Author's Notes: As has been my habit the last few years, I write myself a fanfiction to post on my birthday. Because I am a weird, lonely little nerd. Since this time last year, I have branched out into a lot of new, amazing fandoms, but none have struck me quite as truly and deeply as Teen Wolf. (Again, this probably has something to do with me being a weird, lonely little nerd.) Honestly, there was no way my birthday fanfiction wasn't going to be Teen Wolf related, this year. I dabbled with a few other fandom ideas, just to test the waters, but then this one came along, and, well… I suppose you could say I was bitten by the writing bug. (wow okay, yikes, no more awful, non-sexual, double-entendres.)

The disclaimer! I do not own Teen Wolf, or any of its characters, and I make no profit from anything Teen Wolf related that I write. (But hey, let me know how to make that happen!)

Pairing(s): Derek/Stiles, and a little smidge of Scott/Allison on the side.

Summary: Stiles really doesn't know he gets himself into these things. It was just a stupid dare, and there aren't even any wolves in California.

Warnings: There's a little bit of violence sprinkled here and there, but none even halfway as intensive as the show itself. Derek is a creeper who is not aware of personal space. Boys smoochin' and stuff.

Dedication: To my packmate, and also my alpha, who are not (and hopefully never will be, oh god) even aware that I wrote this, but who have made the last year a whole lot friendlier. AROOOOO!

Other stuff: Fun fact! The songs that inspired me while writing this are: "She Wolf (Falling to Pieces)" by David Guetta feat. Sia, "One More Night" by Maroon 5, and "Live Like We're Gonna Die Young" by Ke$ha vs One Direction. NO SHAME, NO REGRETS! MY MUSICAL TASTE IS AWESOME.

.o.O.o.

One More Night

.o.O.o.

"You know this is a terrible idea, right?"

Stiles heaved a sigh, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes or turn around and punch Scott, only because he didn't want to risk stumbling in the dark. "You know, I had sort of picked up on that particular opinion of yours somewhere around the five-hundred-thousandth time you mentioned it. But thanks for making sure I know. Again."

To be fair, they were currently making their way through the dark woods on an abandoned private road, towards a dilapidated, half-burnt-down house that was rumored to be absolutely, viciously, haunted with only the full moon's light that managed to filter through the dense trees to guide them… but that just made it an awesome idea, if you asked Stiles.

Also, there was no way that asshole Jackson was going to be right about Stiles being "too much of a pussy" to go check it out.

"I'm just saying," Scott continued, hands shoved into his pockets and face doing that disgruntled nose-wrinkle that would probably be adorable and endearing if Stiles hadn't gotten sick and tired of his best friend's whining several eons ago when they had parked the car back on the main road and it had started with a simple 'you sure this is a good idea?' and escalated exponentially from there. "No one knows we're here, and we forgot a flashlight, and I don't really believe in like, ghosts or whatever, but there could be wild animals. Mountain lions or bears or wolves or something."

"There are no wolves in California." Stiles shot back, tripping slightly over an outlying root. "Not for like, almost a century."

"Okay, well that still leaves mountain lions and bears. Or, I don't know, axe murderers." Scott insisted, ever the optimist.

Stiles pulled the hood of his jacket off in frustration, and scrubbed his hands uselessly over his short-cropped hair, stopping in place and turning around. "Scott. Dude. You said you'd do this with me, are you seriously going to back out just because there might be some wildlife or figments of your imagination running around out here? Jackson will never, and I mean never, let us live it down if we do, in fact, pussy out. And I don't know about you, but I'd rather warm the bench with hypothetical insults being thrown our way, rather than that doucherag having actual, fact-based, insults to lord over us for the rest of forever."

Shifting uneasily on his feet, Scott looked like he would have liked to protest further, but simply frowned resolutely and gestured with his shoulder in a 'go on, then' sort of way.

o.O.o

It had all been set in motion earlier that week. Summer practice for the lacrosse team had started up, and Stiles really wasn't sure why he and Scott were required to keep up off-season in preparation for the upcoming season of bench-warming (and more practice, by the way) they were inevitably going to be doing. Danny had mentioned that the guy he was tentatively seeing was thinking about throwing a party at the abandoned Hale house some weekend (and wouldn't that be cool, wasn't Josh just so cool? Stiles was cool too. He was, really. Just apparently not enough to get on anyone's gaydar, which honestly still bothered him, even though Danny always got frustrated when Stiles tried to ask him why not like it wasn't a big deal. It was!) while in the locker room post-practice, and Jackson had concurred.

"Pretty sure that place isn't safe." Stiles had butted in as he shoved his gear back in his locker, possibly just a little out of jealousy for never being invited to parties. "Being a condemned, burnt-out shell of rotting splinters, and all."

"Pretty sure no one asked you, Stilinski, since you're not invited." Jackson sneered, stupid and shirtless and confident and an asshole like always.

"Stiles can come." Danny chipped in good-naturedly.

"And besides," Jackson continued. "Bet you'd be too chicken-shit to come anyway. You actually cry at ghost stories, and this place is supposed to be haunted. You pussies wouldn't last five minutes."

"Hey!" Stiles and Scott both indignantly replied. Stiles did not cry at ghost stories! That had been one time at the third grade class Halloween party, and it just showed how much of a dick Jackson was that he still even remembered that at all. Jerk.

"Hey, it's fine." Danny cut in, trying to keep the peace. How he was Jackson's best friend was anyone's guess. "You guys can come, and it's not haunted. That's just a stupid story to scare kids."

Jackson smirked, pulling his t-shirt back over his head. "Well, like I said, for those of us with delicate constitutions and histories of –"

But Stiles didn't want to hear it anymore. He threw his gloves on the floor, hard, to keep from punching Jackson right in his stupid face. "You know what? You're an asshole, and Scott and I were actually going to go out there in a few nights anyway to check it out."

"We were?" Scott asked, sounding worried.

Good job, buddy, Stiles thought, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, we were. I bet you've never gone out there before, Jackson."

From the look on Jackson's face, he hadn't, but it was obviously he wasn't going to concede the upper hand. "Yeah, right. I'll believe it when I see it." He drawled, looking smug and pushing roughly past them, shouldering Scott on the way to the door.

"That's right, you will!" Stiles called out after him, refusing to let him get the last word. "Because there will be pictures!"

Jackson didn't reply, probably figuring it was beneath him, but Danny paused awkwardly at the door. "I'll let you guys know if that party happens." He said, before turning and following Jackson.

"So… we're not really going to go out there, are we?" Scott asked, as soon as Jackson and Danny were out of earshot.

Stiles sighed, leaning back against the cool metal door of his locker. "Well, Scott, now we kinda have to."

o.O.o

They had waited more than a few days, since Stiles needed to plan for a night when his dad would be out, so that Scott could tell his mom that he was spending the night at the Stilinski's house, but it was still under a week before the perfect night came along, which still counted within the "few days" timeframe. And in any case, Stiles was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to avoid Jackson for much longer, who sometimes smirked and opened his mouth to say something, and Stiles just knew it was going to be a 'so where's that proof, Stilinski?'. Stiles' had perfected the art of awkwardly needing to immediately be anywhere else, but it was wearing thin.

The more he thought about it, the more pumped up about it he actually got as they made their way through the dark wooded road. This was the kind of thing that awesome, cool kids did, right? Snuck out at night and went places they weren't supposed to be? Scott begged to differ, it seemed, but the further along the private road they got, the more Stiles got into it – the sneaking around in the dark in the woods, the bite of the cold in the air, and the thrill of maybe-danger that fizzed on the edge of his giddy anticipation to get there.

"How much further, do you think?" Scott asked, after a few minutes of silence other than crisp leaves and twigs crunching under their shoes.

"I dunno, wasn't exactly a point of interest on Google maps." Stiles shot back. He loved Scott, he really, really did, but the kid just did not do well under pressure.

Although, Stiles would have liked to know, for himself, how much further it was. They had parked the jeep off the main road, halfway into the trees, but all the same, he worried about the slim possibility of his dad being called out this way for something, or cruising by on patrol, and spotting it. His jeep wasn't exactly inconspicuous or nondescript by a long shot.

But, luckily enough, it was only another minute or two before the skeletal silhouette of the burnt-out house came into view, illuminated creepily by moonlight in the clearing, surrounded on all sides by dark forest.

"Ha!" Stiles shouted, breaking the silence, and pumping a fist in the air. "Take that, Jackson! Who's the pussy now?"

Scott grinned, looking a bit more lively now that the house was in sight, and they weren't just on an endless dirt road with no destination in sight. "Did you wanna go in… or just take a picture out front?" he asked, fumbling in his jeans for his phone.

"Uh, yeah no, we are not going in there." Stiles said, striding a little more quickly towards the abandoned ruins of the house. "I wasn't kidding when I told Jackson this place was a death-trap waiting to happen. One step in that place and we'd have a rotting beam falling on our heads and killing us or something."

"Sounds like a great place for a party, alright." Scott commented, prodding at his phone until the screen lit up on the camera setting. "So what, just like, take a few myspace-style pictures and we're out?"

"I guess; unless you wanted to stick around?"

"Yeah, not really."

It was awkward trying to hold the phone out to fit both of them in the shot, and then even more awkward trying to find an angle and lighting to show the house behind them. Stiles was about to suggest taking individual pictures of each other, when Scott suddenly lowered the phone altogether.

"What was that?" Scott asked, freezing. Stiles listened, but didn't hear anything. Just Scott being spooked. Again.

"Just your overactive imagination at work." He told Scott, aiming for reassuring, but coming out a little patronizing. Scott seemed quelled nonetheless, going to bring the phone up again, before he stopped again, lowering it and turning it off completely.

"Stiles, I'm serious. I hear something."

Stiles opened his mouth, about to complain that it was nothing, and he was getting cold, so could they just hurry it up and get this over with, when he heard it too. It was a sort of rustling, crunching sound somewhere off to the side and from some distance away, and they both turned to face it, even though it was impossible to see far enough into the dark trees. The creepy, ominous, dark trees.

"Probably just some animal." Stiles forced out, trying to sound offhand even as his heart beat heavily in his ribcage. "Just, let's just take the picture and –"

Suddenly the crashing was much faster, much closer, and much more frantic. Stiles and Scott both stepped back and closer together as the bushes at the edge of what they could see in the forest ripped apart, and something burst out, headed right for them. Scott yelled, Stiles shouted and flailed, and they both ended up in a jumbled heap, scrambling to right themselves and figure out what was happening. Scott got himself up first, breath wheezing as he grabbed at Stiles, trying to pull him to his feet while shouting "I knew it, I told you, oh my god, we're dead!"

Stiles pulled himself upright with Scott's help, and couldn't quite believe his eyes.

A huge, massive, hairy beast of a dog stood in front of them, panting heavily and fixing them with sharp eyes that reflected eerily in the moonlight, almost glowing. Its mouth was open, showcasing more sharp teeth than Stiles thought was strictly necessary, and it took him a moment to place the low, reverberating sound in the air as growling. Deep, rumbling growling, coming from the toothy monster that was currently staring them down in the night.

"No wolves in California!" Scott moaned in horror, grabbing at Stiles' hoodie and yanking frantically, trying to pull them both away. "Stiles, I knew it –"

"Scott, shut up and don't move!" Stiles snapped, shoving Scott slightly. The thing wasn't moving, and maybe if they didn't make any abrupt movements or sounds, it would stay where it was. Stiles couldn't quite remember what the protocol was for facing off with a wolf, seeing as he lived in California where there were no wolves.

It seemed to work. Scott whimpered pathetically but didn't make any more sudden, jerking movements, and the beast stayed where it was as well, staring them down. It was panting heavily, its jaws dripping ominously, splattering dark liquid on the ground at its massive, clawed feet. It was… dripping quite a lot, actually. Not just from the mouth, Stiles noticed, as they continued their stand-off. Their stand-off that was apparently becoming much more difficult to continue for the wolf, as it swayed unsteadily on its feet, panting breaths coming out in heavy whuffs that ghosted in the cold air around its muzzle.

"Scott," He whispered. "I think it's hurt."

Scott let out a sound that sounded very much like a strangled sort of deranged laughter. "I think we're about to get hurt."

"No, I'm serious." Stiles insisted, slowly lowering himself down to a crouching position. "Look at it, it's all bloody and matted up. Get down, you're probably scaring it."

"Are you insane?" Scott asked, allowing Stiles to pull him down all the same. "I'm scaring it?"

"You're the aspiring vet or whatever." Stiles reminded him. "Animals are more scared of us than we are of them, and all that."

"Really don't think that's how it's going down right now." Scott insisted.

"I'm gonna try to get a better look at it." Stiles said, and shifted, moving to the side to get a view of the wolf that wasn't dead-on. Scott hissed and grabbed at him, and Stiles jerked away, overestimating himself and tripping a few feet to the side.

The reaction was instantaneous – broken out of whatever spell it had been in out of sheer surprise at encountering them, the wolf lunged forward, snarling. Scott yelped and dove off to one side while Stiles lurched to the other, covering his face. He felt a rush of warm air wash over him, then heard a solid whump on the ground, and looked up to see that the wolf had collapsed, one of its front legs dripping blood down from the shoulder, a back leg sticking out at an odd angle.

"Stiles, let's go!" Scott shouted, running over and pulling Stiles to his feet. "Come on, come on, let's go!"

Stiles tensed, ready to run while they had the chance, taking one last look back at the wolf. It was panting heavily, its dark fur clumped and dirty along one whole side, and it was making no attempt to get back up, simply staring them down and making low sounds between heaving pants for breath. It was… it was really sad, actually.

"Scott... we can't just leave it." Stiles said. "It's really hurt."

Scott looked at Stiles as if he'd just grown an extra head. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"No, come on…" Stiles said, relaxing his stance a bit, no longer preparing to make a mad dash for his life. "Come on, you're supposed to be all about fixing broken animals, and this guy is like… super broken. He needs help."

"No!" Scott exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "Stiles, that's a wild animal! A dangerous wild animal that just tried to eat us!"

"I think he's scared." Stiles observed, lowering himself into a crouch again, slightly closer to the still-collapsed wolf.

"I think you're crazy." Scott told him, switching his weight from foot to foot in an anxious desire to leave.

But Stiles had made up his mind, rustling through his pockets and throwing his keys at Scott. "Look, Scott, just go get the car. It'll be able to go through the bushes around the road block, and I have a tarp in the back, so we can wrap him up and take him to –"

"Uh, no! I am not leaving you alone with a wild animal, and –"

"Scott, look at him!" Stiles implored. "He's hurt, and alone, and scared… come on, we have to help him!"

Scott wavered a few more moments, alternating between looking at Stiles like he was crazy, and at the wolf like it was going to lunge at them any moment, before his resolve seemed to crumble. "Fine!" He said, looking frustrated at himself even as he said it. "But if this thing eats us, I am absolutely never, ever going to forgive you."

"You're the best." Stiles told him, eyes not leaving the wolf.

"And you're still a crazy person." Scott grumbled as he jogged off down the dirt road.

"Probably." Stiles acknowledged, but Scott was already too far away to hear him. The wolf was still watching him warily, curling its lip every time Stiles moved, and Stiles sort of hated how afraid and hurt it was. He'd always had a soft spot for dogs, and technically this was a wolf, but really that just made it more awesome.

"Where did you come from, buddy?" Stiles asked. "You're supposed to be extinct around here. But you're definitely a wolf. Big sharp teeth all the better to eat me with, and all that. Looks like someone tried to eat you first, though."

The wolf made a low, irritated, growling sound, shuffling a bit on its elbows, trying to get up.

"No, no, no!" Stiles shushed, shifting slightly and moving his hands in a 'down' gesture that he hoped was placating. "You're hurt, we're gonna help; you just have to stay put, and –"

"Well, well, well, what have we got here?"

Stiles would have had a scathing reply for the cliché phrase if he had the presence of mind to do anything other than jump nearly out of his skin at the sudden, unfamiliar voice abruptly coming out of nowhere right behind him. In retrospect, it probably wasn't a great idea to scoot even closer to the wolf in his shock, especially considering that it was growling and snarling even more than before, now, struggling to get to its feet. Stiles tried to shush it with more calming noises and gestures, keeping his hands out of reach of its maw, his eyes flicking back and forth between the wolf and the new person who had just showed up.

"Who are you?" Stiles asked. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled, stepping closer, and Stiles steadfastly stood up to meet her, the rumbling growls of the wolf growing steadily louder behind him. She was smaller than Stiles, but older and with a fierceness to her that he couldn't quite place or understand, and which seemed at odds to her styled, blonde hair and tasteful makeup. And she didn't seem the least bit thrown by the fact that there was a snarling wild wolf right there.

"Why don't you," She said slowly, with a sort of curling pleasure to the words, "let me have my puppy back, and go home? It's late. Little boys shouldn't be out in the woods all alone."

Wow, okay, Stiles did not like this chick.

"I'm pretty sure that's not your puppy." Stiles said, because he really couldn't imagine any animal looking less pleased to see anyone, ever. "And this is private property."

Stiles really hated the way she smiled – it was cruel and smug, as if she knew everything, and he was nothing and no one, and she thought that was funny. "That is my puppy, and I can't help but notice that you are here, on private property."

The wolf was standing now, hackles raised and lips curled to reveal rows of sharp teeth once more, and Stiles would be more concerned if he honestly felt like the wolf was the biggest threat right now.

"I don't think he likes you. He's hurt, and I'm going to get him help."

She let out an amused huff. "He loves me." She said vindictively. "And I'm going to help him just fine. Just get out of the way, and no one has to get hurt."

Man, this crazy bitch was just full of clichés. Stiles didn't budge, staring her down, and noticed that she had something on her back, held there by a thick strap across her chest. He'd been to the station with his dad often enough to know a rifle when he saw one.

Stiles had a moment to panic for his own safety, stranded as he was in the woods alone at night with a crazy person with a gun, and to gain a pretty sharp suspicion that said crazy person with a gun was the person responsible for getting the wolf hurt in the first place, before all hell broke loose. Stiles' jeep, driven by Scott, suddenly came barreling down the dirt road, headlights flashing right into their faces around the curve, and behind Stiles, the wolf let out a vicious snarl, knocking Stiles down as it lunged forward, leaping at the woman and cracking her down, snapping its jaws once, right at her throat, before dashing off towards the distracting beams of the jeep's headlights, and disappearing into the woods beyond. Stiles glanced at the woman, who had already rolled over and pulled her gun, attempting to get an aim on the wolf.

"Yeah, I'm out." Stiles announced, jumping to his feet and rushing to the jeep, yanking the passenger door open and clambering in.

"What the hell?" Scott shouted, gripping the steering wheel tightly and looking between Stiles and the scene before the jeep so quickly that Stiles was sure he was going to give himself whiplash. The woman was standing up, still holding her rifle at the ready, and Stiles really had no idea what was going on, but knew that he absolutely no longer wanted any part in it.

"Doesn't matter, just drive!" he yelled at Scott, who thankfully seemed to be right on board with that plan, and proceeded to peel out in a messy u-turn, driving away from the house, and back towards the main road. Stiles shakily ran his hands over his face, and checked the rearview mirror just once before they turned the corner and left the house out of sight… but the wolf was nowhere in sight.

o.O.o

For someone who couldn't shout questions and demands for answers fast enough last night as they fled the scene of the… well, not crime, but only just, Scott seemed extremely dedicated to absolutely forgetting all about it the next day. No matter how much Stiles prodded and tried to discuss the previous night's events, Scott appeared to have taken the 'if we don't acknowledge it, it wasn't real' approach to heart, and refused to engage Stiles about anything that even hinted to the topics of forests, abandoned houses, strange ladies, guns, and especially wolves.

"I'm just saying." Stiles tried, one more time, as he and Scott headed into the locally owned coffee-shop. "That we should probably tell the Fish and Game department that –"

"Oh my god!" Scott burst out, and a good portion of the customers in the shop turned to look at him. Scott ducked his head, embarrassed, and continued in a frustrated whisper. "Can we please stop talking about… wolves." The last word was mumbled so quietly that Stiles almost didn't catch it, as if Scott was afraid that if he said 'wolf' too loudly, it would summon one right to them.

After they got their drinks and started wandering down the street for lack of anything better to do, Stiles was having a hard time thinking of anything to talk about other than topics that were apparently on Scott's very strict no-no list. He was about to open up a discussion about them again anyways, when Scott (probably anticipating this) said, out of nowhere, "So there's a new girl in my summer class."

Willing to put last night's events on hold temporarily, Stiles played along. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, she's…" Oh no, Scott had that dopey, smiley look on his face that Stiles hadn't seen for a while, but he knew instantly where this was going. "She's new in town, and she's catching up for when school starts next year, you know."

"And she's super cute and funny and wonderful and perfect all around." Stiles stated, no use in forestalling the inevitable.

"What?! I mean, yeah, but how did you –"

"Oh come on, man, you've got that derpy puppylove look all over your face." Stiles said with a grin, slinging an arm around Scott and shaking him a little. "So go on, spill."

As they walked, and Scott told Stiles all about the new love of his life ('her name is Allison, and her hair is like chocolate waves, and her eyes are like bright shining crystals, and she's so smart and really nice and…') Stiles let his brain wander a bit, used enough to Scott's speaking patterns by now that he could fill in with proper attentive noises and phrases when needed, but mostly trying to understand how a wolf had gotten into Beacon Hills, and why some psycho bitch was hunting it, and what were the chances that they had run into them? Maybe that woman had brought the wolf there and released it to hunt for sport? That seemed the only explanation for a single wolf being hurt and in the woods where it didn't belong, but was awfully cruel. Had the wolf smelled them and come running to tear them apart in its rage, or, alternately, seek protection because it was hurt? Maybe it had known the wreckage of the abandoned house was there, and it was going to try and hide, until Stiles and Scott had startled it?

"… and, so I saw her looking around in her bag, so I offered her a pen, and then – hey, who's that?"

Brought out of his thoughts by the direct question, Stiles glanced up to where Scott was looking, and – wow.

Half a block up from where Stiles and Scott had stopped, someone else had stopped and was looking right back at them. And that someone was not anyone Stiles had ever seen before, because trust him, he would remember a face like that. Dark, sharp hair and a strong jaw that was covered in a hint of stubble, leather jacket over a sculpted torso, tall and absolutely gorgeous; this was not someone who looked like they belonged in dingy little Beacon Hills. Stiles was a little bit intimidated, and a little bit in love.

"Why's he just staring at us?" Scott whispered, as neither of them made any attempt to stop staring, themselves.

"No idea." Stiles said, dropping his arm from around Scott's shoulders finally, but then feeling even more awkward just standing there with them at his sides. The guy's intense fix on them was a bit unnerving. On closer inspection, under the sharp features and roughed-up-stylishness, he almost looked familiar in some way, but Stiles absolutely could not place where he could have seen the guy before. Stiles gave a little awkward wave, not sure what else to do.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Scott hissed. "He's… oh god, he's coming over."

Now that the guy was approaching, Stiles felt a little less in love, and a lot more intimidated, and he immediately flailed into survival mode. "Scatter!" he snapped out, dropping his drink and shoving Scott into the crosswalk that had just turned green, spinning on his own heel to rush into a bookstore, the little bell jingling over the door as he opened it.

"Stiles!" He heard Scott yell back, just before the door closed behind him, and he quickly skedaddled down the aisles into the back section full of history and mathematics reference anthologies that no one ever frequented. Stiles hastened to grab a huge dusty tomb about WWI down from the shelf, sliding down to the floor to rest the open book on his knees that were pulled up to his chest, hiding his face behind the crisp pages.

The little bell over the door rang out again, and Stiles went tense as he heard low, murmured conversation from the front, before it went quiet again. After a few minutes passed, Stiles was finally starting to relax, casually skimming the open pages in front of him that detailed the Battle of Gravenstafel, when the book was suddenly knocked out of his hand, and he was being dragged to his feet, pressed back to the bookshelves behind him. He would have liked to pretend that he kept his dignity and wits about him in the flurry of activity, but his flailing limbs and the shocked little sound that came out of his mouth undermined that wishful hope.

"Uh, hey, hi." Stiles said, once he had regained the power of somewhat-coherent speech, looking into Mr. Intense Staring's face, less than a foot from his own and not looking pleased. "Uh, how can I help you?"

"Who are you?"

That was a good question. At the moment, Stiles was not sure, himself, but he gave it a shot. "I, ah, I'm Stiles. Stilinski. Stiles Stilinski, although obviously that's a nickname – the Stiles part, not the – erk –"

Stiles lost his power of speech once more as Mr. Hot-But-Broody leaned in a bit closer, pressing Stiles more firmly into the bookshelf. A ledge was sticking uncomfortably into his lower spine, and he wiggled a bit, causing the grip that Mr. Shoves A Lot had in Stiles shirt to tighten slightly.

"Well, Stiles, you and your little friend need to stay off of private property if you know what's good for you." He said, eyebrows furrowing further into the glare he was fixing on Stiles.

Mind in overdrive, Stiles tried to put the pieces together, but nothing seemed to fit. He honestly had no idea who this guy was, or why he would be so upset about private property that Stiles had no recollection of ever trespassing on, since the only place he had been that he shouldn't have been in recent memory was the abandoned Hale property, which was, you know, abandoned. Stiles' phone vibrated in his pocket, but he figured that now was really not the time to check it.

"Dude, I'm sorry, I really, really have no idea what you're talking about, but I promise that if you got broken into, or t.p'd, or, I don't know, someone ding-dong-ditched you, it wasn't me. I swear!"

The guy looked almost taken aback for a moment (and Stiles was used to having that effect on people, by now) before he went right back to looking grumpy and determined. "No one ding-dong-ditched me. I'm talking about you and your friend sneaking around on my property last night. It's closed off for a reason, and I don't want to see you, or anyone else, back there. Got it?"

"I – what?" Stiles shot back. "Last night? You mean, the abandoned Hale house? Wait, you were there? Oh my god, so did you see –"

"It's not abandoned." He said, cutting Stiles off. "It's mine, and I don't want nosy kids messing around there. It's dangerous."

Stiles really had no intention of going back there after what and transpired the night before, but speaking of, if this guy had been there, somewhere – although Stiles couldn't imagine where – then he must have seen… Stiles' phone buzzed again, and once more he resolutely ignored it.

"Okay, fine, but you saw it last night, right?" Stiles said in a rush. "The wolf, and that crazy lady with the rifle? What the hell was that? Where were you?"

The guy narrowed his eyes dangerously, letting go of Stiles' shirt and stepping back. "I don't know what you're talking about. And neither do you. Just don't come back."

Sucking in deep breaths, Stiles watched him walk away, disappearing from sight around the bookshelves, before his brain suddenly came back online and he lurched forward, intent on grabbing him and making him tell the truth. Maybe that guy hadn't been there in person, but if it was his property, maybe he had security cameras, and if he had seen Stiles and Scott on them, he had definitely seen the wolf and the crazy lady, and Stiles wanted answers. He heard the little bell over the door ding as Mr. Get Off My Property exited, and Stiles knocked over a cart of books in his haste to get to the door before it was too late, throwing out a breathless "Sorry, sorry!", but by the time he got out the door and back onto the street, the guy was nowhere to be seen

Letting out a strangled sound of disappointment and frustration, Stiles kicked at the air, spinning in a full circle to do one last visual sweep of the area, but coming up empty-handed. Groaning, Stiles jammed his hand into his pocket, pulling his phone out.

(1) missed call: Scott

(3) new text messages:

Scott: where r u?

Scott: dude srsly did that guy get u?

Scott: pls respond! :(

Stiles sighed, punching at Scott's number in his contacts, hearing his best friend pick up right away, sounding relieved.

"Dude, what happened? Who was that guy? Did he talk to you? What did he want?" Scott frantically asked. "I'm coming back to get you, are you still at the bookstore?"

"Yeah, still here." Stiles sighed.

"So… what did he want?"

He wanted Stiles and Scott to stay away, but he hadn't counted on Stiles being insatiable, and bloodhound-intent when he wanted something. But if Stiles told Scott what had happened, Scott would be even more spooked, and refuse involvement even more than he already had, and Stiles really could use an accomplice.

"Uh, false alarm." Stiles said, hoping Scott wouldn't hear the lie in his voice. "He kept going, must have been looking at someone else behind us."

"Oh." Came Scott's confused, but trusting, reply. "Well that's weird."

"Yeah." Stiles agreed, talking to himself more than Scott at that point. "Really weird."

o.O.o

The thing was, Stiles had never excelled at schoolwork, but he was excellent at studying, retaining information, and applying that information when he wanted to.

A quick Google search when Stiles got home had pulled up a plethora of information about the apparently not-so-abandoned Hale house, and the Hale family who had resided there, and the mysterious fire that had killed all but two of them. Arson, apparently, although no one had ever been convicted. Of the remaining two Hale's – Derek and Laura – it seemed as though Stiles had run into Derek. There was less information on him than Stiles would have liked, but a few old newspaper clippings let Stiles know that Derek had gone to Beacon Hills High School a few years before Stiles, which explained why he had looked vaguely familiar.

Digging a little deeper, and possibly using his dad's password – that he really shouldn't make so easy or leave lying around where anyone digging through his drawers in his private office at work where anyone could find it, really – to access current city records, Stiles learned that the Hale property had, indeed, recently been passed into Derek Hale's name, although strangely enough there were no accompanying building permits attached. Was Derek just going to leave that death trap the way it was? Where was he staying in the meanwhile?

Before he could root around further and break into a few more private records to find the answers to these questions, Stiles realized the time and swore, hastening to get his lacrosse gear in order and head to practice, as he was already late.

Practice was more grueling than usual, as coach Finstock had detected Stiles' attempt to sneak into the back of the group huddle unnoticed, and made him run suicides until Stiles had felt ready collapse. After that torture was over, Stiles joined the tail-end of everyone else's practice until the whistle finally blew and they were finally sent to the showers.

"Remind me why we put ourselves through this meaningless torture, again?" Stiles moaned, pulling his jersey over his head and letting it drop to the ground as he collapsed onto a bench.

Scott smiled, out of breath as he unlatched his locker. "Because it'll get us popular?"

"Yeah." Stiles snorted. "If we don't die of fatigue first."

"Why were you late, anyway?" Scott asked. Stiles tried to think of a way to bring up Derek Hale and the Hale property without Scott getting irritated that Stiles was trying to bring up the-night-that-never-actually-happened-if-you-pretend-hard-enough, when he was shoved sideways by Jackson, who then actually stopped in front of them, looking more sour than usual.

"Uh, hi." Scott warily greeted him.

"What do you want?" Stiles drawled, past the point of practicing politeness around Jackson.

Jackson thinned his lips into a disgruntled line, seeming to brace himself, before speaking. "Danny's asshole boyfriend broke up with him, and I convinced him to go out this weekend, but he told me to invite you jerkoffs, since he invited you to the party at the Hale house that didn't work out." He said it all at once, voice strained as though he hated every word that escaped his mouth, and Stiles was honestly a bit thrown. He looked to Scott, who appeared just as confused as Stiles was to get an invitation to anything from Jackson, even as begrudging and second-hand as it was.

"Uh…"

Sneering, Jackson continued. "If I had it my way, you wouldn't be anywhere near me in my free time, but Danny told me to tell you, so here – " he shoved a crumpled piece of paper forward, and Stiles reached out for it on impulse "– you've been told. If you guys show up and screw anything up, I'm seriously going to kick your asses."

And with that, he was gone.

"Well that was nice of him." Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

Scott still looked very confused. "What just happened? Did Jackson just invite us to a party?"

Stiles unfolded the crumpled piece of torn notebook paper he was still holding, flattening it out a bit. There was an address hastily scrawled onto it in Jackson's distinctively half-ass manner, and wow, who knew handwriting could be so aggressive? Scott leaned over to look at it as Stiles pulled his phone out, doing a quick map search to see where Jackson was attempting to direct him.

"Does it lead to the garbage center or something?" Scott asked, tilting his head as Stiles went to click the pin marking the address on the map on his phone, and honestly Stiles had been expecting something similar. He definitely hadn't been expecting… this.

"Ah, no." Stiles replied, a bit in shock, as the results popped up. "This is definitely not the garbage center."

o.O.o

Most small towns and cities in the middle of nowhere were a bit podunk, with nothing but mom-and-pop shops, and a lackluster school system, and miles and miles of all-encompassing farmland, which left a lot of bored, reckless youths with nothing to do for entertainment, resulting in a plethora of teenage pregnancies and meth-heads.

Beacon Hills county was a smallish area, sort of in the middle of a great big stretching canvas of Northern California nothingness, but it was well off. It was no uppity-gated-mansion-Montecito, but it meant that almost everyone had nice big houses with nice big yards, and they had schools without portables clogging up the original buildings, but most importantly – and this is what really made the difference and kept the youth standards up – they had a real downtown, with a real mall, and real name-brand stores along with the local shops, real theatres that got new releases, a real arcade and bowling alley, and, after dark, real bars and clubs.

Right now, it was after dark, and Stiles and Scott were planning on taking advantage of said bar and club scene, although the non-delinquency of their youth was up for debate, seeing as they were technically too young to get drinks, but were going to do their damndest to get some anyway.

"Thanks again for the ride, Danny." Scott said.

"Yeah man, and sorry for the short notice." Stiles piped up from the backseat of Danny's very practical car. Normally stiles hated being put in the backseat, but it was nice and roomy back there. Plus he got to bother Scott by kicking the passenger seat by "accident" every so often. "Jeep was working fine this morning, I have no idea why she wouldn't start."

"It's fine, guys." Danny said, turning to smile at them both briefly before pulling onto a side-street and scanning for an open spot. "Thanks for coming."

It took a few passes, but they finally found a spot, and Stiles scrambled at the door handle, launching himself out eagerly, catching himself before tripping, and rocking back and forth on his feet as Danny locked up, and answered his ringing phone.

"Hey Jackson… yeah, I know, we just parked… okay, be right there."

Stiles barely resisted the urge to make a barfing sound at realizing Jackson was on the other end of the line, and Scott must have been thinking along the same lines, because he made a face at Stiles, nodding towards Danny's phone. But if it weren't for Danny, they wouldn't have been invited out at all, and Jackson was a part of that package deal.

Sure enough, they had barely stepped around the corner and into the bright neon lights advertising Wildcat – the one club with the not-so-secret reputation of attracting individuals of the not-so-heterosexual persuasion – when there was Jackson, with his stupid, douche-y face… and a glorious, beautiful queen of a girl on his arm.

"Heeeeey Lydia." Stiles greeted, sidling up close enough to be on her radar, but far enough to be out of range of Jackson, who was scowling at him and wrapping Lydia closer. "What's a lovely lady like you doing in a place like this? Hey, I know, how about you and me –"

"Back off, Stilinski." Jackson growled, and Stiles obligingly stepped back, putting his hands up. Fawning over Lydia was mostly just habit at this point, and although he still thought she was one of the most amazing and beautiful and intelligent people he had ever known, Stiles accepted that she, for some unknown reason, had picked Jackson.

Didn't mean he wouldn't try and get at least one good stroke of her flowing strawberry curls tonight, if his lucky fingers got the chance.

"Maybe next time." Lydia said, smirking, as they made their way to the door, in a patronizing tone that really meant 'never gonna happen'.

"Ouch." Scott said with an amused grin, elbowing Stiles in the side.

Stiles pushed him back. "Hey man, not cool! You're supposed to be on my side! If you weren't my date tonight, I'd totally leave you in the dust, see how you like it."

Looking a bit uncomfortable as they joined the line to get in, Scott tried giving Stiles one of his guilty puppy looks that he knew won Stiles over even when he was mad. "Actually…" he said, and Stiles didn't know where this was going, but he already didn't like it. "I… might have kind of invited Allison to come?"

Jaw dropping open, Stiles couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Oh, not cool, dude! This was a bro-date! I can't believe you're ditching me for a girl!"

Scott looked wounded, but determined. "Man, I'm sorry, but it's Allison, and I didn't even think she was going to say yes, and –"

"Whatever." Stiles butted in, waving it off with a flippant hand gesture. "Just for that, I'm holding you to at least one dance, and you owe me a drink." Stiles was bummed and betrayed, sure, but he wasn't going to begrudge his best friend a date with his crush. Scott rolled his eyes, but nudged shoulders with Stiles affectionately, and all was forgiven.

There were… a lot more people inside than Stiles was expecting, once they stepped in. They almost immediately lost Danny, Jackson, and Lydia, when Jackson waved across the room, and proceeded to drag the two of them after him. Stiles grabbed tight onto Scott's arm to keep from losing him, and they optimistically made their way to the bar.

It took them about five seconds to get shamed away from ordering a drink, and Stiles only relented his pestering for alcohol when he realized that the bartender probably had the power to kick their underage asses out to the curb before they could say 'whiskey'.

"I'm holding you to that dance, you know!" Stiles shouted over the music to Scott. He really did want to get out onto the floor, and wasn't sure if he was prepared to brave it alone, especially considering that most of the crowd was gay, and he didn't want any of the girls to think he was being an obnoxious or a creep, or for any of the guys to think he was leading them on. Not that Stiles couldn't appreciate a fine male specimen, but he knew a lot of people came to clubs looking for more than a dance, and he didn't want to bite off more than he was prepared to chew.

"No you're not." Scott said, sounding like he still thought it was a sort of embarrassing joke.

"Uh, definitely not joking." Stiles said, grabbing Scott and pulling him along towards the mass of bodies under the pulsing, multi-coloured lights. "And I'm pretty sure you wanna get this out of the way before Allison gets here, and gets super jealous when I collect what I am owed right in front of her. Which I will, and you know it."

"Oh my god." Scott complained, but allowed himself to be dragged. Because underneath it all, he really was Stiles' best friend.

There was pretty much no way, from the start, that it could have been anything less than hilariously awkward. As the bass pulsed through the room, and all the jostling bodies pushed everyone into direct contact, Stiles laughed and threw his arms around Scott's neck, and Scott rolled his eyes and mouthed out another 'oh my god, Stiles', but put his hands on Stiles hips anyway. Stiles steered them around, bumping into everyone and laughing out apologies as Scott looked half like he was having a great time, and half like he was going to die of embarrassment.

"Stiles, I think someone grabbed my butt! I think it was a guy!" Scott told him incredulously, and Stiles – who had definitely had his butt grabbed more than once already – laughed at how adorably clueless Scott was sometimes.

Scott actually let Stiles keep him out for another couple songs, and they were in the middle of jumping up and down with their hands thrown up to a particularly upbeat song, chests bumping and laughing, when Scott (obviously using some sort of sixth sense, since there was no way he would have been able to hear a ringtone or feel a vibration setting at this point) pulled out his phone and showed Stiles the screen with a blinding grin – Allison was calling.

"Go get 'em, tiger!" Stiles told him, slapping Scott on the back as he attempted to disentangle himself from the crowd, answering the phone and heading for the door. In an effort to not get totally swallowed up by the heaving crowd, Stiles pushed his way to where he had last seen their group headed, hoping to maybe catch Danny or Lydia sans-Jackson.

Stiles had gotten used to being pushed around and grabbed at during the duration of their visit to the club, so he didn't immediately panic when a firm hand closed around his wrist, tugging him back. When he turned to see who had a hold of him – maybe someone who had mistaken him for someone else, or who knows, maybe someone who thought he was attractive and wanted a piece of that action – well, that's when he panicked.

"What the hell?! Let me go!" Stiles yelped, attempting to put the brakes on and tug his wrist free, but it turned out that Derek Hale had a very strong grip.

He wondered, briefly, why no one else was noticing a teenage boy getting dragged away by an older stranger, but chalked it up to no one being able to hear him over the music, and everyone being so used to the undulating crowd of bodies that one more bump didn't register as Stiles was dragged along. Stiles saw the bathroom coming up and increased his struggle – no way was he getting dragged into some shady, dank bathroom for god only knew what nefarious purpose!

"Let me go!" He insisted one more time, but then Stiles was being pushed up against a dark wall in the corner; not particularly out of sight, but definitely not inconspicuous enough for Derek to comfortably get away with murdering him in. Emboldened by this revelation, he opened his mouth to bitch at Derek some more about the rough handling, but then Derek was slamming his free fist into the wall over Stiles' head, leaning his whole body forward to cage Stiles in, still gripping Stile's wrist like a vice.

"What are you doing here?" Derek growled, and he was so close Stiles could feel Derek's breath against the side of his face.

"What am I –? What are you doing here?" Stiles rebutted. "And what's with the manhandling! I haven't been back to your stupid house!"

"I know you haven't." Derek said through clenched teeth. "What I want to know is why you and your friend Scott are here with Kate."

Stiles mentally floundered, coming up with nothing. "Kate? Dude, I don't even know a Kate! I came here with Scott and Danny and Jackson and Lydia. I think some of the other lacrosse guys are here, but I seriously don't know whoever Kate is."

This seemed to give Derek pause, as he frowned and looked Stiles, searchingly, right in the eyes. "You're not lying."

If he could have, Stiles would have thrown up his arms in frustration, but one was currently pinned, and the other would have smacked right into Derek since he was so close. And Stiles really didn't think smacking Derek would be a good idea right now. "I know I'm not lying! Congratulations for both of us! Please let me go now!"

But it wasn't going to be that easy, apparently, since Stiles' pleas for release seemed to bring about Derek's second wind. "But I saw her – I saw Scott going to meet her and her niece at their car in the parking lot. Kate is here, and Scott was with her."

Derek's grip tightened in frustration, and Stiles tried to press himself further back into the wall, with no avail. Talk about stuck between a rock and a hard place. Stiles licked his lips nervously, glancing around, but still no one was paying them any attention. Anywhere else, Stiles would be dumbfounded at the general public's lack of observational skills, but he knew that in here, no one was paying attention to anyone other than who they were trying to catch the eye of. The music drowned out their irritated raised voices, and honestly… Stiles paused, swallowing the awkward lump in his throat that had lodged there at the thought. Honestly, it probably looked like they were just another amorous couple seeking some semblance of privacy to make out in, in the dark corner at the far end of the room. To anyone else, it wouldn't have been worth batting an eye at, but the thought of how they must look to an outside observer made Stiles feel a bit restless in his own skin. Derek gave him a little shake, and Stiles realized he was still waiting on some sort of an explanation.

"Look, Scott got a call from Allison a minute ago and went out to meet her. That is literally all I know, dude. I seriously have no idea who Kate is." Stiles reiterated.

He must have said a correct key word or something, because Derek's gaze sharpened on him, making Stiles feel more pinned to the spot than ever.

"Allison." Derek repeated, like it was important. "Allison Argent?"

"I think so?" Stiles said. The last name sounded a bit familiar, but honestly he mostly glazed over Scott's long-winded tales of Allison. "He met her in his summer school class. He's got a crazy stupid puppy crush on her, and I am an awesome friend who let himself get ditched for her. He never said anyone else was coming. If Allison brought a friend, this is the first I'm hearing of it. Probably Scott too." Stiles added. "He's gonna be so bummed - he thought this was, like, a date."

Derek was quiet for few beats, before apparently coming to a decision. He backed away, and Stiles nearly sighed a breath of relief, but then Derek was pulling Stiles along with him.

"We need to get you out of here."

Stiles held his ground. "Uh, no. I'm definitely not leaving with you."

"Stiles." Derek growled, frustrated. "We need to leave, and we need to leave now. If Kate sees you – if Kate sees you and me together – it's not going to be good."

"What is the imminent threat she poses, and how the hell is she even going to know who I am?!" Stiles burst, finally giving into the impulse to throw his hands up. Derek's arm went with Stiles' that he was still holding onto, and if everything wasn't so confusing and weird right now, it would have been a little funny. "Dude, you are being, like, terrifying levels of cryptic and nonsense right now."

Derek actually full-on snarled, and Stiles barely had the chance to be shocked before he was pressed up against the wall again. Anything he would have thought about saying died when Derek leaned in so close their foreheads were almost touching, and he could feel Derek's frantic breath on his own lips. Stiles' blood-flow took the opportunity to betray him, and started rushing south. 'Not now, not now, traitorous body!' Stiles pleaded. 'I know he's not exactly unattractive in any way imaginable, but now is most definitely not the time!'

"Kate was the one with the gun the other night, when you two were sneaking around in the woods. I can only assume she didn't recognize Scott just now because he was in the car that night, and the headlights were too bright. But if she sees you she will recognize you, and you do not want that. We need to leave now, and you need to let Scott know not to go anywhere near her again, just in case. Do you understand?"

Stiles' brain whirled, trying to process everything at once. "She was… with the gun – but you told me, the other day, that there was no crazy chick with a gun! What the hell, Derek? What's going on?"

Only seeming momentarily taken aback at Stiles knowing his name, Derek tugged at Stiles' wrist again. "If you come with me… I'll tell you. But we need to leave now."

"I…" Stiles started, sort of desperately curious, but knowing he shouldn't just leave with someone who was basically a total stranger. A total stranger in the habit of roughing him around. "I don't have a car. I got a ride here."

"I have mine."

"But Scott –"

"He'll be fine for now. Just text him or something, let him know not to leave with her, even if it means letting Allison leave by herself."

Ha, that was going to be easier said than done. But Stiles found himself allowing Derek to drag him away, and he pulled out his phone to compose a text message to Scott.

'Hey man gotta go something came up. Don't leave with allison if her aunt kate offers u a ride home. Has to do with the other night. Ill tell u later.'

Stiles pressed send, hoping that Scott would at least check his phone before leaving, because he sure as hell wasn't going to worry about not finding Stiles around, now that Allison had arrived. Suddenly, he crashed into Derek, who had been pulling him through the crowd, but had stopped with no warning.

"Stiles?"

Peering around Derek's leather jacketed frame, Stiles saw Danny, half in the arms of some guy Stiles had never seen before, but one of his arms was thrown out in front of Derek, halting their progress towards what Stiles could now see was an 'employees only' hallway.

"Ah, hey Danny." Stiles greeted, trying and failing to sound casual, and not at all as if he was being dragged around by a ridiculously attractive man of dubious sanity. "What's up?"

Danny frowned, looking between Stiles and Derek. "Not much. You okay? You, ah, going somewhere?"

It took him a second, but suddenly Danny's pointed looks and raised eyebrow clicked. Danny thought – oh god, it looked like – that Stiles was being unwillingly dragged off for some dubious intimacy with a male stranger.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I uh…" Stiles tried, clearing his throat awkwardly and attempting to smile reassuringly. "You know, just… having some fun. Ha ha ha, so, um, yeah. You have fun too. I'll, ah, see you later."

"Alright." Danny hesitantly replied as Derek started tugging Stiles towards the back again; Danny looked surprised, a bit curious, and a bit like maybe some pieces were clicking into place. "Have fun. Be safe."

"Oh my god." Stiles hissed, feeling his cheeks flush, as Derek plowed right through the 'employee's only' entrance (and why was that thing not locked or monitored in some way?) and led him past a few more doors, down a short corridor, around a corner, and then they were suddenly outside, around the back where all of the huge dumpsters were pushed against the wall and loading areas were blocked off on the pavement in bold yellow stripes. Derek pressed a hand to Stiles' chest, as if he thought Stiles was just going to make a run for it if left out of direct contact, and went very still, looking out at… nothing, as far as Stiles could tell. But whatever was out there in the nothing must have passed inspection, because then Derek was dragging him around to the side street – the same one Danny had parked on, in fact, and oh god, was Derek stalking him? – and stopping in front of the nicest car Stiles had ever seen in person.

"Oh my god." Stiles got out in a strangled, awestruck voice. It was beautiful – all sleek, sharp lines, and black as the night. Stiles had never been into muscle cars, but something about this beast of a Camaro (though his jeep was his first love, and his opinion had nothing to do with the idea of Derek behind the wheel of it, thank you very much) called to his soul.

"Stop saying that." Derek told him, sounding irritated. "It's annoying."

"Oh my god," Stiles reiterated. "This is yours?" Stiles mentally took back his thoughts about Derek being a stalker – stalkers did not drive cars this amazingly nice, and, admittedly, flashy. Cars like this cost a lot of money, and drew a lot of attention.

"Obviously." Derek deadpanned, drawing out his keys and unlocking it. "Get in."

Stiles didn't need telling twice.

With a dull roar, they pulled away from the curb and left the club behind, and Stiles took a brief moment to question his sanity for getting into a car with a stranger in the middle of the night without telling anyone where he was going, before he remembered that he had questions that he wanted answers to. He very firmly did not think of phrases involving curiosity and cats getting themselves killed.

"So… you gonna tell me why you kidnapped me, and why a crazy lady who you firmly denied the existence of previously is now Threat Priority One? Oh, and, fun fact – my dad's the Sheriff, so if I go missing, your ass is grass. Like, they won't be able to identify the body." Stiles said conversationally, sinking into the plush passenger seat.

Derek exhaled in a very frustrated manner, gripping the steering wheel tightly, as if he didn't actually want to answer, but realized he had no choice at this point. "She's… a hunter."

"No shit."

"Damnit Stiles, just shut up for two seconds and let me explain, if you want to know so bad." Derek snapped. "You saw her the other night, with… with the wolf. What she does, it's not right. And it's against the –" Derek seemed to have a hard time getting his words to come out the way he wanted to, all awkward pauses and gritting out the facts as if it pained him to admit them. "– law. It's a sick game to her. She likes hurting things, breaking them."

Derek paused for a little too long, and Stiles dearly wanted to interrupt, ask how this was supposed to have anything to do with him, but he managed to hold his tongue, lest Derek get too annoyed and refused to continue entirely.

"And you saw her doing it." Derek continued. "You saw her, and you got between her and the wolf, and then you got away, so now there's a loose end."

Stiles' eyes widened in disbelief. "And so what, now she's out to kill me to tie things up?" No way. There was no way this was his life. He'd just been going into the woods on a dare with a friend, there was no way it had spiraled that out of control. Was there?

"She might not kill you." Derek told him. "But she'd get into your head. Threaten you. Make life hard for you and the people you care about, until she figured out what you do or don't know, what she could get out of you. She would hurt you. That's if she saw you alone. If she saw you with me, it would be… less pleasant."

…

Well, okay then.

What the hell had Stiles gotten into?

o.O.o

End of part 1! I had intended to get this all done as a oneshot, but I am barely squeezing this bit in under my own self-imposed deadline as it is, so I hope everyone enjoyed it so far, and I will try to get the next part(s) up as soon as possible!