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He expected things to be different.
He didn’t take the bite blindly, he considered his options. He still doesn’t totally know how Derek found him. Though, the guy lurks around his school enough to be considered an A class creeper. Sometimes, Boyd still wonders why Derek chose him. Why he seemed like a good idea.
He’s pretty damn sure choosing Derek was a terrible idea.
His fists clench together just thinking about it all, and he hopes Derek can feel his anger.
At night, he can still smell their excitement as they closed in on him and Erica. He can still taste the copper of his own blood. He wakes to the sound of her voice, screaming at him to run, the ghost feeling of her hand slipping from his.
The cafeteria smells vile, pungent with hot cheese and stale bread. Before, it smelt sort of warm and almost tasty. Now it smells like rotten food, lurking on the shelves in the kitchen, fading away.
There’s a scrape of a chair, a rapid heartbeat accosting his ears, and when he looks up, Stiles Stilinski is sitting opposite him. This is different.
“Hey.”
Boyd stares at him for a moment, considers his options. He knows, instinctively, Stiles doesn’t want to do him any harm. His body language is tense, but not teetering on edge, not ready for a fight. He’s nervous, Boyd realizes. He nods back, dips his gaze back to his lunch.
His mom made it; left it out on the counter as she flew out the door for her five to five shift. He listened to her slice the bread, lay out ham and lettuce, sigh around the silence that’s encased their home for months. He doesn’t mean to shut her out; he doesn’t want to leave her feeling so alone. He wanted to be good for his mom. He wanted to be better. He wonders if she wishes it had been him. He wonders if she’d have been glad if he’d never come back after running in the spring; if she’d even have noticed.
“You want?” Stiles waves a bag of chips at him and Boyd shakes his head slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Stiles shrugs and pulls the package back into his chest, the plastic crinkling against his shirt.
There’s the slam of a door in the background and Stiles flinches, glances at him sheepishly. “Still a little jumpy,” he says quietly.
He can relate. But he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to admit that. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to confess feeling weak. Derek certainly doesn’t acknowledge any weakness. He rolls with them, fights against them with a rage Boyd has never had. He didn’t know how to get angry on cue. Now he doesn’t trust himself to try. He lets most things go over his head. Some things never change.
“’S’good seeing you,” Stiles murmurs as he stands, stretches, eyes flitting across Boyd’s face. “I didn’t know I’d miss her till she was gone,” he adds quietly.
Boyd swallows; food tasteless in his mouth and nods because once she was there, she was vibrant, bursting with energy and joy and now she’s gone. And he never thought about missing it before, now it’s a fucking ache in his chest. Stiles nods back, heads out of the room.
He watches him walk away, his head dropped down, deep in thought, and he wonders if everyone else is struggling as much as he is, if their masks are just better.
*
Harris has always had a thing about picking on Stilinski. The kid seems to get under their teacher’s skin. Erica once made a Harry Potter crack about it, and Derek stared her down until she rolled her eyes and vaulted up onto the roof of the train cart. He loved how easy she made everything look. She had a grace about her, a jaunt to her walk that came with pride at finally being able to stand tall. He loved walking beside her and feeling her excitement vibrate into him.
They’re in third period, Stiles surprisingly subdued as Harris rants at him and Boyd snaps. “Are we gonna learn anything today? Or is my entire hour gonna be wasted because you’ve got some issue with Stilinski?”
Harris stares at him like he’s never seen him before. It’s a possibility. He’s always kept pretty quiet in Harris’ class. The guy used to nerve him out, now he smells plain wrong.
“I was under the impression this was my classroom, Mr Boyd, feel free to exit it if you think you can teach yourself.”
He’s torn for a moment, a dramatic stalk out isn’t his style, but he can’t handle another nine months of this asshole acting like he knows everything and they’re all maggots that don’t deserve his knowledge.
Eventually, the part inside of him that still fucking loves school wins out, and he stays where he is, shuffling his feet under the desk.
Harris’ lip curls up. “That’s what I thought. Detention, after school, for you too, Stilinski.”
Stiles opens his mouth to protest and Lydia nudges him in the side. He drops his head on the desk and stares morosely out of the window. Boyd spends most of the lesson wondering what the fuck came over him. He’s never sassed a teacher in his life.
As he’s trudging to the library after school, McCall appears at his side.
“Boyd! Hey, how are you?”
“How do you think?” he replies as casually as possible.
“Look, man,” Scott screw up his face apologetically. “I’m sorry—Derek—”
“I don’t want to talk to you about Derek,” Boyd cuts in. “Ever.”
He strides ahead; slams open the library doors to where Harris and Stiles are sitting in stony silence.
“So glad you could make it,” Harris drawls. “Sit, don’t speak, I don’t have time to babysit the two of you so, I’ll be back in an hour.”
Boyd doesn’t look at him, grabs the nearest chair and stretches out. Whatever the man says, it’s not like being quiet for an hour is a difficult prospect for him. The second the door swings shut, however, Stiles is leaning forward in his chair to gawk at him.
“Dude, what the hell?”
He raises his eyebrows in a wordless question.
“I mean, you totally called Harris out, what the hell was that?!”
Boyd shrugs, his shoulders beginning to feel heavy with the weight of the whole fucking world on them. “He talks too much.”
“He’s a teacher,” Stiles whispers incredulously.
“Doesn’t give him the right to talk to students however he likes.”
Stiles sits back, appraising him. “Huh, got some new authority issues going for you?”
“No,” he snaps. “I just thought he was being a dick. You wanna keep taking shit from him, be my guest.”
“Nah, man,” Stiles says hurriedly. “I really—I appreciated it, okay? I mean, no one’s ever said anything about it before.”
Boyd looks at him for a moment, and then can’t help but laugh. Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise. “Are you—are you secretly the child of his sworn enemy, or something?”
Stiles grins ruefully, getting the joke. “Nope, although,” he hesitates. “I wouldn’t write off anything being a possibility in this town.”
“Neither would I,” Boyd agrees dolefully.
Stiles flicks open his history textbook, and Boyd follows suit. When the hour is up, Harris stalks back into the room to release them, and Stiles waves at the Jeep in the parking lot. “You wanna ride?”
“No, thanks,” he gives him a nod. “We live on opposite sides of town, man.”
“That’s okay!”
“Really,” he tries flashing a smile and it’s not totally genuine, but it’s the most sincere one he’s given anybody since coming home. “It’s cool.”
*
“Boyd!” He lurches in surprise as Finstock appears and claps him on the shoulder. “You were a miracle find last season, you better be turning up for cross country after school.”
“Uh, I’m more of a sprinter.”
“Semantics,” Finstock declares. “Anyone can run miles if they just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”
“Uh.”
“Great! See you then.”
And just like that he finds himself stretching on the field with Mahealani and Greenberg.
“Yo mortals,” Stiles appears beside him, legs all tangled up as he sits down. He always looks all at once both hugely uncomfortable, and strangely languid at the same time. Boyd can see what Erica was attracted to more than he supposes most of the high school body do. He can already see where he’s filling out, becoming more of the man he’ll be. He wonders if Stiles thinks the night with Gerard is as much a turning point in his life as Boyd does.
He wonders who he talks to about it.
Then he remembers Stiles has a Scott. And it’s just him who has no one to talk it out with.
His mom thought he’d been attacked by someone. She tried to make him go and see someone last week. But, how they hell do you explain werewolves, and eighty five year old men torturing you, alpha packs trying to get you to tear someone apart without sounding absolutely nuts?
“Stilinski,” Danny nods. “You running with me this year?”
“Nah, gonna run with Boyd if it’s cool.”
Danny clutches at his chest. “Cuts me deep, man.”
“You shouldda said I was attractive,” Stiles sniffs easily and Danny grins, shoves at his shoulder as he heads towards the start point.
“That’s cool, right?” Boyd flicks his head round and sees Stiles looking at him sharply.
“Yeah, yeah whatever,” he stands and smiles brightly. “Try to keep up.”
“Oh, it is on,” Stiles mutters.
Turns out, he’s pretty good at long distance.
“It’s all the running for my life I do,” he says casually when Boyd mentions it, halfway into the run.
“You got good form.”
Stiles shrugs. “My mom liked running.”
They don’t say anything else, but the silence isn’t heavy or awkward. When he gets home, he actually feels pretty good. He makes lasagne, wraps half for his mom and eats his watching Mythbusters. When he wakes it’s to his mom humming, pulling a blanket over him. She kisses his forehead and tells him if she catches him not sleeping in his bed again she’ll have his hide.
*
Isaac’s lingering by his locker when he gets into school the next day. He looks less like he wants to own the corridor, and more nervous than he did when Boyd last saw him.
He gives him a nod, and Isaac smiles back tentatively. “How are you?”
“Alright,” he shrugs. “You know.”
Isaac ducks his head. “Yeah.”
Isaac opens his mouth again, and Boyd knows he wants to ask about her. He can’t talk about it here, though. He doesn’t know when he’ll ever be able to talk about it.
"See you later," he murmurs quickly.
“I’m not—I’m staying at Scott’s,” Isaac blurts out as Boyd moves down the corridor.
“What?”
“Last night…” Isaac trails off. “Derek he—he doesn’t want me at the loft.”
Boyd feels his hands tighten round the straps of his rucksack. “What.”
Isaac hunches up his shoulders, tries for a lopsided smile and misses the mark. “He’s sort of losing it, man.”
“He lost it a while back,” Boyd points out, but he steps back into Isaac’s space and before he realizes what he’s doing, places a tentative hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Isaac chews on his lip, clearly searching for words. “No. Are you?”
Boyd snorts, clutches at Isaac’s shoulder tightly before letting go. “No, but I got your back, okay?”
“Okay,” Isaac’s smile is more sincere as they part.
To his complete surprise Lydia Martin sits down next to him in Chem.
“I don’t want to talk about any of it,” she says with a sniff.
He nods, still in total shock. “Okay.”
She turns towards him and smiles brightly. “So, ionic bonds.” She flips their textbooks over at the same time, raises an eyebrow at him expectantly. “I’m going to be Valedictorian, Vernon. I need a strong lab partner.”
“Okay,” he nods. “Okay, I can do that.” He pauses, fingers on his pen. “You know my first name?”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “I know everyone on the honor roll’s name, duh.”
When Stiles and Scott come in, Stiles lifts an eyebrow at them sitting together but doesn’t say anything, plonks himself down between Isaac and Scott, then pales and moves to Scott’s left.
“Are you coming to lunch?” Lydia asks as they stand at the end of class.
“Uh—”
“Use your words,” she says with the hint of a smirk.
He narrows his eyes at her and then concedes. “Yeah, alright.”
Danny nods at him as they sit down at the table, goes back to texting one handed as he blindly eats a sandwich. Stiles flies over to the table, throws his lunch down and groans.
“Calculus is such a bitch.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Don’t use that word, Stiles.”
“My apologies,” he says, clasping his hands together dramatically. “A bastard?”
She considers it for a second and then nods, deigns it acceptable. “If you must.”
“I need help already,” he says weakly.
“Unlikely,” Danny scoffs. “You’re almost as good as Lydia.”
“Yeah, but you know, with everything that happened, uh, last year,” he says the sentence hurriedly, flushing and not looking at Boyd or Lydia. “I kinda got rusty.”
“You, me, after school, studying till five. I have a hair appointment at six,” Lydia appraises him for a moment. “You should probably come, too.”
Stiles scowls and runs a hand through his long hair. “It’s too much effort keeping it short.”
“There’s a difference to it making you look far more appealing, and older, and making you look like a hobo,” Lydia says firmly, pointing her fork at him. “You can get a trim at least.”
“Fine, you’re the boss,” Stiles grumbles.
“Glad you realized it,” Lydia says sweetly. Boyd grins and lets them bicker over his head. At some point, he catches Isaac’s scent, familiar even amongst the stench of the student body and Tuesday’s spaghetti bolognaise special. He smells like apples, and a little minty, like Derek, and a surprising amount like Scott. Boyd watches as they cross the dining hall, chatting happily. When he looks back at the table, Stiles is watching them, too. They don’t sit with them, but Scott does wave. Stiles waves limply back then garbles something about needing to do homework for their history class and leaves the room.
Lydia rolls her eyes. “It’s like he doesn’t know how to share.”
“Cut him a break,” Danny says quietly. “It took me a while to get used to you and Jackson.”
“It did not; you and I were friends first.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t spend all our time together trying to feel you up.”
“Which is why I liked you best,” she says airily.
Danny gives her a small smile and Lydia looks down at her hands. Boyd clears his throat, frowning at the way they’ve both gone quiet. “So, uh, Jackson not feeling like gracing us with his presence today?”
Lydia shakes her hair out, rolling her eyes. “Jackson is off finding himself in Europe. Last I heard he was in London pretending to be cultural.”
Boyd doesn’t totally know what to say to the sad look behind her glib words, so he settles for noting that London always looked a bit dirty to him and Lydia gives him half a smile and steals one of his grapes.
*
Derek is lingering in his room, looking at his book collection when he gets home a couple of days later.
“The hell are you doing here?” he snarls, closing his door quietly so as not to wake his mom. She’s on the graveyard tonight, and she needs all the sleep she can get.
“You haven’t been answering my calls.”
“Which most people would surmise to mean, I don’t want to talk to you,” he snaps, tossing his bag on the floor and glowering at Derek. He feels dumb, like a kid having a tantrum, especially when Derek barely reacts, doesn’t even flinch as his bag hits the floor.
“How did you even get in here?”
The door was unlocked,” Derek says simply.
Boyd snorts, the guy’s like a fucking advert for locking your doors. He’s gonna have to have a serious chat with his mom about remembering to do so when she’s awake.
“What do you want?” he asks finally, Derek standing immobile by the window.
“You’re still a part of my pack,” Derek grits out. “I care what happens to you.”
He scoffs, looks at the ceiling. “Do you?”
“Of course. You’re pack.”
“That means nothing when even the alpha doesn’t have it together,” Boyd growls.
Derek nods, jerkily. “You’re angry.”
“You’re damn right.”
“You knew the risks,” Derek snaps. “I told you—”
“You didn’t tell me a group of psycho hunters were gonna hunt me down and torture me!”
“I was wrong to underestimate the Argents,” Derek concedes. Which, Boyd supposes is a pretty big deal for him. “It won’t happen again. There are bigger threats now.”
“They’re not my problem, now” he says glibly, and then winces because there’s a part of him that wants to have Derek’s back. He wonders if that’s the beta in him scraping to the surface, howling at him to do his alpha’s bidding.
Derek lifts an eyebrow like he knows what he’s thinking.
“I get why you ran,” he says in a gravelly voice. “But, if you’re back, and you want in, there’s a place for you.”
“Why—” he clears his throat. “Why are you being so understanding?”
“Because,” Derek’s voice cracks minimally, and then his face shuts down. “I ran, once. I know what it’s like to run for your life.”
There’s a silence as he tests out Derek’s heartbeat. It’s steady, just a little uptick like he’s not comfortable sharing with him.
After a moment he nods shortly.
“Okay, I’ll come by the train cart after school.”
“I’m not there anymore,” Derek says, surprise flashing over his face, a little relief wafting through the air. “I’m—we’re somewhere new.”
“We?”
“Cora,” Derek hunches up his shoulders. “Cora’s around.”
Boyd snorts. “But not Isaac?”
“It’s for the best,” Derek says quietly. “We’re on Shepard’s Street.”
“One abandoned area for another?”
Derek almost smiles, his face going rueful. “It’s safest.”
“I’ll find it.”
Derek opens his mouth as if going to say something else, then seems to think better of it, carefully, a little shakily, claps Boyd on the shoulder. He can still feel the heat on his shoulder when he throws himself into bed later. He wonders if it’s an alpha thing, a pack thing, or he’s just not had much physical contact with anyone lately. His body is purposely trying to scavenge and remember what it can.
*
“What now?” He asks as Stiles sits down next to him in last period. They’re both on a free, and Boyd has a metric ton of Geometry to get through.
“Just sayin’ hi.”
“Hi.”
“Boyd—”
“Dude, I actually have work to do. You can stay if you’ve got some urge for company, but I gotta do this, okay?”
“Okay,” Stiles says softly, pulling out his own books. “I can do quiet.”
Boyd is surprised to find that he can. They sit until the end of school, and when the bell goes Stiles offers him a lift again. Boyd turns him down, nicely. He doesn’t want to think about the face Stiles would pull if he knew where he was going.
The walk to Derek’s is short, he can feel the pull of his alpha, of pack, and buries it deeper inside himself.
Derek gives him a nod as he comes in, looks stressed and worn around the edges. He rolls back his shoulders as he stands; however, puts on what Erica called his Alpha face. It’s total bullshit if you ask Boyd; he’d rather the guy just levelled with them. The loft smells faintly of copper, pain, anger, and a little like insanity. Before he was a wolf he had no idea such things could smell; now it overwhelms him.
“How was school?”
“The usual; school like.”
Derek nods and silence falls.
Boyd sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “So, what’s going on that we need to talk about?”
Derek cuts a surprised glance at him. “The alphas,” he says stiltedly.
“Yeah, I know about them,” Boyd scoffs, a silent don’t you remember hangs in the air and Derek visibly winces. “You know what they want now?”
“They want Derek,” Peter says casually, emerging from the shadows like a goddamn ghoul. “They want him to er, how shall I put this? Choose his pack more wisely? Dismember the pack he has and form a new one?”
“They—what?! I didn’t come back here to get fucking sliced up again just so you can go vaulting off with a bunch of crazy alphas!” He doesn’t mean to lose his temper, but he forgets himself for a second. He remembers Erica’s fear, her panic. The fact that they did it all so they could fucking score Derek Hale burning in his throat as he roars and leaps at Derek.
To his utter surprise, for a split second, Derek lets him. He gets his claws in Derek’s arms and yanks, blood spraying in his face before Derek puts him down, stands over him looking infuriatingly calm.
“I don’t want to be one of them,” he snarls. “I want this pack, my pack.”
“Yeah, it’s all about you, isn’t it?”
Derek growls, shoves a hand round his neck and pulls him up straight, lets go completely. “You don’t have to be here, but you’re part of the pack, they know who you are. You’re no safer hiding your head in the sand than McCall is pretending Chris Argent is ever going to come around to the idea of his daughter sleeping with a werewolf.”
Boyd spits at the word Argent.
Peter’s sitting on the spiral staircase watching uneasily, but when Boyd flashes his eyes at him he flashes back, makes a warning noise.
Derek rolls his neck, reverts back to his own face. “Are you done?”
“You shouldn’t have let us leave,” he growls. “You should never have—given up on us.”
“I don’t want to keep you here against your will!”
“All you ever had to do was tell us what the hell was going on.”
“I’m trying to, now.”
“It’s too late.”
Derek’s face goes hard. “Fine, you want to deal with this alone, be my guest. But with us, you’re stronger, more protected, we can handle them.”
“Handle a pack of alphas?! What’s your plan to handle them, Derek?”
“I don’t have one!”
There’s a ringing silence after he speaks and Derek looks away, slams his fist against the wall. Boyd retracts his claws, shaking his head.
“Well, we gotta figure it out.”
Peter disappears into what looks like a kitchen, grabs a rag and runs it under the water. He brings it back out and tosses it to Derek who grunts his thanks and puts it on his knuckles. Boyd can feel all of their emotions swirling round inside his chest; Peter’s placid amusement, Derek’s frustration and left over pain, his own rage.
He rolls it off his shoulders, hunches down in what he hopes is a submissive position to Derek’s alpha. It appears to work and everyone in the room relaxes.
“We need a plan,” he says hoarsely. “Or, we’re all gonna die before I save enough money for a car less shitty than Stiles’.”
Derek snorts in what could be an attempt at a rusty laugh.
*
McCall is not a fan of their plan. Boyd’s aware, on some level, that he should be more than horrified at the idea of mass murder and plans to attack other people, but he can’t bring himself to care.
It goes completely downhill, as most plans of Derek’s seem to bomb their way into, and he’s almost careless of Derek’s choice in the end. Deucalion towering over them like some Z-list movie villain. Him or Cora for Derek to choose between, family or pack. He was under the illusion one became the other; he’s clearly been dead wrong about that, too.
He thinks about Isaac, tries not to think about his mom, about Alicia, Erica. There’s a sudden flash of light and then Allison Argent’s striding above them shooting arrows. He can’t help the knee jerk panic, hear the echoes of Erica’s screams. He can’t stop himself from running; the trigger instinct to protect himself is suddenly overwhelming and his feet are carrying him away before he can think about it.
Isaac shows up at his door at midnight and tells him Derek’s dead. He looks like he might break if Boyd touches him, and he sits him on the porch and they wait until morning, watching the pale sky turn to blue. They walk to school, mouths dry and shocked, and Boyd finds he feels violently angry on Derek’s behalf. The dude was an asshole some of the time, but he was still trying. He never fucking gave up the fight. He’s angry for himself, too, for Isaac and even Scott. That they’re teenagers and they’re going through this shitty time, all for other people’s power plays.
He sits in total shock on the bus, not even sure how he got there. He listens to Stiles try to keep McCall lucid and cracks his knuckles. Isaac’s eyeing Ethan like a hot pie on a window sill and Boyd wants revenge so badly he can taste it.
His own demons catch up with him, and Alicia’s face, his own memories haunt him. He just wants it to be over. He sits in the motel room, completely lost, alone, feeling everything building inside of him, listening to a voice that whispers of a chance for it all to disappear. He wakes in the bath tub, Stiles and Lydia saving his ass. He’d have been shocked six months ago; but there’s something about Stiles; he’s made of stronger stuff. Lydia he’d put money on ruling the world by the time she’s thirty. They sleep on the bus; he feels the urge to be close to pack, people he knows, is familiar with, trusts. Isaac snuffling and Boyd occasionally reaching out a hand to pat his leg, his shoulder, to let him know he’s there. He thinks it helps.
McCall stares out of the window as everyone else drops off, Lydia and Allison curled together, Stiles practically passed out with exhaustion and breathing through his mouth. Seriously, that kid.
“Scott,” he says quietly, and Scott twists to look at him.
“Yeah?”
“We need help.”
Scott sighs, knocks his head against the glass. “I know. Peter—”
“Not from him,” Boyd says quickly. “I don’t trust that guy to hold the door open for me, let alone with this stuff.”
Scott snorts, and looks surprised at his own mirth.
“Look at that,” Boyd says with a grin. “There’s life within.”
Scott gives him a wan smile, runs a hand through his hair as he glances at Stiles. “Okay, when we get back, we can regroup.”
Boyd huffs a laugh. “Seems like that’s all we ever try to do.”
“At least we’re trying,” Scott mumbles and Boyd nods slowly, hopes for all of them.
*
“I have a pepper spray in my purse filled with wolfsbane,” Lydia says icily when Isaac sits next to Boyd at lunch two days later. Clearly, they’re pretending things are the status quo at school.
“How sensible of you,” he retorts solemnly before his mouth warps into a slow smirk.
Lydia glares back at him then turns to Boyd. “What is he doing here?”
“He is eating lunch,” Isaac cuts in, taking a huge bite of his sandwich to emphasize his point.
“Make sure to chew first,” Lydia sniffs.
Isaac opens his mouth wide, and leans towards Lydia with the half masticated ham sandwich hanging out.
“Charming,” Lydia pushes his jaw shut and folds her arms.
“Thank god,” Stiles sighs out as he sits down next to them. “Lunch,” he adds dreamily, digging into his own sandwich.
Lydia appraises him for a moment, but seems happy when Stiles keeps his mouth shut and his food inside, turning her attention back to Isaac. “That’s how to eat neatly.”
“I never do it neatly,” Isaac says with a smirk. Lydia narrows her eyes at him. Before she can say anything, however, Scott appears and Isaac seems to sit up straighter. Boyd catches Stiles’ eye and they both hide grins.
“We need a new plan,” Scott moans. “One that involves me not getting behind on English Lit.”
“You could ask Derek to give Ms Blake something nice, get you some extra credit,” Isaac glances at his elbow casually. “She was there yesterday, the loft smelt like sex and Peter looked annoyed. I don’t think he likes Derek having nice things.”
Stiles chokes on his sandwich and Lydia bashes him on the back.
“Peter doesn’t like anyone having nice things,” she says crossly. “Which is why I’d like him dead and cast out to sea before the month is out.”
“Here, here,” Stiles wheezes.
“I still can’t believe Derek found time to get laid whilst the rest of us were busy trying not to die,” Isaac grumbles. Boyd can’t help but agree, feels more than a little resentful. The dude did seem pretty pleased to see him when he’d come to check on him via his fucking window the night before, though, so, he can’t hold it against him to want to get it while the going’s good.
“Maybe his lunchtime manners are better than yours,” Lydia suggests sweetly.
“He’s up to something,” Stiles says with narrowed eyes as Isaac glowers at Lydia, taking another huge bite of his sandwich and making her roll her eyes. “He’s always up to something.”
“I’m just—” Scott exhales. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m just glad he’s alive.”
“I’m fifty fifty,” Stiles declares, forcibly attacking his lunch. “He always brings trouble around; it’d be nice to have a break.”
“It’d be nice to have a break from you whining,” Boyd cuts in and Stiles flicks a tomato at his head.
“Bite me.”
“Really, Stiles? Around a pack of werewolves?” Lydia sighs and flicks her iPad on. “Quit bickering so we can focus. I have an idea.”
“You’re like a machine,” Stiles says dreamily. “A genius machine.”
“You won’t be looking at me so fondly when you hear the plan.”
Stiles is a hundred per cent against the plan. Boyd thinks it’s genius, but he’s not sure he’s allowed to say so; especially when Stiles’ knuckles are sheet white where they’re gripping the steering wheel as they drive through town.
“This is madness.”
“When is it ever not?” Boyd murmurs, casually pulling on his jacket. He’s got a feeling he’s going to need the protection.
“Derek’s not going to like it, which is obviously a point in favor of the plan,” Boyd snorts and Stiles continues. “But, in general, madness. Hey, you ah—you okay?” He cuts a glance at Boyd and he lifts an eyebrow in return.
“What?”
“After—you know—dude, you tried to drown yourself in a bathtub, okay, that’s pretty deep.”
Boyd scratches out a laugh at the accidental pun, and Stiles blinks at him in shock.
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
They pull up outside the loft and Stiles lingers by the door. “Maybe you should go tell him the plan, and I’ll wait here.”
“Don’t be a chicken shit, he won’t eat you.”
Stiles visibly colors and then huffs. “I’m not afraid of that.”
“Then—”
“I thought he was dead, okay? And I wasn’t totally, a hundred per cent okay with that.” Stiles blows out a breath, looks around before planting his hands on his hips and squinting at Boyd. “It’s just every day, you know? I’m—I don’t—”
“Yeah, I get it,” Boyd puts a hand on the scruff of his neck and starts to move them both inside. “But, suck it up for now anyway, yeah?”
“Comforting, dude.”
“I’ve heard I’m a great sympathetic ear.”
“You’re something,” Stiles mutters as they trudge up the stairs.
Derek opens the door before they get to it, and Stiles stops short, Boyd almost barrelling into him. He can feel the intake of breath, the way they both blink at each other for a moment before Stiles pushes back his shoulders and Boyd can almost see the armor go up.
“Well, look who has defied death once again, congrats.”
“What do you want?” Derek asks flatly, eyes flicking to Boyd expectantly.
“No nice to see you, Stiles? Thanks for saving my pack from committing brutal suicide and generally existing?”
“Thanks,” Derek intones.
“You need to work on your jubilation my friend. I heard you got laid, surely that should at least dislodge the stick up your ass a tad.”
Derek bares his teeth, and Stiles rolls his eyes, slips underneath his arm stretched out across the doorway and into the loft.
“You couldn’t have brought anyone else?”
Boyd gives Derek a shit eating grin. “Nope, I know he’s your favorite deep down.”
“He’s an annoying little shit.”
“He’s not so little anymore.”
“He can fucking hear you,” Stiles yells. “Can we move this party along? I have dinner with my dad in twenty minutes, and in the meantime I’m trying to save all your lives.”
Derek lets out a put upon sigh but waves a hand graciously. “What is it?”
Derek doesn’t like the plan, either. Boyd doesn’t care.
*
“You wanna see a movie?”
Boyd chokes on a piece of cheese and glares at the phone.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m asking you out on a date,” Stiles says drily, the lie ticking over in Boyd’s head. “Want to get all up on you in the back row. Look, dick, everyone’s busy stressing about everything, Scott’s doing recon with Allison, and I dread to think how that’s going; Lydia’s busy enticing Aiden, Isaac’s probably waiting at home for Scott with a candle lit dinner, I’m bored.”
“Savor it,” he retorts, going to hang up.
“It’s Saturday night! You said yourself we’re not friends, fuck that, let’s be friends. Let’s go watch a movie like—” Boyd can picture him waving his arms around. “I don’t know normal teenagers.”
“I don’t like the movies.”
“Let’s go bowling.”
“I can’t, hurt my toe sparring with Derek.”
“Stupid Derek,” Stiles huffs, hanging up on him.
He calls again five minutes later. “Let’s go to Disneyworld, man. Like, let’s just pack up and leave town for a week. I’d make a great Peter Pan, you can be Tinkerbell.”
“Sounds delightful; no.”
There’s a thud on his roof, and Boyd tenses. “Gotta go,” he mutters, tossing his phone on the bed. Before he can reach the window a face appears upside down and Stiles is flailing against the glass.
“Boyd!”
Boyd pinches the bridge of his nose. “For real, you climbed my roof?”
“I’m secretly an acrobat.”
“You’re a dope,” he complains, still unlatching the sill and swinging the window wide. “You really wanna hang out that bad?”
“I’m going nuts at home, dude.”
Boyd sighs, kicks an Xbox controller at him gently. “One game.”
“Fucking ace,” Stiles falls onto his bed, easily making himself at home. “My dad’s on nights,” he says tightly after a second.
Boyd nods at the worry laced in Stiles’ tone.
“My mom, too.”
Stiles glances at him, corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. “Remember when you went to sleep without worrying they wouldn’t come home?”
“Not really,” Boyd sighs, turns on the last game he left in. “But, at least your dad has back up.”
“Your mom has you,” Stiles points out, hands already moving over the controller expertly.
“And your dad has you,” he says firmly. “Shut the fuck up and let me concentrate.”
*
For anyone curious, Stiles sleeps in the strangest positions. Boyd has no explanation when Derek is the one barging into his bedroom the next morning and takes in Boyd, comfortably working out, and Stiles starfished out over both the bed and the floor.
“What is he doing here?” Derek hisses, suddenly looking less controlled than he was a second before.
Boyd shrugs. “Sleeping.”
“Go ‘way,” Stiles mutters into his pillow. “It’s Sunday, day of rest, no werewolf business allowed.”
Derek lifts up his foot and shoves lightly at Stiles’ elbow. Stiles squawks as he loses his balance and tumbles onto the floor completely.
“Asshole.”
Derek glares at him stonily, and Stiles rolls to sit up.
“Dick, dick, dick.”
“Creative insults.”
“Oh, I’ll give you creative—”
Boyd can’t help the pained noise he lets out. All he wanted to do was have a quiet Sunday, no drama, no whining, no Derek and Stiles show.
“Get out, both of you,” he says suddenly. Identical sets of incredulous eyes turn towards him, and he shrugs. “Daylight’s wasting.”
“Scott and Allison found a lead to where the alphas are hiding out.”
“Their own special pound?” Stiles beams brightly. “Let’s go!”
Derek shoots a hand out and Stiles walks into his arm.
“Not you, idiot.”
“What do you mean, not me? For a start, I’ve done more than you to fix this whole fucking mess! And more than that, like I’m letting Scott go sailing off into a special alpha nest with you as his back up. How well did that work out last time?”
Derek snarls at him, and Stiles rolls his eyes but doesn’t budge. Boyd steps around them, jogs down the stairs. “Let me know when you two work it out.”
When he reaches the porch he halts sharply, Allison Argent standing behind the glass.
“Hi,” she says quietly.
He straightens back his shoulders, takes a step forward, somewhat wildly relieved of the glass between them even though he knows she’s helped them since—since it happened.
“Hi.”
“How are you?”
He shrugs, “Same old, same old.”
“Look—”
“What’s done is done,” he says suddenly. “And at the motel, before at the mall—we’re okay.”
“Yeah?” She bites her lip and looks suddenly so much younger than she is, than how he feels. He gives her a nod.
“Prefer it if you didn’t shoot me again, though.”
That punches a surprised huff of laughter out of her and she ducks her head.
“Promise.”
There’s a clattering on the stairs, and Stiles and Derek appear, shoving at each other. Stiles trips on the last stair and Derek shoots out a hand, grabs the back of his shirt.
“Jesus, how are you still alive?”
“Fairy dust,” Stiles sniffs, rolling Derek’s hand off his back and swinging open the door, nudging Allison in the ribs gently as he passes. “Alright, let’s go kick some alpha ass.”
Allison rolls her eyes fondly. Boyd opens the driver’s seat door for her before hopping in beside Stiles. If Derek has issues sitting up front with an Argent he can deal with them himself like a big boy.
Stiles’ suggestion they have a sing along on the way is shot down by three vetoes. He complains about nobody being allowed to have their shining musical moment outside of his dreams, and Derek scoffs and tells him he needs better dreams. Stiles goes pink and stares out of the window crossly. Boyd catches Allison’s eye in the rear view mirror and wonders how this is his life.
*
“Okay, I’ll say it,” Stiles rolls over to spread out on his back next to Boyd. “That was a bad idea.”
“All of your ideas seem to go that way,” he complains, watching his arm heal itself slowly.
“I will never get over how cool that is,” Stiles mumbles, eyes also fixed on where his skin is knitting itself back together.
Boyd licks his lips, glances at the nasty gash on Stiles’ face. “You—you look pretty bad, man.”
Stiles gives him a woozy grin. “Don’t worry about me, yo, I’m, I’m fine.”
Derek leaps over a twisted up car, minus half his shirt and looks around for them. “Boyd!”
“Yeah,” Boyd waves his good hand, and Derek clambers over the rubble of the old mall, drops down beside him.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” he says easily, “Everyone else?”
“Isaac’s healing; Scott’s taking Allison to the ER. Stiles, what the hell happened to your face?”
“I’m pretty sure Kali wanted to make a Joker comment right before she sliced and diced it,” Stiles blinks at them both rapidly. “’M not sure, I might have made it.”
“In that case it probably wasn’t funny,” Derek tugs off the rest of his shirt and then presses it surprisingly gently to Stiles’ face.
“Ouch, dude!”
“I’m sorry,” Derek snaps drily. “Did you want to leave the wound open and bleeding all over you?”
“Hey, blood’s in this season. I’d have thought you’d know that; got switched in for leather which is apparently out, now. I miss the leather,” he sighs. “Things were so much simpler.”
“You make no sense eighty per cent of the time,” Boyd says, shaking his head and helping Stiles stand. “Did we get all of them?”
Derek nods shortly. “Aiden wasn’t willing, but I think his brother seems to have found a reason to stay here.”
Stiles makes a noise behind them, and Derek rolls his eyes, presses his hand harder against his shirt. “Kali’s dead, Argent took out Deucalion.”
“I told you boxing them in would work,” Stiles crows. “Actually, Lydia told you, but I seconded it.”
“The flares were a good idea for distraction,” Derek concedes.
“I’ll tell Lydia you thought so,” Stiles says slowly, like forming words is becoming difficult for him before lurching forward into Boyd. “Woah, you’re all so freaking solid, what is—is that a werewolf thing?”
“It’s a muscle thing,” Boyd says wryly, helping Stiles straighten, holding onto his arm just in case.
“Can I get a ride? Allison drove, and I think her car is on the roof. Deucalion really wasn’t a cool dude.”
“He was not,” Derek agrees and Stiles stumbles in surprise.
“Did you just agree with me?”
“No, you’re concussed, you imagined it.”
“I hate you,” Stiles leans against Boyd. “Can we go home? I think my dad’s gonna put out an APB on me soon.”
Boyd grins, despite the remaining pain laced through his arm, and they trudge towards the nearest hole in the wall. Cora appears, face smudged with dirt and she smiles with relief when she sees Boyd.
“You made it.”
“Yeah, we’re gonna have a freakin’ parade later,” Stiles drawls. “You smile more than Derek.”
Cora lifts an eyebrow and Stiles points at it.
“Okay, that you have in common.”
She slides under Stiles’ other arm and he sighs. “Normally, I would be against two werewolves getting this friendly with my ribs, however hot, they’re almost always going to commit acts of bodily harm,” he peers at Cora. “Are you going to?”
“No,” she almost laughs. “I’ve heard too much about you to want to do you any damage.”
“I am the illustrious Stiles.”
“I’m this close to dropping you on your ass,” Boyd threatens.
*
“Are you listening to me?” Boyd blinks, and sees Lydia arching her eyebrows, fingernails tapping impatiently on the table top.
“No,” he says apologetically. “Say that again?”
“I said I’ve been thinking about asking you out on a date, and were you up for the challenge?”
He swallows thickly and Lydia rolls her eyes.
“I said it’s odd nobody’s replaced Harris since he went missing, and even odder nobody seems concerned.”
“Maybe he was just a figment of all of our nightmares?”
“Vernon.”
Boyd glances down at his notes, and back up to where their supply teacher is rambling about the dangers of sulphuric acid. No one is listening.
“Maybe he just left teaching for a life in the wilderness?”
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Lydia says thoughtfully, ignoring his suggestion. “I don’t think the alphas brought the Darach; I think it was already here.”
“Seems likely in this town,” he sighs mournfully, glancing over to where Isaac and Stiles are having a thumb war, and Scott and Allison are talking in low voices.
He misses Erica. He misses her nudging him under the desks with her knee, trying to distract him from work. He misses her laugh, her eyes lighting up when he allowed himself to be distracted, when she drew him away from the world for just a few minutes and it was purely theirs.
“If trouble isn’t looking for us, we shouldn’t be looking for it,” he hisses.
He’s had enough for one lifetime. Isaac has cautiously agreed to spend more time with Derek, casually leaving some of his meagre belongings around the loft once again, Boyd’s mom is using full sentences when addressing him, nobody wants to flay him alive and use him to further their alpha powers. Derek’s stopped seeing the teacher, in fact, the only one of them getting any sort of loving at the moment seems to be Stiles, and some girl he’s been on a couple of dates with over the last week or two. Derek seems convinced she’s a banshee, Stiles had laughed in his face and told him no one was louder than him; that it was impossible. Derek looked paler, and crosser than ever and then fled Boyd’s room altogether.
Stiles starts crowing about defeating Isaac and the supply teacher serves him with detention.
Boyd sneaks into the library after school, tosses a Twinkie at Stiles, and does his homework whilst Stiles watches the clock. They don’t talk about the possibility of the Darach still being around, they don’t talk about anything, it’s soothing.
Of course, that’s why on their walk across the parking lot the school bus flies at them and Boyd barely manages to cover them both.
“What the hell?!” Stiles yells, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. The bus rolls across the field and bursts into flames as another car starts hovering beside them.
“Run!” Boyd yells, grabbing Stiles’ sleeve and tugging him away from the cars.
There’s the screech of tires to their left, and Danny throws wide the passenger door. “Get in!”
“Woah, dramatic,” Stiles breathes as he’s leaping into the car, Boyd bundling in after him. “Where did you come from?”
“I was at band practice,” Danny glances in his rear view mirror, presses his foot harder on the gas. “Saw the bus.”
“I’m honestly relieved we weren’t imagining it,” Stiles murmurs looking pale. Boyd wipes his face, watches the road as Danny leaves the school in their dust.
They make it to the Sheriff’s department and Danny slams on the brakes just outside. Stiles lurches forward and hits his head against the back of Boyd’s seat.
“Dude!”
“You are going to tell me what the fuck is going on, or I’m going to walk into your dad’s office and tell him you two know where Erica Reyes is.”
Stiles’ jaw drops as Boyd growls at Danny. Stiles flings an arm out in front of him, leans forward to sit awkwardly on the console between them.
“Okay, okay, let’s not get rash—”
“Leave her out of this.”
“You do know where she is, though, and you know why Jackson was acting weird before he left for London, and why Lydia keeps drawing weird pictures of trees and leaving them lying around her room,” Danny exhales sharply, glaring at them both. “Just tell me what’s going on. A fucking bus just flew across our school car park.”
“Boyd’s a werewolf, Jackson was—is a werewolf. Allison’s dad hunts them, and his whole family did some nasty shit to Derek Hale’s family; meaning we’ve spent all year trying to prevent an all out feud between werewolves and hunters. Erica and Boyd tried to get out, Erica didn’t make it. Ethan is a motherfucking alpha werewolf and his pack wanted to destroy Scott and Derek—Miguel—you met him briefly once when he was on the run from my dad because we accused him of killing his sister. Also, Jackson was briefly a raging angst lizard, but Lydia saved him with the power of love.”
Stiles takes a huge breath and then looks at Danny pleadingly. “You can’t tell my dad any of that; I’m trying to keep the people we have left alive here, and the less you know the safer you are.”
“Werewolves,” Danny says slowly, hand on the door handle. “You’re going with werewolves.”
Boyd rolls his eyes before extending his claws and fangs and growling lowly.
“Holy shit,” Danny exclaims, leaping from the car.
Boyd’s out and in front of him before he can move, face perfectly normal in the open air, and Stiles rolls out of the car quickly, glancing nervously at the Sheriff’s department.
“I know this is huge, man.”
“How long have you been—how long have you known?!”
“Since Peter Hale bit Scott last year.”
“Scott?!” Danny’s eyes flicker between them for a second and then he rolls his eyes. “That’s why he got good at lacrosse overnight, goddamit Jackson.” He scrubs a hand across his face. “And Ethan?”
“Was here for bad reasons, met you,” Stiles waves a hand around. “I guess he changed his mind due to your magical self.”
“But, if he changed his mind, if—if they don’t want to hurt you anymore what’s trying to kill you now?”
Stiles lets out a noise of hysteria. “I have a list, dude, but no actual answers for that one.”
Danny snorts before sighing, leaning back against the car. “You need help.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“No, I mean serious help.”
Boyd narrows his eyes at him. “What’ve you got in mind?”
Danny shrugs. “I need a beer, and to talk to Ethan. But—I’ll help you.”
“No,” Stiles steps forward, glaring at Boyd. “You can’t get involved in this, it’s too dangerous.”
Danny lifts an eyebrow, rises to his full height. “You don’t think I’m not already? Lydia’s my best friend, I’ve known her since we were three years old, and if she’s in danger, if you—if all of you are in danger I want to help.”
Stiles laughs bleakly. “Dude, it’s a nice sentiment.”
“It’s not a sentiment,” Danny says firmly. “Your dad can drive you home, right? I’m going to Ethan’s.” He looks furious as he climbs back into the car. “I’m calling you in an hour, if you don’t answer I’ll track your phone and beat the crap out of you, got it?”
“You were so much nicer when you were telling me you liked cuddling,” Stiles complains.
“Stiles.”
“Sure, whatever, it’s not like I had plans tonight.”
Danny pulls out of the car park without a backwards glance.
“Sheesh,” Stiles groans, rubs at his face. “My dad will never buy that I was just in the neighborhood.”
Boyd jerks his head towards his own block. “Come on, we can eat at mine. We can wait, talk to Danny in a bit together.”
“What—you sure?”
“Don’t make me say it again, idiot.”
Stiles shoulders his somewhat singed bag and claps him on the back as they start walking. “Nothing like getting vehicles thrown at you to bond two guys, eh?”
“There’s a silver lining to everything,” he replies drily, but doesn’t shrug Stiles’ hand away.
Whilst he’s in the shower Derek calls. He knows this because Stiles’ voice goes from casual to irritated to humored all in less than a minute. He can hear the dude suddenly pacing as he talks, picking up Boyd’s books and putting them back down again. Finally, he seems to lose his temper and there’s the tell-tale thud of someone throwing themselves on the bed.
When he steps back into his bedroom, Derek’s leaning against the door frame and he and Stiles are involved in some sort of silent staring match.
“That’s not weird and creepy at all,” he remarks, grabbing a shirt to pull on as Stiles makes a face at Derek. Derek quirks an eyebrow before turning to Boyd.
“There was an incident?”
“We’re fine,” he says, waving Derek’s concern away. He realizes the concern isn’t even on Derek’s face; it’s wafting over him like a scent. Sometimes being a werewolf feels a little trippy.
“What happened?”
“Someone threw a bus at us,” Stiles says casually, glancing at his hands.
“I can’t imagine why they got the urge to do that.”
“Not cool. You’d have been sorry if I’d been squished like a pancake.”
Derek looks at him for a long moment, and Boyd wonders if he’s actually seeing emotion on the guy’s face. Then it smooths out, and Derek straightens off the doorframe.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he announces to the room at large before ducking out into the shadows of the landing.
“Does he do that a lot?”
“What, lurk in my bedroom?”
“Yeah, he does it with Scott, too.”
“Jealous?”
Stiles throws a pillow at his head.
*
Lydia is furious with them both. They’re sitting side by side in the cafeteria, Stiles glancing mournfully at his cooling soup as Lydia lectures them.
“You’re supposed to tell me these things, you promised to be honest with me.”
“We didn’t—”
“I was kept in the dark for too long last time, Stiles.”
Stiles winces, scratches the back of his head and Boyd puts down his sandwich.
“Alright,” he says calmly. “We didn’t tell you—”
“And, you told Danny everything!”
“He kind of blackmailed us! Which, totally made him less nice, and way hotter,” Stiles grumbles and Boyd rolls his eyes.
“Your bizarre taste in men aside, Stiles, there’s practically a canyon on the school field where the bus was, Danny—”
“Is right behind you,” Danny cuts in, sitting down beside her and patting her knee. “’S’up. They found Harris’ body.”
Stiles flinches in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’m awesome,” Danny says flatly. “And stayed up all night looking into everything you guys have been dealing with, and an APB went out this morning. You were probably asleep.”
“I don’t sleep,” Stiles says shortly.
“Then your dad’s found a way to stop you from listening in.”
Stiles goes pale, and buries his head in his hands. “Probably.”
“Hey guys,” Scott tosses his lunch down beside them. “Bro, you okay?”
“My dad’s an evil genius,” Stiles bemoans.
“Your evil side had to come from somewhere,” Scott teases lightly. “And your mom was a Saint.”
“She was,” Stiles cracks a smile at him from between his fingers and then sighs, leans back in his chair. Allison appears behind him, tugs on the back and he staggers to a stand to avoid falling backwards. “Not cool!”
“Was an accident,” she says breezily, perching beside Boyd, giving him a small nod. He smiles back at her, and realizes it doesn’t feel insincere.
“So, what now?” Danny asks impatiently.
“What do you mean what now? Now, we eat lunch,” Stiles gestures to his soup and then at Danny’s own tray.
“Yeah, but—”
“Dude, you don’t think we’ve exhausted all of our options looking for this thing?” Stiles takes a bite of bread roll, dunks half of it in his soup and then wolfs down the rest. The whole table watches in fascination and he scowls at them. “I can fit a lot in my mouth, shut the fuck up.”
“Your life partner will be so happy,” Lydia says smoothly, reopening her books now she’s finished telling them off.
Boyd glances round the lunch room; at all the students milling around like they haven’t a care in the world. He knows some of them will have big shit going on, some of them will be struggling with things at home, or at school, their friends, lovers, their lives; but it feels so insignificant in the face of what they’re going through. This rabble of teenagers he’s sitting with, snarking across the table at one another, and still smiling like the world isn’t possibly ending around them. He can see Danny’s having trouble adjusting, and he gets it. How the fuck do they do it? How do they all live like this?
“Let’s go bowling,” Stiles says brightly.
“Tonight?” Allison glances at Scott and then shrugs. “Okay, I guess I can get my dad to agree to that if we’re all going.”
“I’d like to wipe the floor with all of you again, I’m in,” Lydia graciously agrees.
“This—what,” Danny says flatly. “We’re all mortal danger, and you want to go bowling.”
Stiles shrugs. “Better than waiting around for it at home.”
This is true, Boyd nods. “Yeah, alright, I’m in. Can you give me a ride?”
“No problemo.”
Stiles looks less than pleased when Derek follows Boyd out of the house several hours later.
He shrugs unapologetically. “He was lingering like a lost puppy.”
“Shut up,” Derek snaps. “I came to see if you had any leads.”
“Yeah, and then stuck around making small talk.”
“It’s okay, Derek, man,” Stiles says from the Jeep. “We all know you just wanna hang with the cool kids.”
“Will there be any there, or is it just you and Scott?”
“Ohhh, lemme get some ice for—” Stiles bites on his tongue. “You know what, just get in the car. Where’s your car?”
“Cora borrowed it,” Derek mutters, sliding into the passenger seat before Boyd can even try and call shotgun. Boyd is surprised to see he seems comfortable enough to fiddle with the radio.
Then corrects himself because honestly, what isn’t a surprise with Stilinski these days?
“Hey,” Stiles slaps his hand away. “Let’s not have a repeat of last time when we ended up listening to nothing because you couldn’t pick a damn station.”
“I swear to god, if you purposely find a station playing Pink Floyd again, Stiles—”
“They’re classic!”
“Leave this on,” Boyd interrupts, enjoying the burst of Daft Punk; it reminds him of Erica.
*
To his surprise, all of them in the same room doesn’t bring down the building. Lydia and Derek are stiff around each other, and Stiles keeps eyeing them both and muttering furiously to himself about the dangers of super hot people in the same space, but other than that, everyone’s pretty mellow.
Isaac’s a terrible bowler, and with it, ridiculously competitive. Lydia uses it to her advantage, winding him up and wiping the floor with him as promised. Scott and Allison seem to have a fondness for bowling in general and keep shooting each other little smiles that simultaneously make him want to roll his eyes, and warms his heart a little. Derek takes bowling way too seriously, and keeps glaring at Stiles who’s trying to take a picture of him in bowling shoes.
Boyd is better than all of them; he used to be on a team.
Danny hovers protectively around Ethan, but aside from dumb posturing when they first came into contact, Derek and Ethan seem to be okay staying out of each other’s way altogether. Lydia drags Allison off to the bar halfway through the game and returns with pink cocktails for them all.
“There’s nothing in them,” she says lightly. “But I’ll drink first if you need me to.”
Stiles and Boyd both drink before her and she gives them a warm look.
When Derek scores a strike he actually turns round with a full blown smile, and Stiles flinches beside Boyd before muttering, oh fuck, and disappearing to the games arcade. Derek frowns after him, sitting down absently. He jumps when he realizes he’s sat on Danny’s hand, and Scott roars with laughter.
“You’re not really my type,” Danny teases easily, and Derek’s ears go red.
“Who are you?” Scott says incredulously, staring at Derek’s abashed face.
“Shut up,” Derek huffs before stalking off in Stiles’ direction.
“Interesting,” Lydia murmurs as she sips her drink. She makes an epic bowling competitor, and Boyd loses himself in the game, in the people he’s slowly willing to admit are his friends, laughing and having half a night to enjoy themselves, to be teenagers. Scott and Allison are holding hands by the end of the evening, and Isaac is seething about coming in third.
“Does anyone want to see if Stiles or Derek are going to finish their game?” Lydia looks at them expectantly. “Any takers to poke that particular bear?”
Boyd snorts and stands. “I’ll go, neither of them scares me.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Neither of them scares me, either, but I’m a delegator, sweetie.”
“Or, just lazy, and impatient,” Danny teases fondly.
“Excuse me? Who was it that ran circles round you on the track field just this morning?”
“What he lacks in stamina he makes up for with finesse,” Ethan adds jokingly and Danny elbows him making him squawk. Clearly Danny is okay with being the kind of person that can commit bodily harm to an alpha and knows he’ll get away with it.
Speaking of.
Boyd jogs down the steps into the arcade, rounding the corner to find Derek trying to win some sort of stuffed alligator, and Stiles nowhere to be seen.
“Yo.”
Derek jumps a foot in the air as the alligator hits the glass and drops into the vendor.
“You won.”
“It’s—it’s not what it looks like?”
Boyd rolls his eyes. “I don’t even wanna know, man, but Lydia wants to finish the game and you need to be there for that to happen.”
“Do I?” Derek’s face is suddenly horrifyingly vulnerable and Boyd stares at him in shock.
“What?”
“You don’t—” Derek rolls back his shoulders like he’s about to brush it off, and Boyd, Boyd really doesn’t want that right now.
“Derek, man, you’ve been a shitty alpha.”
Derek’s face closes off, eyebrows drawn together and Boyd feels a little like he’s just taken the dude’s ice cream off him.
“I mean—you promised us a shit ton of stuff, regardless of the consequences you had to know you were talking to teenagers, none of us were gonna here anything after the good things. And, yeah, we—I lost someone I cared about, but, that wasn’t your fault.”
Derek blinks slowly at him, expressions flickering across his face before it shuts down again. Boyd would give anything for that ability, to be able to look so impassive when he’s obviously feeling something.
“It wasn’t, okay? I don’t know if anyone else has told you this already, but not everything that ever happens, ever, is your fault. And you’re trying. I can see that. I don’t need you to be an alpha; I need you to be my alpha. I need you to stick this out. I need for you to be honest with me, man.”
In the background a ball rolls down the alley, Boyd can hear the squeak of wax, the bowler murmuring encouragement before it hits the pins and someone whoops in triumph. If he listens hard enough he can hear the thump of Derek’s heart, slightly off kilter as if he’s mildly panicked, and he goes to sigh, to give up when Derek shoots out a hand, grabs his shoulder.
“I will,” he says quickly. “I’m—I’m sorry.” He stares at Boyd for a long time, and then lets go of him. “You don’t want Scott to be…”
“McCall?” Boyd almost laughs. “He’s good, but he’s not an alpha yet, and he didn’t choose me. You chose me.”
Derek nods shortly. “You were a good call.”
“You’ve gotta make one or two, right?”
Derek cuffs him on the back of the head, reaches into the machine and pulls out the alligator.
“You want it?”
“Nah, give it to someone else,” Boyd juts his head at where Stiles is emerging from the bathrooms.
“Can’t,” Derek says shortly. “He’s informed me we’re no longer speaking.”
“Would’ve thought you’d think that was a blessing.”
Derek scowls at the alligator, shoving it in his pocket. “He’s very confusing.”
“He’s alright,” Boyd says somewhat fondly as Stiles lopes over to them, throws an arm over Boyd’s shoulder.
“You win?”
“Yeah, you’ve gotta finish, though.”
“That’s what she said,” Stiles crows before bouncing back up the steps without looking at Derek. Boyd doesn’t have time for their crap; he has pink cocktails to drink, and Isaac to tease for his slowly returning crush on Lydia.
*
“It figures it’d be today,” Stiles yells over the sudden torrential rain they’re running through.
“What’s today?” Boyd yells back.
“My birthday!” Stiles leaps over a rock, and yells out in pain.
Boyd jumps after him, just as lightening cracks overhead.
“Dude, fuck, fuck,” Stiles pants out, clutching his ankle. “Fuck this is worse than when I turned seven and Scott ate a crayon and we spent eight hours in the ER.”
“Ugh.”
“I know, right? Was my favorite color in the set, too.”
Boyd peeks up over the rock to see whether they’re still being followed. “Can you put weight on it?”
Stiles gingerly puts his foot on the ground and winces again. “Ah, no, shit. Can you do that healing thing Isaac can do?”
“What?!”
“You know, take away pain?”
“Man,” Boyd squats down beside him. “Derek doesn’t tell me anything fucking useful.”
“Join the club,” Stiles says weakly. “I have t-shirts with his face on.”
“What you sleep in is none of my business.”
“Oh, ha ha, fucker, can you just—I don’t know, put your hand on it, and concentrate?”
“That sounds really, really wrong.”
“Yeah, we can discuss innuendos later, when we’re not in danger of being hit by lightning, or eaten by some crazy druid and oh!” Stiles lets out a noise of surprise as Boyd presses his palm against his ankle, thinking stupidly of healing thoughts.
“Okay,” Stiles says after a minute. “It feels a little better, I can move it.”
“Great,” Boyd helps him up. “Now do me a favor and don’t go leaping over any fucking rocks again?”
There’s a howl in the distance, one Boyd recognizes and he throws his head back to return it. When he looks at Stiles his eyes are wide and his mouth is open.
“Not an attractive look,” he points out before setting off again. “Come on, the pack’s close.”
“Pack?! Which pack?!”
“All of them!”
“Are they winning?”
Boyd strains his ears to listen for sounds of the fight against the Darach. After a whole month of serene quiet they’d been caught by surprise on the lacrosse field. Boyd, Stiles and Isaac had been tossing a ball back and forth, keeping in shape for the new season, Lydia had been reading a book on the bleachers. Boyd hopes like hell she and Isaac are safe.
“Maybe?”
“That’s not comforting.”
There’s an explosion closer to them, and Boyd tugs Stiles behind a clump of bushes, shoves his head down.
“Ow!”
“Do you wanna die?”
“It’s not exactly on my to-do list.”
There’s the thud of feet landing in front of them, and then Derek is straightening up, dusting his hands off. Boyd is surprised at just how relieved he feels.
“Speaking of,” Stiles mutters, as Derek strides right into their space.
“Where are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, woah, hey, dude with the lifting and the—no—Derek, put me down.”
Boyd jogs next to them both as Derek runs on, Stiles slung over his shoulder.
“This is so fucking demeaning.”
“I was on the other side of town, and I caught up with you easily,” Derek snaps back. “We’re faster like this. And stop talking.”
“You stop talking,” Stiles mutters.
Boyd’s about to laugh at how insane it is the two of them find time to bicker when they’re running for their lives when something hard and heavy hits him from the side.
“Boyd!” Derek deposits Stiles at the side of the clearing they’ve reached, and steps in front of him, growling furiously.
His head feels like it’s going to explode and he tugs uselessly at the large tree branch that’s been tossed at him and embedded itself in his side.
Derek leaps at the Darach as Stiles scrambles over to him.
“Okay, okay, fuck, should I just—”
“Pull it out,” Boyd groans, “Fuck, pull it out.”
“Dude, what if—”
“Do it!”
“Shit!” Stiles shuts his eyes, and yanks at the branch and Boyd howls, digs his claws into the soaking earth beside him. He feels the wolf within leap to the surface, all pain forgotten as he gnashes at the air, rolls to help Derek. Nothing matters but to destroy what has hurt him, what has caused him this pain, this rage, everything burns white hot inside as he lashes out.
When he comes to, feels his clothes damp on his skin, smells the air, fresh after rain, and the buzz in his head has cleared he’s sprawled across the bleachers and Finstock is yelling at Scott and Stiles.
“You actually expect me to believe a Celtic spirit possessed my body, and used me to throw school property around? Dammit Stilinski, are you on drugs?”
“No, Coach,” Stiles says tiredly and Boyd tries to stand, needs to see if they’re all okay.
A hand claps down on his shoulder and he looks up to see Lydia, her face scratched up and half of her dress torn to shreds.
“Everyone’s alive,” she murmurs. “Stay where you are, he hasn’t seen us.”
“How—”
“We drew out the spirit. It’s been using Coach’s body to do its bidding for months. He’s having a little trouble adjusting.”
“So, I’m supposed to believe half my lacrosse team are werewolves?!” There’s a pause. “There’s nothing in regulations against that mind you. Don’t you go telling anyone!”
“We won’t,” Scott says quickly. “You can’t either, Coach.”
“McCall, I have plans to forget all this the moment I get home and get my good Scotch out.”
Boyd snorts quietly and then there’s the sound of footfall crunching against the gravel, there’s also a faint smell of singed wood in the air.
“That went better than I thought,” Stiles says brightly.
Before Boyd can roll his eyes Scott yells, “Stiles!” and he feels Lydia’s heartbeat ratchet up. He rolls off the bench, staggers down to where Scott’s holding a limp Stiles in his arms.
“I think he just passed out?” Scott looks panicked and exhausted, worry etched into his face as he clutches at Stiles’ shirt. “I can’t—Lydia—”
“Lie him down,” Lydia snaps, pressing a hand to Stiles’ forehead as Scott lies him across the ground.
Derek, Isaac and Allison thunder down the bleachers as Stiles slowly opens his eyes.
“Fucking hell,” he sighs, blinking up at them. “This is the worst birthday ever.”
*
They end up in a diner across the road from the Sheriff’s department. Chris Argent is inside talking to the Sheriff about a surprising amount of explosions that occurred around town during the day, and blaming it on the freak weather storm.
Allison and Lydia are both devouring stacks of pancakes, Scott and Isaac looking on in bemused awe. Stiles is fiddling with his milkshake straw, glancing nervously out of the window every once in a while.
Boyd kicks at his leg gently under the table. “You should tell him.”
Stiles blinks owlishly back at him. “I can’t. He can’t know all of this happens on a regular basis.”
“He’d rather know,” Boyd says firmly. “People would always rather know the truth.”
Stiles nods slowly, glances at Scott who shrugs and gives him an encouraging smile. “I can be there.”
“Okay, tomorrow?”
“Any time,” Scott promises.
Stiles gives him a weak smile and then twists to look at Derek who’s sitting beside him.
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“What do you think, dumbass.”
Derek looks surprised and then hunches up a shoulder. “If you don’t want to lie to him anymore, you should tell him.”
“Huh, you think talking things out is the best strategy? Being honest, open, sharing things.”
“Yes,” Derek says, gritting his teeth.
“And would that apply to all situations, or just the ones that don’t make you feel uncomfortable?”
Derek sighs, puts down his fork and twists to look at Stiles properly. Boyd can feel his own hand going limp around his fork.
“What do you want me to say, Stiles?”
“What, like, everything?”
“Yeah, you got a list?”
“You bet your ass I have. You can start with Happy fucking Birthday.”
“Happy Birthday,” Derek says drily.
“Now a thank you for everything, including; saving your life, your beta’s life, and for distracting the Darach with my ingenious talking skills, leading to you being able to destroy it.”
“All of the above,” Derek nods.
“Well alright,” Stiles sniffs, glances at his untouched food as his cheeks go pink. “Good talk.”
Boyd rolls his eyes.
*
“You think we’ll ever have like a whole week with no drama?”
Boyd tips his head back on his chair, rolls it to look at Stiles upside down. He’s supposed to be studying like Boyd is, but is instead drawing a detailed picture of a unicorn with a wolf lolloping alongside it. Stiles and Lydia have taken up an art class together during the recent dry spell they’ve been having. Clearly being bereft of supernatural happenings has opened a well of creativity for them both.
“We’re doing okay so far.”
“It’s only Thursday,” Stiles sighs. “You’ve totally jinxed it, man.”
Boyd’s cell alerts him to a message and he flicks it open.
“Yo,” he kicks at Stiles’ foot. “Isaac wants to know if you wanna go shoot some pool at the bowling alley.”
“Hell yeah,” Stiles tosses his books to the side haphazardly—regardless of the fact this is Boyd’s room—and leaps to his feet.
They trip down the stairs and his mom smiles as they come through the kitchen.
“Going out?”
“Bowling alley,” Boyd tells her, she reaches up to kiss his cheek, patting it as she goes past.
“Have a nice time.”
“Always a pleasure to see you, Mrs Boyd,” Stiles says brightly.
Boyd elbows him as his mom grins ruefully at them both.
“Suck up,” he complains.
“Hey, I like your mom, she’s smaller than you and she’s still got you wrapped round her little finger.”
“She took the werewolf thing better than I thought she would.”
“Who doesn’t want a nice, big, strong werewolf hanging round the house, eating all their food, leaving their feet on your bed, trying to argue that they’re cooler than Han Solo through use of their eyebrows?”
“Dude,” Boyd shakes his head as they climb into the Jeep. “Don’t project your Derek issues onto me; that’s just weird.”
“They’re not Derek issues! They’re general werewolf-y issues!”
“You know I can tell when you lie, right? How long has Scott been a werewolf and you still try and lie?”
“Shut up,” Stiles huffs, “Hey, by the way this is yours,” he says suddenly, tossing a lacrosse jersey at him.
“Mine?” He runs his fingers over the soft, maroon silk, frowns down at his name in white letters. “What?”
Stiles shrugs, “Got it printed for you since you’re gonna be practicing with us all year before season starts again, you might as well wear the right gear, too.”
His hands tighten as he feels suddenly warm inside. “Thanks,” he says shortly.
“I think she’d have been pretty fucking proud of you,” Stiles adds, turning out of the drive.
Boyd can’t bring himself to even try and find words.
Lydia and Isaac are arguing over who should set up the table when they arrive. Isaac keeps holding the triangle out of her reach and as they come up the steps to the pool tables she stamps on his foot. Isaac drops the triangle with a shout, and behind them Allison sniggers into her hand. She waves when she spots them, and Scott leaps up to come over, hugging them both.
Boyd’s never been hugged as much in his life as he has been by Stiles and Scott in six months. He’s learning to deal; it’s quite nice if he’s honest.
Stiles hip checks Derek, announces if he loses he’s got to win him another stuffed toy from the crane in the arcade and Derek chokes on his juice, avoiding Boyd’s eye.
Boyd passes one of the cues to Scott, nods his head at the table. “You break.”
“I’m not great at pool,” Scott says dubiously.
“You just need practice,” Boyd says smoothly, breaking for him and potting two.
Stiles slams money down next to Lydia. “I’ve got twenty on McCall to beat all of us.”
“Twenty says I win,” Lydia counters, placing her money on top of his.
“My money’s on Boyd,” Allison says, narrowing her eyes as she looks over at him playfully. “I think he’s gonna turn out pretty good at this.”
“Twenty on Boyd, ten on Stiles scuffing the table with his cue before the day is up,” Derek adds, putting down his money on the pile.
Stiles uses his cue to jab at Derek’s toes and Derek jerks away, teeth glinting in a grin.
“I got twenty on you two getting us all barred from here for public indecency before we leave,” Boyd says evenly, waving his money around.
Derek glares at him. Stiles, however, takes the money, shoves it in his pocket and then grabs a handful of Derek’s shirt and starts kissing him like it’s the last day on earth. Derek’s eyebrows shoot up but then he makes a noise Boyd never wants to hear again and backs Stiles into the corner, away from their group and presses him up against the wall. Their kissing gets pretty vocal, pretty fast.
Boyd turns back to them all, beaming at the look of horror on Scott’s face.
“Your shot.”