Stiles winds up bumping into Derek a few more times. He sees him at a coffee shop, trying to order coffee while the barista flirts with him. Stiles snorts into his hand, the half-moons of his fingernails still present.
Derek turns around, and Stiles rubs the back of his neck and turns the other way until Derek moves to wait for his drink. Stiles orders his drink, hot chocolate with whipped cream, and sadly not hit on by the barista. By now, Derek's sitting down and reading a book.
While Stiles is waiting, he looks around. There are a few empty tables, but by the time he gets his hot chocolate, they're all taken. The seat in front of Derek, however, isn't.
He sits down, ignoring the suspicious eyebrow life and questioning head tilt, and pulls out his homework. Stiles continues on as if nothing's the matter, until Derek 'accidentally' knocks over his drink onto his biology book.
"Sorry," he says, completely unapologetic.
Stiles glares at him. "That was unnecessary," he says.
"You sitting down was unnecessary," Derek retorts, and Stiles rolls his eyes.
"Well, message received. Loud and clear." Stiles gazes forlornly at his book, and wonders how he's going to explain it to his teacher.
He leaves (without another hot chocolate, thanks barista), and heads home to clean his book. Stiles doesn't comment on the flutter in his chest as he left the shop.
Another time, Stiles and his dad are shopping for groceries. Stiles wants only the healthiest, while his dad is adamant about buying TV dinners. Derek Hale ends up strolling past as Stiles yanks the package out of the Sheriff's hands. It lands at Derek's feet.
He picks it up and hands it to Stiles. "I think you dropped this," he says, like he didn't just see them practically wrestle for it.
"Thanks," Stiles says, then immediately puts it back in the freezer. His dad, though he will never admit it, whines the rest of the time.
Then, Stiles is at the library, researching more on werewolves and lycanthropy, and Derek's at a table, books split into two piles Stiles assumes are read and to read.
He doesn't make the mistake of sitting with him. He has his own table with his own books and his own reading to do. He has a pen and notebook handy for things to write down.
Stiles almost finishes with one book, a full page of notes, when someone speaks behind him. "What are you doing?" He almost drops the book, and the pen he was chewing falls out of his mouth.
"Research," he tells an annoyed Derek Hale. "Not that you should care or anything."
Derek takes one look at the books Stiles is reading, and laughs. Stiles glares at him, and turns his back, closing the books and putting them away. He's tired and has other homework to do. By the time he gets back to his table where his bag is, Derek's gone, and so is Stiles' rapid pulse.
The last time he sees Derek for a while is when Scott and Stiles call Stiles' dad to accuse Derek of being a murderer. All Derek does is tell Stiles that Scott shouldn't play in the game before Stiles is manhandled out of the car by his dad.
Scott, apparently, proves Derek wrong and helps win the game, even reeling in his werewolf. Stiles is thoroughly impressed. He joins the team in celebration, but notices Scott missing. He ends up in the locker room, sadly, watching Allison and Scott kiss. He waits, and when Allison leaves, Stiles moves forward.
"I don't know how, but I controlled it. I pulled it back. Maybe, I can do this. Maybe it's not that bad," Scott says, biggest smile on his face.
Stiles smiles with him. "Yeah. We'll talk later, then?" He says, even though the information's ready to jump off his tongue.
Scott's smile drops. "What?"
"The, uh, medical examiner looked at the other half of the body we found."
"And..."
"Well, I'll keep it simple. Medical examiner determines killer of girl to be animal, not human. Derek's human, not animal. Derek not killer. Derek let out of jail." Stiles sighs.
"Are you kidding?" Scott says.
"No, and here's a bigger kick in the ass. My dad ID'd the dead girl. Both halves. Her name was Laura Hale."
"Hale?"
Stiles nods. "Derek's sister."
Stiles actually forgets about the fact that sometimes he'll get hurt and it's actually someone else's fault. His "soul mate" or whatever. And then he, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson are trapped in the school with an Alpha, who also may or may not be Scott's boss.
The Alpha's chasing them down a hall, and Stiles trips, not of his own accord, and screams. His ankle's twisted the wrong way, and tears prick at his eyes.
Scott turns back immediately, and Jackson helps out, though Stiles suspects he's on autopilot. They each hook Stiles' arm through theirs, and drag them to a room Lydia and Allison opened. They shut it quickly behind the three of them.
"What the hell happened?" Allison asks, voice pitched high.
Stiles wants to rub his ankle, but knows it would make it much worse. Instead, he focuses on regulating his breathing and not moving. "I broke my ankle."
Scott shoves Jackson away, and moves in close. "Was it really you?" He whispers.
"No," Stiles whispers back. "No."
Scott sighs, and turns to face the other three. Allison's the first to speak up. "We have to call an ambulance. Stiles needs to get to a hospital."
Stiles shifts minutely, and pins and needles shoot up his leg. He grabs on to the skin above his knee, and squeezes, hoping to distract himself from the pain lower. "I agree with Allison. Hospital, good. School with a raging psychopath, bad."
"Scott?"
Scott, for some reason, is in another world. He has his back to everyone and his hands are clenched.
"Scott, we really need to get out of here. I can't-" Stiles gasps for breath as he tries to shift to alleviate the numbness in his good leg. "Can't do this."
Finally, Scott does something. He makes a move towards the door. "No!" They all shout simultaneously.
"I have to do something," Scott says.
"We don't even know who it is," Allison pleads.
Scott glances over at Stiles, sweating and breathing through his clenched teeth. He gives Scott a slight nod, and Scott says, "It's Derek Hale."
"Derek Hale?" Jackson says.
"But why?" Allison asks. "Why does he want to kill us? It doesn't make sense."
Stiles pops in to say, "It doesn't have to make sense. He's trying to kill us 'cause he's insane. Now, start planning and get me out of here."
They all huddle, and though they hate it, allow Scott to do what he feels he must. Lydia makes him a Molotov cocktail with the chemicals in the supply cabinet, and Scott leaves them in the room.
"Can someone please call 9-1-1, like right now?" Stiles says.
Lydia and Allison both pull out their phones while Jackson stares at Stiles' ankle. "How did you twist it like that?" He asks.
Stiles shrugs. "I'm clumsy. I fall over nothing every day."
Jackson looks like he might put up a fight, so Stiles grabs his leg again and groans again. It works, and Jackson lays off.
Until they hear a massive roar that shakes their bones. Stiles yells out loud, the vibrations too much for him right now. He's waiting for something, anything, to distract him from the pain, but hurting himself further just isn't helping. Then, Scott somehow locks them all in the room.
Stiles pretty much gets yelled at until his dad and more cops show up. Stiles is wheeled out into an ambulance, and his dad follows in the cruiser. Scott runs after Allison, and Stiles leans his head back in the gurney.
"You okay?" His dad asks just before he's in.
Stiles nods. "I'm fine. Just a broken ankle and a bruised ego."
His dad laughs, and Stiles really wants to be able to laugh with him. For now, he suffers through the ride, the X-rays, and thankfully gets home within a few hours. He collapses on his bed, and since he's all dosed up on pain-meds (he thinks), falls asleep within seconds.
Stiles wakes up to paper shuffling and someone writing in pen. He can hear the scraping of it somewhere near the vicinity of his desk. He rolls over, and proceeds to fall the hell back to sleep.
He wakes up a second time to the wind on his face and his dad opening his door. "I'm heading out. You need anything?"
"Uh, don't think so," Stiles responds, silently wondering how his window got open and what he should have for breakfast.
The Sheriff nods curtly. "Got it. See you tonight."
"See ya!" Stiles yells as his dad closes the door. He stands up, carefully now that he has his leg in a cast, and hobbles over to the window, all intentions on shutting it.
"Stiles, I swear to God, if you close that window." Stiles jumps back, and whines when he lands hard on his injured leg.
Derek sails through his open window, landing in a crouch. "Thanks."
Stiles sighs. "Least I can do, considering you're a on the run because of us." He shuffles back to his bed, and sits on it. That's when he gets a good look at his desk, and he realizes something. "You were here before."
Derek rolls his eyes, and plants himself on Stiles' chair, like he belonged there. "No one thinks to check the Sheriff's house for a fugitive."
"So smart," Stiles says, and heaves himself back on his feet. "Want any food since you're mooching off me?"
Derek shrugs. "Whatever."
Stiles' eye twitches. He opens and closes his mouth a few times while Derek keeps on reading. Stiles just leaves, craving some fried eggs for himself. He gets down the stairs with relative ease, albeit loudly, and reaches his destination.
It takes him only ten minutes from start to finish. He eats his eggs standing up, then begins the journey to get up the single flight of stars to his room so he can work on his homework. One could never be too careful. Tomorrow, he could get kidnapped by some gang and held for ransom.
So it's better to get the work done today.
After five steps, Stiles wants to give up and spend his recuperating weeks on these steps. He honestly thinks about it, when he hears footsteps get closer to the top of the stairs.
"What are you doing?" Derek asks, arms crossed across his chest.
"Sleeping," Stiles responds.
Derek sighs. Stiles could hear it from all the way down here. "I'm going to regret this, but why are you sleeping on the stairs?"
"Because my ankle is broken and I'm tired after eating eggs and there's an Alpha who's trying to get my best friend to kill his friends and I'm too young and pretty to die and..." By this point, Stiles is hyperventilating and his leg is throbbing. Black spots dance in his vision.
Derek grabs his arm, and hauls Stiles to his feet. He helps him to his room, and drops him on his bed. Stiles wants to say thanks, but passes out before he gets the chance.
Stiles wakes back up to an empty room. He doesn't think too much on it.