Disclaimer: Do not own Teen Wolf or any associated characters. Only what happens in my head.

Warnings: Language

A/N:

Three

The next week had gone without any sort of incident. Mostly, it was just Scott reacquainting him with Beacon Hills. As though Stiles really needed that. He'd been back here once a year since they'd move and it wasn't like the place had changed much since he'd been here last year. The only thing that had really changed was that Scott had a job. At an animal clinic of all things. When Scott had gotten his job his goal had just been to make some extra money so that he could buy his own car, tired of biking around everywhere. Now, though, the boy truly enjoyed working with the animals and was even debating a future as a veterinarian.

Stiles was introduced to Alan Deaton, Scott's boss. Who turned out, had a surprising knowledge about.. everything. Including what Scott was. His boss had only just found out a few months ago, right before the crime rate started to rise. Scott recounted to Stiles how the man had figured it out when all of the cats within the clinic had nearly lost their minds on Scott during the full moon.

Deaton surveyed Stiles with a bit of skepticism, as though trying to determine if there were anything profoundly supernatural about Stiles. There wasn't. At all. He was just Stiles.

Beyond meeting Deaton, Stiles was introduced, or in some cases re-introduced, to a variety of teens in Beacon Hills. A majority of them he was certain he'd gone to grade school with, he just didn't have any memories of them. Between meeting people, Scott pressured Stiles to join him for a few practices on the lacrosse field.

Where they met up with Jackson and Danny and a variety of others. They'd been wanting to practice Danny's goal-keeping skills. Apparently the guy was running a risk of losing first line in their senior year and Jackson wanted his best friend on the team with him. Jackson, however, was becoming increasingly irritated because every shot Stiles tried to take ended up going well outside of the goal post. Stiles had never seen himself as much of an athletically inclined person. He was too scrawny and awkward.

Not to say he couldn't do it, if he had any interest. There just weren't any sports that really captivated him that much. He liked football and hockey well enough, was even pretty sure he could play either. The problem being that he didn't really have the muscle to play against any real jock-types. In the end, Stiles opted to sit in the stands and watch the others play instead. He'd be fine with not trying out for the team. A sigh escaped him as he leaned back against the seat behind him.

"You weren't really aiming for the goal, were you?" A rough voice sounded behind him.

Stiles responded by jumping with his arms flailing uselessly while he turned toward the sound. A strangled sort of noise escaped him, "gaah.. Can you, like, I don't know, not sneak up on people?"

Derek's expression was nearly unreadable. He stared back in a stony way but Stiles was sure there was a hint of amusement glimmering in his eyes. After a moments silence he only raised his brows, those oh-so-expressive eyebrows, and nodded back toward the field without taking his eyes off of Stiles.

His shoulders rose and fell bodily, "I don't know, I guess I just, I don't have much interest in lacrosse. Seems like a bit of a hockey ripoff, kind of." He saw those brows drop down and chuckled to himself, "oh, right, you were on the team."

"I was. I played long enough to know when someone wasn't really trying." Derek's attention pulled from Stiles, turning to watch the others again.

A frown traced his lips, observing the others. Jackson whipped his stick hard at the goal, the ball moved with almost blinding speed toward Danny. Who made the barest adjustment and caught it with ease. "Missing the glory days, are you?" He asked before he could stop himself. Then another though occurred. "Wait, how long were you sitting there?" How did he not notice him sooner?

"I've been here for a little while." Derek was gazing out onto to the field, though he didn't really appear to be paying much attention to what was happening. The elder boy allowed himself to get lost in thought. So much, in fact, that when he spoke next his voice held a far-off quality. "I come out here when I need to clear my head. Even when it's loud and filled with people, or completely deserted, it's.. peaceful."

"I guess it's nice to have that. That place you can go and feel at ease." Stiles wrung his hands in front of him. He'd had that when he was younger. Before they'd left Beacon Hills. The preserve. More specifically Lookout Point. Where he and Scott had gone camping. You could see all of Beacon Hills spread out for miles from there. Ever since his friend had been bitten Stiles didn't find it as relaxing out there. Back in Ely he'd never found that 'place'.

Derek didn't say anything in response for so long that Stiles was starting to think the guy was off in his own world. Something he, himself, was prone to do. He shifted uncomfortably, sweat from the summer sun made his shirt stick to him. Probably not helped by the metal stands that seemed to be absorbing all of those rays. A hand raised to shove back through his dark hair, making it stick up at odd angles. Stiles sat up to pluck at his shirt, pulling it away from him in an attempt to cool himself. "How the hell are you in a leather jacket? Aren't you dying of heat stroke?"

That seemed to bring the guy out of his thoughts enough to actually give a response. "It's not that hot."

"It's, like, a thousand degrees."

"It's barely 90." Derek deadpanned. "Maybe you're just thirsty."

Stiles couldn't argue with that. Adderall had a way of causing dry mouth in some people. Still, it was hot. He was content to blame the fact that there was little cloud coverage and they were sitting out in the open. Without realizing it, he found himself observing the man behind him, from the way there didn't seem to be a single scar on that angular face to the way his beard seemed perfectly manicured. Every hair on his head fell into place as though it just knew where it was supposed to be. Stiles probably stared a little longer than he should have, and Derek was fully aware of it. Given the way those expressive brows darted up when his blue-green eyes returned to Stiles' face, anyway.

"I, um, I heard what happened to-"

Derek quickly cut him off with a more menacing look, Stiles could have sworn for a brief second that the guys eyes were much more vibrantly blue than green. "Don't."

He bit down on his lips to keep himself from saying anything more. What he'd wanted to say was that he understood the loss. His mothers memory would always haunt him. Even when things were going well, there was a little nagging voice in the back of his head. Either reminding him that he could one day fall victim to the same illness, or asking if she would be proud of anything he'd done. He caught a faint wrinkle in Derek's nose, the only shift from that stoic expression, as the elder boy eyed him.

Stiles' attention was drawn toward the field when Jackson shouted loudly. Apparently he'd made some spectacular shot and Danny caught it. With a shake of his head he turned back to Derek with the intent to say something more.. only to find the seat behind him empty. Whiskey-brown eyes widened in surprise, quickly moving in his seat to inspect the rest of the stands.

How in the name of god had the guy moved without making a freaking sound?!

–

Jackson and Danny had left he and Scott on the field, Mrs. Whittmore was home from a business trip and had plans for dinner with the two of them. Scott had dinner plans with Allison, who was supposed to pick him up in a few hours at his house. Stiles, once more, would have nothing to do for the remainder of the day. Still, he drove Scott home, then went to get dinner for himself and his father. Sheriff Stilinski was working a late shift.

And probably hadn't eaten anything yet. Or if he had, it was probably something of the artery clogging variety. When he set the bags down onto his fathers desk the elder male grinned. "Oh, that smells good."

"I know, a nice, juicy hamburger with fries. Your favorite!"

The Sheriff must have caught the mischievous glint in his son's eye because his own narrowed. Both the burger and fries were pulled from the bag and inspected as if his son had done something to them. Then realization hit. "This isn't a burger, is it?"

"Of course it is!" His tone must have been too defensive because a glare began to settle over his father's features. Stiles quickly backpedaled. "Of theeee plant-based variety."

"Stiles." The name was drawn out in exasperation.

"You have a very important job here dad, can't have you keeling over from a heart attack."

"Stiles."

"No, seriously, you remember what the doc said. Cut back on red meat, watch the fried foods." He shouldn't have said that. Noah immediately turned toward the fries now. "Okay, so they're baked. And they're sweet potato. But it's healthier for you, dad. And look, look. I'm eating the same thing. Don't you think my growing body would prefer something deep fried and fatty? Here I am, in a show of solidarity!"

His father exhaled, then plucked the burger back up. Stiles celebrated a little victory when his father actually began eating it. Naturally, he would have preferred to eat.. literally anything else, but he'd decided long ago that if his father would have to suffer through these meals then he would too. Solidarity. Around a particularly large bite, he nodded toward the case file on his fathers desk. "So, whatcha working on?"

"Not your business."

"Aw, com'on dad! It's not like I haven't looked through half the cases you worked on before."

"Stiles, you're sixteen. It's summer. Shouldn't you be out.. I don't know, looking for parties or girls?"

"Seventeen, and do you really want me out looking for a party?"

It was summer, which meant there were bound to be a handful of them. As they were encroaching on the weekend, Stiles was sure that if he really wanted to find one. He could. He didn't have much interest in parties, though. What was there, excessive drinking? Loud music? Hook-ups that would lead to regret? No thanks. He'd seen all the dangers in drinking a long time ago, it was something he was keen to avoid. He didn't like the idea of hooking up either. Of course, his teenage hormones were always wanting, but he'd rather it be with someone he actually liked.

Noah frowned at his son, then nodded to himself. "Well, it looks as though we've got a couple of bears from the preserve coming into town."

"Bears?"

"Well, the reports are claiming it's large and black, so the only thing that makes sense is a bear."

"So. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that a job for animal control? Not the sheriff? Besides, what are the bears doing? Breaking into cars or hurting people?"

"We found one in a grocery store this morning," he cut himself off at the suddenly excitable look on his sons face, frowning over at him. "Other than that it's the typical amount of attacks out in the preserve."

"You're sure its bears doing all the attacks?" Stiles asked skeptically. After all, Scott had been attacked out there. Who's to say others hadn't.

Noah shifted aside a file and shook his head. "Even if I'm not, others must be. We found some pretty impressive arrows out in the woods and some large traps. Someone's looking for the bears."

"I though bear hunting was illegal on the preserve." Stiles stared hard at what little he could see of the files from his perch across the desk. What if someone weren't hunting bears?

His father blew out a breath and closed the files. He leaned back in his seat and nodded. "Which is why we're taking all of the traps we find, but there's only so much we can do out there. It's not like there's a hundred deputies here."

In fact, Beacon Hills only had seven deputies per shift-rotated out so people weren't working the same days all the time-and three front desk officers who also acted as their emergency line operators. Not nearly enough people to cover the vast expanse of the preserve.

Noah opened his mouth to say something more when one of the deputies knocked, then pushed open the door in a hurry. "Sheriff, we've got report of a break-in at the Kebbles Pharmacy."

He exhaled heavily and stood. "Go find something to do, Stiles. Keep out of trouble." Without another word he hustled out of the office.

Stiles finished his burger and cleaned up after himself, then left. He could have stuck around and spent time snooping, but decided against it. For now. Honestly, he was too tired to. Even with heavy doses of melatonin every night, and only taking his Adderall in the morning, sleep wasn't coming easy. Some nights he tossed and turned too much, others he had strangely vivid dreams of someone watching him through the window. He'd made sure his curtains were hung in place on the second day, but still felt like someone could see him.

It was unsettling, really. More so was the fact that that feeling had come again. The moment he'd stepped out of the Sheriff's station. He'd paused a moment to enjoy the colors above. The inky purple on one end, the remnants or oranges and pinks on the other as the suns rays made their last attempt to grip onto everything before night took hold. With his face turned upward, reveling in the soft breeze, he got that prickling on the back of his neck.

Whiskey-brown hues lowered to search the parking lot, the shrubs, the trees in the distance. Stiles frowned to himself and dug into his pocket for his keys. He really didn't like the way it sent a little shiver down his spine. That sense of being observed by someone he couldn't even see. 'You're being a paranoid idiot,' he reasoned with himself. Shaking his head Stiles moved across the lot toward Roscoe and clambered in.

That sensation only grew stronger as he sat there, staring out through the windows. After giving himself a little shake, Stiles drove out of the lot, heading for home. He figured maybe he could help with unpacking some more of the house. His father had been at the station every day since they'd arrived and Stiles had spent a lot of time out with Scott. Which meant there was a lot, A LOT, that still needed unpacked. Hell, he was pretty sure the stove wasn't even plugged in yet. Not like he or his father ever really cooked.

The streets were fairly quiet tonight. Most everyone was home already from work, or still out from their days activities. In the three miles he'd driven from the station he'd only encountered two other cars. Both of which had passed him in the opposite direction. He reached over in the attempt to turn on the radio, the silence bothering him, when it happened. A large black mass hurtled from beside the road and slammed into the side of his Jeep. He heard a loud pop and, judging by the way the Jeep suddenly drooped on the passenger side, he knew he'd blown a tire. "SHIT!" Stiles grasped the wheel while jamming his foot down onto the brake.

It squealed to a stop, leaving him panting. "The hell was that!" He shrieked to himself. "A dog, you hit a dog." Stiles tried to reason with himself. Though, it was much bigger than any dog he'd ever seen. "Or a bear?" Oh god he hoped not.

Regardless of what he'd hit, Stiles knew he needed to assess the damages. Then call for a tow truck, and possibly call his father. Breathing a shaky breath, he made sure his phone was in his pocket, then turned off the Jeep and pushed the door open. A look back to where he'd hit the animal showed.. nothing. Vast expanse of road. No animal. Maybe it had gone off to the side of the road to die? A frown traced his lips before he'd move around to the passenger side to inspect the damage.

There was a massive dent in the fender, expanding across to the door, and the tire was blown out entirely. The rim even looked bent. Great. This wasn't going to come cheap. Huffing, he reached for his phone. It was half way out of his pocket when he froze. Why was there something growling? Something that sounded very big indeed. Stiles turned toward the sound, much slower than he should have. Or at least it felt that way.

Along the side of the road, where he was sure he'd just looked, stood a massive black shape. We're talking huge. There was no way in hell that thing was a bear. It was too big, too dark.. and it's eyes were an unsettling shade of red. If he weren't in a sudden state of terror he might have remarked on the fact that those eyes were also glowing brilliantly.

Stiles yelped and flattened himself back against the side of his Jeep when the creature came barreling toward him, snarling and snapping its jaws. Just as suddenly a slightly large frame stood before him, growling back. Werewolf. He'd recognize the sound of a growl anywhere. Scrambling, Stiles yanked on the door handle. Locked. He didn't bother to look back before darting around the front of the Jeep. He could hear the sounds of the fight behind him.

He'd assumed it was Scott, as they'd not found any evidence of other wolves in the area. Just before he'd opened the drivers door a loud, pained yip came from the fight. Stiles stared through both windows at the form who stood breathing heavily. Before his eyes he watched the ears round out, the tufts of hair on the side of the boys head shrink back. But when he turned Stiles let out a strangled gasp. Not Scott. Definitely, definitely NOT SCOTT.

"Derek!?"