A title I was proud to accept I told them before calling them something along the lines of 'uncultured swine' if I remembered correctly. I smiled at the memory, honestly I just really had a thing for London Fogs.

My heart felt lighter then it had in a long time. It was such a small gesture, minuscule and probably done off hand and yet.. it meant everything. I had forgotten what it had felt like to be taken care of, to be remembered.

Pulling out the Earl Grey, I opened the box and got out a mug, not big enough but usable, and dropped in a tea bag. I reached for the vanilla, adding a couple drops just as the kettle began to sing. An old perfected routine. Grabbing it off the stove quickly before it could make too much noise I poured it into my mug. After adding a dollop of milk I lifted the mug up to my, face inhaling the sweet vanilla scent and sharp bergamot before taking a small sip.

"Fuck," I hissed, jerking my head back. I steadied both hands on the mug before I could spill the cup down myself.

Note to self, I thought dryly, tea is bloody hot.

I suddenly remembered laughing at the 'careful, this is extremely hot' or whatever, label on the Starbucks cups. Touché Starbucks, touché, you win this round.

Hearing movement upstairs, followed closely by the groaning of pipes as the shower turned on, I busied myself with the coffee maker. Turning it on, I set out a steel travel mug beside it before grabbing my tea and heading for the door. As an after thought on my way out, I grabbed a knitted blanket off the back of the couch and slipped outside.

The morning was cool and crisp. I pulled the blanket around myself before settling onto the porch chair. Blowing on the mug nestled between my hands I watched the world slowly grow brighter with each passing second. The air was fresh and dew glistened on the grass. Before long there would be frost but for now summer clung to its last remains, a soft echo before the change in seasons. I took a deep breath before hesitantly sipping at my tea and sighed happily. Perfect temperature. Birds song rang through the air as the sun began to peak its way over the horizon, casting rays across the lawn and lighting up the dew like tiny diamonds a top each blade of grass. I drank my tea is silence, watching the world come alive. This was home, at last.

Not long after... my tea was only half gone, uncle John stepped out on to the porch. Full Sheriff's uniform donned, a box under his arm and travel mug clutched in his hand. He saw me and smiled, setting his box down before taking the seat on the other side.

"How did you sleep?" he asked me, stretching out, he propped his feet up on the box.

"Like a rock," I answered with a small laugh, "You?

"Not bad actually, I always sleep better when Stiles is in the house. When I know he's not out there getting in to trouble." He gave me a pointed look, "That boy has a knack for finding trouble. Anything that goes on in the town, Stiles is either involved or not far behind."

I arched my brows, cocking my head towards him. "So, just like he's always been then?" I said, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, don't think I've forgotten the trouble you both used to get into. Both of you together traumatized the babysitters of Beacon Hills, ya know. They still talk about the fearsome Stilinski twosome. Old Mrs. Fitz crosses the street when she sees Stiles coming, even now."

My laughter filled the air, "It's not entirely our fault! We didn't even know that flare gun was loaded." Well, maybe I did. But her and Stiles had agreed, they would take it to the grave.

He gave me a sardonic smile before taking a sip of his coffee, "Sure you didn't."

"Thanks for the coffee, kiddo," he said raising his cup in salute, "Walking down the stairs to that smell, well... Let' s just say I thought I was still asleep for a second there. It was a nice surprise."

I smiled at him, lifting my shoulder in a small nonchalant shrug, "I was up. Thank you for my tea though."

"Ah, you found it," he said, suddenly bashful, "I wasn't sure which to get and if I left any out and if I got th-"

I cut of his rambling, "It's perfect Uncle John, really."

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "What are your plans for today?"

"I don't really know," I answered him, thinking, "Nothing much, unpack and tidy up my room a little more, maybe go into town, see whose hiring. Oh and my baby desperately needs a bath."

We both looked up to the dirt encased, bug covered Camaro in the driveway. Even the rain hadn't cut through all that grime. Baby needed a good scrub.

"Ya think?"

He got up from his seat, picking up the box and straightening up. "Well, I'm off. I've got a full shift today but I shouldn't be home overly late and," he looked down at his watch, "Stiles should be up soon for school..."

I straightened my back and gave a mock salute, "I'll rouse the crew," I said, "Have a good day, Sheriff."

He shook his head, smiling at my antics before heading down the steps, "See ya later kiddo."

Sitting on the porch for a few more minutes, I finished up my tea as I basked in the early morning sunshine. The day was already growing warmer, chasing away the cool September nights chill. I stood up and stretched, reaching up on to my tiptoes and rolling my neck around. Arms reaching down, I came down from pointe in perfect fifth position. I rolled my hand forward in a wave and dipped my head forward.

"Ladies and gentleman, I'll be here all week," I whispered to my imagined audience as I curtsied and then spun around through the door. Oh, the prima ballerina days.

Throwing the blanket down on the couch, I made sure there was still coffee left before getting out another mug and a packet of hot chocolate.

"Stiillleeeeessss," I singsonged, traipsing up the stairs and down the hall.

"Rise and shine! Do you want coffee or I could make you a-" I said throwing open the door.

My eyes grew wide, "...Cafe mocha?"

Halfway out the window Malia froze.

"Oh, my god," Stiles' hand came up to cover his face in exasperation. He shifted his fingers, eye peaking out from behind his hand. No doubt catching my amused expression as I leaned against the door frame, he dropped his hand. Instead he brought it up to the back of his head, scratching nervously as he stared at me, "Uhh."

"So?" I asked quizzically. Oh this would be fun. He makes it too easy.

"Soooo... What?" he said hesitantly, as Malia climbed down from the window ledge.

I arched my eyebrows, only imagining the impish grin that was stretched across my face, "Coffee or mocha?"

"Cafe mocha..." Malia said hesitantly.

I stared at Stiles. Daring him to say something else.

"Oh, uh, yeah me too... Thanks?"

I spun on my heel, disappearing "They'll be ready in five," I called behind me.

On my way down the hall I stopped in my room, grabbing a black t-shirt from the pile of clothes I had yet to put away. This should do fine. Continuing my journey, I threw it at a surprised Malia, who was walking into the bathroom.

Snatching it out of her the air, Malia gave me a rueful smile, "Thanks."

I nodded, smirk still present on my face as I went down the stairs, "Anytime."

I immersed myself in making the Cafe Mochas. Pouring a packet of hot chocolate in each mug and adding a couple drops of milk, I stirred it around until it became a thick dark chocolate goop. Pouring half a cup of hot coffee into each I topped the rest off with milk.

Stiles entered the kitchen just as I was placing the cups on the table.

As he reached for one, I pulled back, modeling my face into a mask of innocence, "Sleep well, dear cousin?"

He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at me as he wrapped his hand around one of the mugs, "Just give me the mocha, Hayden."

"Ah, ah, ah," I sung, moving backwards, just a hair out of reach.

He sighed, resigned to his fate, "I slept great, ok, just wonderfully. Can I have my mocha now?

I conceded. Handing it to him as he sat down at the table, "Now, that wasn't too hard was it?" I grinned.

"I hate you," he grumbled.

I cocked my eyebrow, hand on hip.

Taking a sip of his mocha, he closed his eyes and sighed, "Oh god, that's good..."

"Yeah," I scoffed, "That's what I thought." Queen of the hot beverage. They should seriously crown me.

He looked down at his phone, checking the time, "What the hell is she doing? By the time I run her by her house to change we're both going to be late. Coach is going to flip," he groaned.

Moments later, Malia strolled into the kitchen my loose black v-neck tee tucked into the front of her camo shorts. Leather jacket slung over her shoulder. I knew it would work. Score one for me.

"Alright," she said, flopping down at the table, "Gimme the mocha thingy."

Just as I slid the cup towards her, Stiles slide it up and off the table, "You don't have time to drink this now. We're gonna be late for school and we still have to swing by your house so you can change."

I intercepted Stiles. Grabbing the cup, I spun away from him and placed it before Malia again, "Sit down Stiles. You won't be late."

He crossed his arms. "Oh, really we won't be late. Do you have magical fairy powers to go along with your magical fairy sight, Tinkerbell?" he asked, sarcasm in full effect.

Oh, strike one Stiles. I narrowed my eyes, dangerously, "Grow up, Peter Pan."

Malia stood, interceding before things could get ugly, "Stiles, it's fine. We don't have to go by my house. I'm good."

"But you always need to change! You said you can't wear the same thing you wore yesterday..." he argued.

She drained the rest of her mocha then set it in the sink, "And I'm not. Now c'mon let's go before your cousin kills you and we really are late." Oh, she was good.

Ignoring his protesting she pushed Stiles out of the kitchen, calling out a thank you on their way out the door.

I shook my head, smiling long after the door slammed shut.

Coyote or not, I liked that girl.

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For the next few hours, I worked on my room. Hanging and folding what little clothes I had, had only taken about half an hour. My shoes, which weren't much, consisted of a scuffed up pair of converse high tops, black lace up boots, a pair of red flip flops and black lace pair of stilettos. I couldn't stop myself from buying the last pair. They were a necessary purchase. I had talked myself in to plenty of bars and out of heaps of trouble thanks to those babies. If only the rest of my wardrobe was as wonderful. It was made up mostly of basic pieces. Two pairs of jeans, a couple leggings, a pair of track pants. Cut off shorts, tank tops and a few plain v-neck tops. Oh and a plethora of band tee shirts, my main weakness. Recent and vintage, they were a main staple in my life. Don't get me wrong I had some wonderful pieces, a few one of a kind originals I had made myself actually. It wasn't like my wardrobe was in shambles by any means. Just small. Teeny... tiny really. I stared at my sad excuse for a wardrobe before making a mental note to go shopping when I had the chance. Retail therapy was good for the soul. Next, I stored my toiletries away in the bathroom, noting that Stiles had somehow found the time to empty out a drawer for me. I tried not to dwell on it that much, I had work too do, didn't have the time to go getting emotional just yet. Following that I moved on to my jewelry, hanging what I had on a little frame with hooks that I had made when I was younger. Pintrest for the win. I stood the frame up on my dresser before placing my makeup bag in front of it. Most importantly, I placed my curler, blowdryer and hair brushes in a basket beside my end table, my most revered Rapunzel tools. Finally I pulled my silver MacBook computer out of its sleeve and sat it on the desk. Flipping open the lid I waited for it to power up before putting on my country playlist. Yeah, I had secret country addiction, sue me. I lived in Texas for quite awhile, you try not falling in love with Tim McGraw.

Last but not least were my pictures. In a large courier enveloped tucked at the bottom of my, now empty, duffle were all my photos and a bundle of postcards. Whenever we had stayed at a hotel or a rental house for longer then a couple days I took them out and put them up. My mother didn't get it, often laughing at me for toting them around, but, I just never felt quite right without them. I sat on the floor, pulling them out of the large envelope and on to my lap. Some were loose or in thin single frames, while a couple were grouped together in a larger frame. I even had a bunch that I had attached to black ribbons in neat little strips, complete with bows on top. I held one up in front of me, squeezing one eye shut. These I would hang on either side of the mirror I decided then, they were pretty much the exact length.

Going through my photos always brought me back to different times in my life, memories I cherished above all else. Some were photos of landscapes or city skylines that I had taken on my mother's worldwide business trips, while others were of me with various people and places. I glanced through the photos, stopping on one with me and a couple girlfriends, decked out in orange and green paint at a UT Dallas football game. Homecoming. I remembered that game perfectly, down to the winning pass and terrible cold I had come down with afterwards. It had been worth it though. They had gone all the way to state that year, I just wished I had been around to see it. Another photo was of me and a friend in front of the Conan Doyle pub in Scotland, eighteen years old and the first night I had gotten royally pissed drunk. The story eventually ended up with me leaned over in the ally, cursing Guinness as it made its reappearance. They continued on like that, from the various places we had visited or lived for varying periods of time. Some of just me or with friends and a couple very rare ones with my mother. Each one containing a very vivid memory, locked inside the photo as if by magic. So clear, it was almost as if they appeared to move at times.

At the bottom of the stack, were two very old framed photos. One in a brown wooden frame, was of me and Stiles, covered head to toe in mud. Big gap toothed grins on our toddler faces as we held our hands out towards the camera. Grinning deviously of course, as we had charged uncle John not even two seconds after the picture was taken. The second photo, in a thick black paint-splattered frame was my favourite and was usually the first photo I put out. It was of me and Stiles again, on my tenth birthday. He had wrapped himself completely in purple floral wrapping paper, complete with a large silver bow crookedly a top his head. Huge smile on his face, he had presented himself to me, which, as a six year old made for the ideal present of course. The picture had captured me giggling into my hands beside him, while my aunt Claudia sat on his other side, head thrown back in mid-laugh. Beautiful and vibrant. I tenderly stroked my fingers across the photo as tears welled in my eyes. It was the last photo I had of my aunt, she had passed away two years later.

Placing the frame on my bedside table and the other on my desk, I scattered a few others around my room before placing the rest back into the envelope. I tucked them delicately into my bottom desk drawer, adding 'frames' to my mental shopping list. Rolling up the duffle I threw it in to the back of my closet behind my shoes. Flopping back on to my bed I sighed, looking around me. It was the only real permanent room I ever really had. Everything I had in the world was in this room. A meagre but cherished collection.

The next hour or so I spent giving the house a quick but much needed clean. I shuddered to think of the last time it had had a thorough cleaning. Men, I scoffed. Changing into a pair of black track shorts and a light grey tank top, I unbraided my hair. Pulling it up in to a high ponytail to keep it off the back of my neck as I worked. I pulled a red bandana out of my makeup bag and folded it up, tying it around my head to keep my bangs out of my eyes. Shutting my computer to silence the music, I popped my earbuds in and plugged them into my phone. Choosing an old 80's playlist, I set to work. Sliding down the halls and shaking my hips, I rocked out. Vacuuming the stairs to Prince and dusting the the living room as I belted out to Madonna. I had to break entirely when Cyndi Lauper's 'Girls Just Want To Have Fun' came one. I don't care what anyone else says, it's pretty much the international girl anthem. An entire risky business dance party later I was done and the house sparkled. Pouring myself a glass of cold water I guzzled it down greedily, collapsing on to the downstairs couch.

Taking off my tube socks I put my feet up on the coffee table. Taking stock of my toe nails I mentally cringed. Overgrown and chipped green nail polish stared up at me, taunting me with their hideous imperfection in my freshly cleaned house. When was the last time I had taken care of my toe nails? I shook my head. Grabbing my socks I ran upstairs to the bathroom, going through my toiletry back I had tucked under the sink. Filled with female necessities, I let out a cheer when I found a small bottle of remover alongside a few nail polish bottles. Getting out a pair of nail clippers and a file from the drawer I sat down on edge of the bathtub, fiercely determined to correct the injustice I had allowed my feet to bear. Fifteen minutes later, my toes and fingernails where trimmed, buffed and nail polish free. Thank god, I thought, disaster averted. Rolling my eyes, I snorted at my ridiculousness. The things I worried about, really. Honestly, I had bigger priorities in life... Like my car.

Ugh. How had I forgotten my baby? Sitting out there in the driveway. Mud covered. Filthy. Splattered with tiny bug carcasses, like a macabre insect murder scene while I fretted about the state of my nails.

I practically flew down the stairs and out the front door.

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Stiles

"I still don't understand why we're here."

Pulling in to the driveway I parked then turned to Derek, "Look I told you, we just have to wait for Scott to get back. From his errand... That and, I forgot my charger. " I was fuming. Of course I get stuck babysitting, while Scott goes off to talk to the deranged sociopath. Bad idea on top of bad idea.

I got out of the car, not bothering to wait for Derek. Cursing Scott and Peter simultaneously... and here I had thought twenty-something year old Derek was annoying.

Saying a quick hello to Danny, who was outside washing her car I went into the house. I made it all the way up to my room when I realized that house was dead silent. No screeching of the porch door, no creaking of the floorboards in the foyer. Derek hadn't followed me in.

"What the hell is he-" I stopped dead then spun around, taking the stairs two at a time.

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Derek

She turned off the water and stuck her hands into the soapy bucket. She was pulling out a fluffy hand mitt as the annoying jittery one, Stiles was it? Came rushing by her with a mumbled hello. She gave his retreating figure a small salute, "Nice talking to you too." Her voice was soft, a musical lilt that ran like honey.

Smacking the sopping wet mitt on the hood of the rinsed down car she began scrubbing at the stuck on insect remains. I was frozen as she bent over the hood, tiny shorts riding up her lean tan legs. She had heaps of long thick hair pulled up in a ponytail. I wasn't sure what colour it was, it wasn't a stark blonde, like Kate's but soft, a light brown maybe... Dark blonde? Whatever it was it caught the early evening sun just so, illuminating shining streaks of gold trapped within the strands.

Completely absorbed in her work, she jumped when I cleared my throat.

Spinning around she dropped her mitt and I was suddenly at a loss for words. She brought to mind an old sticker I had seen on an old steel toolbox in an auto shop, I think it was. A faded sticker of a cartoon girl, draw with one leg out in short shorts and a small tied up checkered shirt. Hair in tight curls tucked up underneath a bandana and bright red lips, she was sitting on the side of a motorcycle a wrench in hand and covered in grease. Focusing back on the sight in front of me, I couldn't help the tightening in my pants as her plump pink lips opened in shock. That single beauty mark below her angular cheek was like a beacon as she blinked her eyes, though with those lashes... Ugh, I finally understood the meaning of "batting your lashes." Continuing my visual trek up I- damn, you have got to be kidding me. A carefully tied red bandana completed the perfection in front of me.

I bent down and picked up the mitt, handing it over to her.

"Hi," I said flashing her a smile I hopped was charming, "I'm Derek Hale."

She was momentarily frozen. Staring at me with those light green eyes.

"Uh, thanks," she answered reaching out to accept the soggy mitt, "Danny."

I tucked my hands in my pockets and gestured to her car with my head, focusing my attention. Trying to look anywhere but at her damp clingy tank top, "That's some car, Danny, '69 right?"

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Stiles

I grabbed my charger and charged down the stairs, taking them three at a time. Rushing out of the house I stopped to catch my breath, taking in the scene in front of me. Danny was barefoot and clad in what Stiles believed to be a ridiculously tiny pair of black shorts. Grey tank top, half soaked, clung to her side and a few curls had escaped from her pony tail hanging down around her neck. Then there was Derek Hale. Standing there, hands in his pocket staring at her like an all you can eat buffet, a charming smile on his face. It was like a scene from a bad 80's movie.

Wait, charming smile? Derek Hale?

Derek Hale didn't smile. I had never seen him smile before. I didn't even think he was capable of such a thing.

"Nope, nope, nope."

Hastily walking over, I put an arm around Derek's shoulders and steered him away, "Sorry, we've got to go."

"But you said-"

"Forget what I said, we'll just wait at Scott's. It's actually the logical place to wait really. It's his house. Scott's house. Where Scott lives," I rambled, pushing him towards my jeep.

I walked to the passenger side door and yanked it open just as Derek turned around and waved to Danny.

"It was nice to meet you!" he called out before climbing in to the jeep. Infuriating blue eyed teenage werewolf. I'm going to kill Scott.

Slamming the door, I grumbled as I made my way around to the driver's seat, cursing my best friend. Getting in I looked over at Derek, whose eyes were still on Danny. I scoffed, starting up the engine, "Don't even think about it, she's way too old for you, buddy."

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A/N; So? How did we like it? Finally got around to describing Danny. I don't know about you guys but I hate when I can't picture the character in a story, completely throws me off. Hope you all enjoyed it! I know everyone's been dying for her to meet Derek.
Reviews are oxygen which add to faster updates! Night lovelies xx