Chapter Text
The parking lot buzzed with the usual after school chaos, students streaming toward their cars and the nearby bus stop, but in the center of it all, the air was thick with tension. Scott and Stiles stood a few feet apart, the argument escalating between them like a storm on the verge of breaking. Stiles' eyes were narrowed, jaw tight, and his fists clenched at his sides, barely holding onto his temper. Scott, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth, his frustration evident in the way he ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide with disbelief.
"I still don’t get why you’re defending him, Stiles!" Scott spat, voice rising. "Derek left us. He abandoned us. After everything I did for him, after everything we went through, he just left without a word. And now you're acting like he’s some kind of hero?"
Stiles’ chest heaved with a breath, his heart pounding in his ears. Every word out of Scott’s mouth felt like a jab in the gut, twisting something raw inside him. “You don’t get it, Scott,” Stiles bit back, his voice a mix of frustration and hurt, a fire burning in his throat. “You have no fucking clue what he went through. Derek’s a survivor, okay? He doesn’t owe any of us an explanation for why he left the town that took everything from him.” He jabbed a finger toward Scott, his eyes flashing with a fierce intensity. “And you - you of all people should know that.”
Scott’s face twisted with confusion, a flash of disbelief crossing his features. “Survivor? What the hell are you talking about?”
Stiles’ breath hitched, and for a moment, the weight of everything that Derek had been through crashed down on him like a flood. He couldn’t help but remember how Derek had opened up to him, the cracks in his armor that no one else had seen. He shook his head, the pain in his chest more evident than ever. “Derek was groomed and sexually assaulted as a teenager, Scott. Then, his whole family was murdered. You think that’s something you just get over? Not to mention, his sister was murdered by his, at the time, deranged fucking uncle. You think he can just stay here after all of that?” He took a step closer, his voice hardening as the words tumbled out, each one a punch to Scott’s misguided view. “And don’t even get me started on how you treated him. All those times you fucked him over; made him feel like shit, like he was the problem. You forcing him to give the bite to the father of the woman who took everything from him. You’re not blameless in all of this!”
Scott flinched, a hurt look flashing across his face, but it was only for a moment. He quickly recovered, shaking his head, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You don’t get it, Stiles. He left us. Left me. We’re supposed to be a pack. We were supposed to have his back, and he just abandoned us.”
The air seemed to still for a moment, Stiles’ gaze turning hard, a storm of emotion building behind his eyes. “You didn’t even want him to be your Alpha. You refused to be in his pack, even after I fully joined up with him.” His voice came out in a low, dangerous growl. “I don’t know why he left, Scott,” Stiles admitted, his tone softening but still carrying the weight of all the hurt. “Maybe he thought he couldn’t be part of us anymore. Maybe he needed to heal on his own. But what I do know is this: I don’t blame him. And you should stop pretending like you’re the fucking victim here.”
Scott opened his mouth, about to retort, but Stiles raised his hand, cutting him off. “You’ll never understand. You won’t. So, I’m done trying to make you,” Stiles finished, his voice cold and distant as he turned on his heel, walking away from Scott with a sharp, angry breath. He couldn’t look at his friend anymore; not like this. Not after everything that had been said.
Scott stood frozen for a second, the words ringing in his ears, but Stiles didn’t give him the chance to respond. As Stiles made his way toward his Jeep, the space between them seemed to stretch impossibly far, the weight of their fractured bond pulling at him. But for now, there was nothing left to say.
~~~~
Stiles slammed the door behind him as he walked into the house, the echo of his anger reverberating through the empty hallway. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides as he stormed into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge but not even bothering to open it. His mind replayed the conversation with Scott over and over again, the sting of betrayal still fresh. He couldn’t believe Scott could be so damn naive, could act like everything Derek had done, everything he’d gone through, didn’t matter.
By the time he made it upstairs, his frustration was starting to simmer into something deeper; a dull ache in his chest, a heaviness that didn’t quite make sense. He was too tired for this, too pissed off to deal with any more drama. He just needed to be alone, to cool off, to forget about how absolutely stupid Scott was.
But as he walked into his room, his heart nearly stopped. There, sitting on his bed, was a boy; no older than sixteen, with tousled dark hair, wearing clothes that looked like they were three sizes too big on him. The boy didn’t even look up when Stiles entered, too busy staring at the wall, his posture relaxed but alert.
Stiles blinked a few times, his mouth dry and his patience non existent. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He dropped his backpack on the floor with a thud and walked in, fists still clenched, his voice low and sharp. “If you’re here to kill me, just do it and get it over with. I’m really not in the mood for any more bullshit today.”
The boy blinked, slowly turning his head to look at Stiles with wide, confused eyes. “Kill you?” He shook his head, a slight frown on his face. “I don’t even know who you are.”
Stiles stared back, his blood still boiling, but now the confusion started to edge into the mix. “Then what the hell are you doing in my room, dude?” His tone was less threatening but still sharp.
The boy hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted with a sheepish look. “I’ve been traveling for two days... ended up here, I guess. Well, I know I’m in Beacon Hills but I don’t know why I’m in your room. My senses didn’t lead me home…it lead me here.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes, his suspicions starting to rise. “Two days? So you just wandered into my room without a clue? You’re some kind of ghost or...?”
“No,” the boy said quickly, shaking his head. He looked almost apologetic but clearly had no answers. “I just…look, I’m not sure how I got here. I think I got lost.”
Stiles’ eyebrow twitched as his mind processed the bizarre situation. Something was off about this whole thing, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He crossed his arms and sighed in frustration. “So, you’re telling me you just happened to find your way into my room after two days of wandering and have no idea how you got here?”
“Yeah,” the boy said, still sounding unsure, his eyes shifting around the room. “And... you smell kinda... mad.”
Stiles froze, suddenly very aware of the heat building in his chest. Mad? He had a thousand different emotions running through him right now, but the fact that this kid could smell his anger hit him like a punch to the gut. He looked the boy up and down, trying to find any clues, any reason why he was in his room, but nothing clicked.
It was then that it hit him; the sharpness in the boy’s features, the intense awareness that flickered in his eyes as he scanned Stiles. The weight of the situation settled like a stone in Stiles’ stomach. Slowly, carefully, Stiles took a step forward, his voice quiet but heavy. “Wait. You’re... you’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”
The boy blinked at him, and then, just for a moment, his eyes flashed bright blue. Stiles saw it for just an instant, but it was enough. The realization hit him hard, the pieces finally falling into place. He was standing in front of a werewolf, and not just any werewolf…this kid was someone new, someone he’d never seen before.
Stiles stared at him, the rage from before simmering down into a mix of disbelief and curiosity. “Great. Just what I needed today.”
The boy just shrugged, his expression still innocent but now tinged with something Stiles couldn’t quite place. “I guess I’m sorry for intruding,” he said, but there was something in his voice that didn’t quite match the apology. Something unsettlingly calm.
Stiles wasn’t sure if this kid was a threat, or if he was just as lost as he claimed. Either way, he wasn’t getting the answers he wanted anytime soon, but he couldn’t just kick the dude out on the street when he was so confused. “Yeah, well... just don’t touch anything,” Stiles muttered, already too tired to care about the kid’s bizarre appearance in his room. “I’m not exactly in the mood to fix anything.”
Stiles let out a long, exhausted sigh and ran a hand down his face. "Alright, well, since you're apparently just a lost, possibly feral teenage werewolf who broke into my room; name? You got one?"
The boy hesitated, his expression shifting slightly, as if he was debating whether or not to answer. But finally, he squared his shoulders and said, “Derek. Derek Hale.”
Stiles blinked. Then blinked again. Then he laughed, dark and humorless. A sharp, incredulous sound that filled the room as he threw his head back. “Oh, that’s funny. That’s so funny. Of all the names to pick, you go with Derek Hale? Dude, what, did Peter put you up to this? Is this, like, some weird supernatural prank? Cause I can assure you, it’s not the slightest bit funny to me. You don’t get to come in here and use that name to me.”
Derek didn’t react; just sat there, staring at Stiles with a slightly furrowed brow. And that’s when Stiles really looked at him.
The thick, expressive eyebrows, drawn together in mild confusion. The ridiculously intense green eyes that, even with the unfamiliar youthfulness in them, still managed to hold the same sharpness Stiles knew. The stubborn set of his jaw, the barely contained annoyance, the way his muscle looked tense and he held himself like he was ready for a fight at any second.
Stiles’ heart skipped. His breath caught in his throat. His stomach dropped.
"Derek?" he whispered, barely able to force the name out.
Derek tilted his head slightly, wary, but didn’t pull away.
Stiles took a shaky breath. “Holy shit.”
Without thinking, without even hesitating, he surged forward and wrapped his arms around Derek in a bone crushing hug. His grip was desperate, fingers digging into the fabric of Derek’s jacket as he held on like he might disappear. His heart was racing, pounding so hard in his chest that he thought it might burst.
Derek didn’t react at first, his body stiff, tense beneath Stiles’ grip. “Uh…” he muttered, clearly at a loss. But after a moment, when Stiles didn’t let go, he hesitantly lifted his arms and returned the embrace. It was uncertain, careful, like he wasn’t sure if he should, but he did it anyway.
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Derek was here. Derek was here. Granted, a lot different looking than the last time he’d seen him, but still Derek.
After a long moment, Derek finally pulled back just enough to look at Stiles. “I... don’t know who you are,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm.
Stiles inhaled sharply, his grip still firm on Derek’s shoulders. He took a step back and let himself really see him; the shorter frame, the softer features, the unmistakable youthfulness in his face.
“Okay,” Stiles breathed, trying to steady himself. “Okay. How... how old are you?”
Derek frowned slightly, like it was an odd question. “I just turned sixteen.”
Stiles’ stomach bottomed out. He could practically hear the blood rushing in his ears.
“Fuck,” Stiles muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face again.
Because this? This was a problem.