Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1456504.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent/Isaac_Lahey/Scott_McCall,
      Lydia_Martin/Jackson_Whittemore, Lydia_Martin/Erica_Reyes/Jackson
      Whittemore, Lydia_Martin/Stiles_Stilinski, Mama_Martin/Sheriff_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Vernon_Boyd, Derek_Hale, Allison_Argent,
      Lydia_Martin, Jackson_Whittemore, Danny_Mahealani, Erica_Reyes, Isaac
      Lahey, Melissa_McCall, basically_everyone
  Additional Tags:
      rich_step-sibling_au, Implied/Referenced_Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism,
      heavily_implied_step_sibling_incest(ish), Boating, booze, Hand_Jobs,
      Frottage, threesomes_abound, Depression, Bodyguard!Derek, Bathroom_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-13 Chapters: 1/2 Words: 14958
****** green eyes (i'd run away with you) ******
by MasqueofRedDeath
Summary
     A couple months ago Derek would have said no, but he's come to
     realize that it's easier to do what Stiles and Lydia want. He's a
     bodyguard, not a babysitter, and Mr. Stilinski never actually blames
     Derek for the trouble they inevitably get into.
     As long as Stiles isn't choking to death on his own vomit and Lydia
     doesn't punch the shit out of girls who look at her twice, Mr.
     Stilinski is happy.
     "Derek, babe, take our picture," Stiles says from the back of the
     boat. "I wanna remember how happy we look before we go back to
     school."
     They're out in the middle of the bay now, so Derek cuts the engine,
     takes Stiles' ridiculous Samsung I-can't-believe-it's-not-a-tablet
     and opens the camera app. He snaps a couple pictures of Lydia and
     Stiles lounging around, looking more bored and stoned than happy.
     Typical.
Notes
     this is a rich step-sibling au inspired by a photo set i can no
     longer find of dylan and holland on the comic con boat last summer.
     it is full of spoiled, lonely stiles. it's VERY multi-pairing with a
     lot of scott-focus so if you're here for straight sterek, ive got
     some bad news 4 u
     but thanks for everyone who's gotten hyped about this! there's two
     parts to this, but part one took me like 40 years so i dont know how
     long part two will take.
     notes below about the implied step sibling incest!!!
See the end of the work for more notes
The day before the summer ends, Stiles and Lydia get Derek to take them out on
a joy ride in their parent's boat.
"It isn't the yacht," Stiles says. "Lighten the fuck up."
A couple months ago Derek would have said no, but he's come to realize that
it's easier to do what Stiles and Lydia want. He's a bodyguard, not a
babysitter, and Mr. Stilinski never actually blames Derek for the trouble they
inevitably get into.
As long as Stiles isn't choking to death on his own vomit and Lydia doesn't
punch the shit out of girls who look at her twice, Mr. Stilinski is happy.
"Derek, babe, take our picture," Stiles says from the back of the boat. "I
wanna remember how happy we look before we go back to school."
They're out in the middle of the bay now, so Derek cuts the engine, takes
Stiles' ridiculous Samsung I-can't-believe-it's-not-a-tablet and opens the
camera app. He snaps a couple pictures of Lydia and Stiles lounging around,
looking more bored and stoned than happy. Typical.
"Look through them, pick the best one. Instagram," Stiles orders.
He buries his face in his step-sister's hair. Lydia pats his face and yawns.
Derek almost forgets why he likes these brats. He scrolls through the pictures
and stops short when he goes one picture too far. It's a shot of Stiles in the
boat's bathroom. Or more precisely, a shot of Stiles' lower stomach and happy
trail in the boat's bathroom. Derek knows he should be embarrassed or offended,
because Stiles obviously left that for him, but he just sighs and gives Stiles
'The Look'. Stiles grins back at him through the curtain of Lydia's hair.
Derek almost posts the picture of Stiles’ stomach on his Instagram to make a
point, but then he remembers Stiles is 17 and famous. Damn it. He chooses a
shot where Lydia is smiling a little while Stiles rests his head against the
railing. He puts the caption 'out in the bay w/ @lydiamartin' because Stiles
hates it when he posts pictures without saying anything. He thinks it's
impersonal.
Lydia's phone pings and she makes a noise of approval when she sees the
picture. "Cute," she says.
"Take us around the bay, Jeeves. I want to be piss drunk by the time I touch
land," Stiles says. He pulls the mini fridge in front of him open and Derek
turns his back on them.
17.
It's fucking sad, is what it is.
~*~
Stiles is hungover on the first day of school. He almost just stays home, but
then he remembers he has a new car to speed into the student lot with, and
there's no way Lydia is driving it.
Derek is off this morning and Lydia and Stiles take the long way through the
woods and get nice and baked before they get to school. They rip past the
yellow school buses blasting some trap mix Lydia Shazamed from a club in LA.
Stiles doesn't remember hearing the song, or anything else from that night. But
he does remember Derek carrying him into his hotel room and putting him
straight in the shower to rinse some of the vomit off.
Fun night.
Lydia turns the music down before Stiles can find a parking spot, cracking her
window open. "Who's that with Allison?" she asks.
Allison is Lydia's best friend and Allison's father owns one of the
subsidiaries of Sheriff Ltd., Stiles' Dad's weapons and security conglomerate.
One of the many rich kids at Beacon Hills Private Academy. But the tanned kid
walking beside her is someone Stiles has never seen before. He lowers his
sunglasses and stops the car, eyes running up and down the length of new guy.
He isn't all that tall, and everything from his beat up JanSport to his
wrinkled flannel shirt screams bargain bottom.
"Freshman?" Stiles suggests.
"Eww," Lydia says.
By the time they get out of the car, Allison and the new guy have gone into the
school. Stiles gets a text on the way in from his Dad.
'GOOD LUCK KIDDO!!! BE HOME IN A WEEK!!!' it says, because his Dad doesn't know
how to not yell when texting. Stiles shows it to Lydia. She grabs his hand and
hugs his arm as Stiles pushes the doors open.
~*~
The first warning bell rings just as Scott and Allison stop walking.
Allison ends the grand tour of Beacon Hills Private Academy with Room 1919,
Scott’s first class of the semester. "If you have any questions, you have my
cell phone number," she says with a big dimply grin. "Just send me a text at
lunch and you can come sit with me and my friends. Okay?"
"Okay," he breathes. Because Allison is just so...
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
She gives him a little wave and then goes off to her first class at the other
side of the school. Scott watches her go, feeling a little bit like he just had
his brain scrambled. If it weren't for some guy bodily pushing past him to get
in the door, Scott probably could have stood there forever.
"Jesus Christ," the guy mutters, and then shuts the door in Scott's face.
Shit. Right. Class.
Luckily their econ teacher is still organizing his notes. He gives Scott a
smile and a nod, then jerks his chin towards the only free desk left in the
class. It's at the back, beside the lanky, cranky looking guy who pushed him to
get in the room. Scott's face flushes, because wow, he must have looked like a
complete idiot. The dude has his head down in his folded arms, the hood of his
sweater pulled up to block out the light. Scott plops down beside him and
considers saying hello, but he can practically smell the hangover on the dude.
Scott bites his bottom lip, jiggles his leg. Thinks.
He needs to make friends and he needs to make them fast, but he doesn't want to
rely on Allison too heavily. He's a big boy. He doesn't need the school
appointed Welcome Committee to help him, no matter how cute and friendly said
Welcome Committee is.
Scott decides to put it all out there on Hungover Guy, even if he was kind of a
dick to Scott a couple minutes ago. He ruffles through his bag until he finds
the bottle of Gatorade his Mom packed in his lunch.
"Hey," he whispers.
Hungover Guy turns his head, but he has sunglasses on so Scott can't tell if
he's looking at him or not. "What."
Scott holds out the Gatorade. "Here, drink this."
"Why. The fuck. Would I do that," Hungover Guy enunciates slowly.
Scott would bet good money that's where most people stop with this dude, but
Scott isn't easily deterred. He shrugs and sits back in his chair, but leaves
the Gatorade on Hungover Guy's desk. "You're crazy hungover," Scott says, "and
I don't see a water bottle anywhere."
The guy opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out. Finally he says,
"True..." then a softer, "Thanks."
Scott gives him his winning grin. "No problem, bud."
Class finally starts then. Hungover Guy pops the top on the Gatorade and drinks
almost all of it in one solid chug.
Hungover Guy spends most of class playing on his phone and watches a couple
Vines with the sound on low, but still loud enough that everyone can hear it.
The teacher says, "Stilinski," like it's old habit and Stiles says, "Yes dear?"
sweetly.
When class ends ‘Stilinski’ finally pulls off his sunglasses and drops a
Lacoste knapsack onto his desk, shoves his unopened MacBook into it and
stretches until his back pops. Scott closes his notebook and waits for a couple
of girls to pass behind him before he gets out of his seat.
"I'm Scott, by the way," he says.
Stilinski stares at him for a second, squinting. Then he grins. "Are you the
guy who walked in with Allison this morning?"
Scott nods happily. "Yeah! She was showing me around. She's super nice."
Stilinski rolls his eyes. "Hmm," is all he says. Scott doesn't know what that's
supposed to mean, but he gets the feeling that asking for some elaboration
would do absolutely nothing with this guy.
"What's your name?" Scott asks.
Stilinski shoves his way out of his desk and gets to his feet in a big,
uncoordinated tangle. Scott almost asks if he needs help, but the guy rights
himself and flicks the arms of his sunglasses open. "I'm Stiles," he says. He
picks up the empty bottle of Gatorade. "Thanks for this. I owe you one."
Scott shrugs. "You don't owe me anything. I was just being nice."
For some reason that gets him a weird look, but Stiles shakes his head and lets
it go. "So... What class do you have next?" Stiles asks.
Ding-ding-ding!
Scott knew he'd get this guy. He pulls his timetable out of his back pocket.
The printer fucked up the two middle columns of his schedule and Scott
struggles to read what it says for a minute before Stiles snatches it right out
of his hand.
He glances at it for a second and must like what he sees. "Oh, Portable 17," he
says. "You have that class with me and my step-sister."
"What's the subject?" Scott asks. "I couldn't read that at all."
If Stiles hears him it doesn't seem to matter. "Come on," he says, pounding
something into his phone. "We're going to meet up with Lydia and walk out there
together."
~*~
There's a redheaded girl leaning next to a bulletin board for the French club.
She's aggressively pretty and it doesn't look like she's paying attention to
any of the people talking to her.
Stiles shouts, "Lyds!" and she turns her head to look right at them. Her
expression shifts immediately and when she sees Scott with Stiles she's
absolutely beaming. It isn't a nice kind of smile, though, and for the first
time Scott clues in that maybe making friends with a rude, rich asshole with a
raging hangover on the first day of school might not be the best idea.
But what could it hurt? Scott was raised not to judge people based on first
impressions alone. Lydia makes a beeline for them and grabs on to Stiles' arm.
"Stiles, who's your friend?" she asks.
"This, Lydia my darling, is Scott. He's new."
Lydia extends a hand to him and he takes it. Her grip is a hell of a lot
tighter than Scott expects. "Hey," Scott says.
Lydia glances from Stiles to Scott and back again, then lets an easy grin cross
her face. "Portable 17?" she says.
Stiles laughs, and Scott really doesn't get what's so funny about English class
(? Scott still isn't sure, but through process of elimination it must be
English). Lydia and Stiles guide him out through a set of doors beside the huge
gymnasium, but instead of going towards the portables Lydia grabs his arm and
starts marching him over to the parking lot.
"Wait, what are you - ?"
"Stay cool, Scotty," Stiles says through his teeth.
Lydia gives him a pointed look, like she's daring him to refuse, but Scott just
ignores the guilt sinking his gut and follows them to a black Porsche. Stiles
pulls a key fob out of his jacket pocket and the locks pop open without a
sound. He opens the back door for Scott while Lydia slides in the front
passenger's seat.
"Portable 17 doesn't exist, does it," Scott says.
Stiles snaps a piece of gum Scott didn't know he was chewing and grins like a
smug, fat cat. Scott sighs and says, "You're a bad influence", but he gets in
the car anyway.
~*~
'Portable 17' turns out to be codeword for 'drive into the country and listen
to music'.
Which Scott should so not be doing on the first day of school. He should be in
class. His Mom managed to get him a scholarship to Beacon Hills Private Academy
by begging the head surgeon at the hospital to recommend him. If Deaton hadn't
lied and counted his hours at the clinic over the summer as 'volunteer work',
he'd still be taking the bus for an hour every morning to Beacon Public. It's
kind of stupid, when he thinks about it, that the only motivation he had behind
getting into BHPA was the seven minute bus ride.
On the other hand, it's his first day. And his schedule is unreadable. Not his
fault, really.
He just wants to make friends.
"Remind me to never drink again," Stiles groans. "Scotty, be a dear and write
it down. Stiles is never, ever allowed to drink again."
"Noted," Scott says.
Lydia laughs, hollow. "Maybe you should tell that to your drinking therapist."
"Shut the fuck up," Stiles spits. "She's not a drinking therapist. She's a
grief therapist."
"Drinking is a form of grief."
"We don't even talk about grief anymore. Can you mind your own business?"
Scott gets the distinct impression that this is something they shouldn’t be
talking about in front of a guy they just met, but he also gets the impression
that Lydia and Stiles don’t really care that he’s there to begin with.
Lydia makes an angry noise and pops open the glove compartment. Scott's stomach
does a little flip when he sees the bag of weed shoved in there.
Stiles turns around in his seat to look at Scott, like he just remembered Scott
was back there. "You burn?" he asks and Scott shakes his head. "Seriously?"
Scott swallows. When did his throat get dry? He almost reaches for his
Gatorade, but Stiles drank it. "I, uh, have asthma."
Lydia swivels around and they both stare at him like he's a dog that just spoke
Latin. Then Stiles reaches over and rolls Scott's window down. "Tell us if
we're irritating your gentle baby lungs," Stiles says with a smirk.
"Should you really be smoking weed if you're driving?" Scott says, just a
little too quiet to sound not absolutely terrified.
They're going to get arrested. Scott is going to jail. And his Mom is going to
break into the jail and kill him in his sleep. For sure.
Stiles and Lydia seem to have a conversation without words and then a second
later they're getting out of the car, shooing Scott right out of the backseat.
"You can drive, right?" Stiles asks, but he's already tossing Scott the keys.
Scott doesn't really know how it happens, but he's in the driver's seat of the
Porsche, twisted around awkwardly so he can watch Stiles and Lydia smoke weed
out of a pipe.
They ask him where he's from, how old he is, what he likes to do and all the
other basic questions, but Scott can tell Lydia isn't really paying attention
and Stiles is so high that ends up putting his head in Lydia's lap, humming
feebly along with the song his phone is playing through the speakers.
"Take us to Taco Bell," he whispers to Lydia’s knee, like it’s a secret.
It's probably the weirdest, most alienating half-hour of Scott's life, but it's
almost worth it to burn down the road back to the city in the Porsche.
~*~
They get back to school at lunchtime with so much Taco Bell that Scott needs to
carry some of it in his backpack to the lunch table. Scott stops in the door of
the cafeteria, unsure, and Stiles stops with him.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
Scott pulls out his phone, biting his lip. "I was supposed to meet someone for
lunch..."
Stiles wraps an arm around his shoulder. "Yeah, but you've got me and Lyds now.
So fuck them, right?"
"I don't think I should - "
Stiles takes Scott's phone out of his hand and walks away. Scott just gapes at
him, because really? What the fuck?
He clenches his fists around the straps of his backpack and stalks after
Stiles, feeling like he wants to punch him, but knowing he can't. And he won't,
because Scott is better than that.
Rich kids. This school is full of them and that's just something Scott has to
get used to.
Plus Stiles bought him Taco Bell.
Scott chases Stiles through the shifting herds of students and stops short at a
table beside one of the cafeteria's three windows. Lydia is already sitting
with a couple GQ models, Stiles and, lo and behold, Allison.
Stiles waves at Scott with his shitty LG slide phone and then tosses it to him.
Scott almost drops it, and shoves it into his pants before putting his backpack
of Taco Bell on the table.
"Hey," he says to Allison, and only to Allison.
Allison says "Hey, why weren't you in English this morning?"
Stiles giggles high in his throat and one of the guys lets out a sharp bark of
laughter. "Oh Jesus," says the other guy.
Allison's face drops and she elbows Lydia. "Are you kidding? You Portable 17-ed
him?"
Everyone at the table bursts out laughing and Scott's heart sinks. He fucked
up. This was a test, and Scott failed. Allison looks pissed and Stiles wraps an
arm around Scott's shoulders, jostles him around.
"I'm sorry?" Scott says. Stiles is trying to give him tacos, but Scott pushes
them away. "I really thought they were taking me to class at first..."
 
Allison sighs. "It isn't your fault," she says. "It's these two convicts."
"Chill," Stiles says. "He didn't even smoke with us. He totally pulled a
Derek."
"Derek?" Scott asks, because he is so lost, but Allison doesn't look mad
anymore so he takes one of the tacos.
"Their bodyguard," Allison says.
"And driver," Lydia adds.
One of the GQ models coughs "Babysitter" and Lydia snarls, "Shut the fuck up,
Jackson."
"He sucked my dick once," Stiles says dreamily and the other GQ model starts
choking on his quinoa salad.
"Breathe much, Danny?" Jackson laughs. Lydia pounds him on the back until he
stops coughing and Allison says, "Stiles, you're so full of shit."
Stiles shrugs. "It's a work in progress," he admits.
Allison puts her head in her hands and gives Scott a pleading look. "Feel like
running for the hills yet?"
"They’re not so bad," Scott says, and takes a big bite of taco. "And Stiles did
buy us lunch, so..."
Allison snickers, and from the corner of Scott's eye he can see Stiles stare at
him.
~*~
Derek is at the house when Stiles and Lydia get home. Lydia doesn't even look
at him, just drops her bag on the marble kitchen island where Derek is eating
cereal and stomps off to her room.
"You have anger management at six!" Derek calls after her, and she flips him
off over her shoulder.
Some days Derek imagines putting Lydia on a raft and waving as the currents
take her far, far away but most days he just wants to stand in front of her and
make sure nothing touches a hair on her brilliant little head.
Stiles comes trailing in after and sets his bag beside Lydia’s. He doesn't say
anything, just pulls the fridge door open and takes out the milk jug.
"Use a glass," Derek warns him.
Stiles looks him in the eyes and drinks right out of the jug. A lot of Derek's
job is picking his battles, and he doesn't want to bother with this one. Stiles
comes over and sits beside him, feet banging against the metal legs of the
stool in that weird rhythm Stiles always picks out.
"Is Lydia's Mom home?" Stiles asks.
"Nope."
"Wanna make out?"
Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles and sticks out his tongue so Stiles can see
his chewed cereal. "Nope," he says with his mouth full.
"Hot," Stiles mumbles.
He puts his head down on the counter.
"What's wrong?" Derek asks, and he pretends he asks because it's his job.
"Hungover?"
"I'm okay." Stiles hides half his face in his arm and just stares at Derek
unabashedly. "You're very beautiful. Have I ever told you that?"
"Maybe once," Derek says, and slurps the milk out of his bowl as loud as he can
because he knows Stiles hates it. "Twice at the most."
"You're disgusting."
"Disgusting and beautiful," Derek smirks and Stiles kicks him. "I'm still not
going to make out with you, so stop sucking up. What's wrong with you?"
Stiles makes an angry noise and puts his face right down in his arms. He
doesn't say anything but Derek knows how this game goes. He can wait pretty
much forever, but Stiles never takes more than three minutes to spill, four and
a half at the most.
"I made a friend," Stiles finally says.
"Congratulations."
Stiles ignores Derek. He probably has his fingers in his ears so he can't hear
himself talk. "Me and Lydia made him skip school, then we drove him out into
the country, got high in the backseat of my car and he had to drive us back to
school."
"Classic," Derek sighs.
"But he was so nice about it," Stiles plows on. "Do you think he just wants a
rich friend to buy him shit? I was such a dick to him. I'm an idiot."
Derek's heard enough. He nudges Stiles until he moves his arm and then waits
until Stiles takes his hands away from his ears. "Listen to me Stiles, because
I'm only going to say this once." Which isn't true, because Derek says this
about once every other week. "You're worth more than the money your Dad has in
the bank, okay?"
"Then why won't you have sex with me?" Stiles pouts, because this is familiar
territory and Stiles doesn't want to talk about friends and his lack thereof
anymore.
"You're 17," Derek says. “As for your new friend, just be yourself.”
Stiles ignores the second part, grins and scoots his chair closer. "I'm hearing
not hearing a no to the sex."
Derek levels him a glare and says, "No."
"Awe, come on!"
"No."
"Just a blow job."
"No, Stiles."
"Fine, make outs."
"When hell freezes over."
"Cuddling?"
"Cuddle yourself."
"You suck."
"You wish I did. Now go do your homework."
~*~
Scott falls into a routine.
Scott sits with Stiles, Lydia, Allison, Jackson and Danny every day at lunch.
By the second week Stiles starts picking him up on the way to school. Most days
Lydia gets a ride with Jackson, who she's on-again off-again dating. It's kind
of awkward at first, because Stiles mostly talks about partying and drinking
and that time he went down on Selena Gomez (which no one can verify, but after
some Googling it turns out that yeah, they kind of dated for a while). Scott is
a little intimidated because it turns out that Stiles has a fanbase. Like,
there are groups of teenage girls that wait outside of ice cream shops and
crowd together at airports for a chance to take a picture of him. One time they
stop for gas on the way to school and Stiles gets bombarded with paparazzi.
It's surreal, because so many people want a piece of Stiles... And at the
beginning Scott really doesn't see the appeal.
Stiles is high all the time and he never does any of his homework. He's kind of
a bummer to be around, like a bored robot with good cologne, but he never
comments on the bungalow Scott and his Mom live in. He doesn't make fun of
Scott's clothes like some of the other kids, and when they go to the mall
together Stiles will buy them lunch but never offer to pay for the stuff Scott
buys in the stores. Scott doesn't need him to. He has a job. The charity is
unwelcomed.
It's a weird sort of friendship limbo, where they talk about clubs and liquor
and music Scott really doesn't like. Almost a month into school Scott finally
realizes that Stiles always sort of lingers in the driveway after he drops
Scott off, so finally Scott invites him inside.
It's like someone flips a switch and all the calculated cool washes off. Stiles
literally skips after him into the house. He falls in love with Scott's cat,
Big Wolf, and goes nuts when he sees the VHS collection still stacked beside
the TV. They make something Scott's Mom calls pizza crackers and Stiles
chatters excitedly about Wrestlemania and how his Dad taught him to do a half-
Nelson when he was a kid.
Once Stiles starts talking about his Dad, Scott starts to see things a lot
differently. Stiles is such a stereotypical rich kid, with the flashy car and
the designer jeans and the aggressive 'die young' attitude. Scott sort of
expected him to hate his Dad, or resent him some way. Have a total My Sweet
Sixteen douchebag meltdown. Scott would have had a hard time holding it against
him, though, because the last time Scott's Dad was back in town the neighbours
had to call the police about a domestic disturbance from all the shouting.
When Scott tells him about his own Dad, Stiles doesn't judge. He says, "That
sucks, man. Do you want my Dad to send someone over here? We could hook you up
with a security system you wouldn't believe..."
Scott doesn't know what's worse. Hating your Dad's guts and never seeing him,
or loving your Dad to pieces and never seeing him. It's pretty clear which one
of them isn't handling the situation well.
"He's just gone a lot because of the merger," Stiles keeps saying. "When it's
over he said we're going to go camping. Maybe you could come with us!"
The whole situation bothers Scott, but Stiles never wants to talk more about
it.
Stiles starts coming in with Scott after school every day and they do homework
at the coffee table and watch MTV, which is weird because a lot of the
celebrities are people Stiles has met. Otherwise, it's all pretty... normal.
But there's still something so… off about Stiles. He gets quiet when Scott hugs
his Mom, lingers in the front hallway when he has to leave. Sometimes Scott
catches him staring at nothing, and at first he assumes it’s because he’s high,
but lately he’s not so sure it isn’t something bigger. The first time Stiles
stays the night he has to drive home to get his own pillow. It’s old and flat
and has a Space Jam pillow case, so faded and threadbare that Scott can just
barely make out Bugs Bunny and Michael Jordan leaning back to back on it.
“I let my Mom use my pillow,” Stiles admits in the dark, when they can’t see
each other and Stiles can pretend Scott is asleep. “When she was sick, I put it
behind her head and she said it made her feel like I was with her even when I
was at home.”
“That’s really sweet,” Scott says.
Stiles clears his throat, and for a second it feel like he’s about to say
something, but then Scott hears his breathing go heavy and even if he isn’t
actually asleep, Scott knows better than to push him too far.
~*~
Stiles and Lydia are alone together a lot, but they're rarely the only people
in the house. Usually Derek is around, doing his homework in the library or
working out in the private gym on his days off. There's also Helena, their
cleaning lady, who moves through the house so quiet sometimes that Stiles
forgets she's there.
Lydia often has a gaggle of her friends lounging around, and Allison is always
over. Allison's Dad comes and visits the house once a week whenever their
parents are away, and Lydia's Mom usually shows up at odd hours to crash before
getting up at 5 in the morning to catch a plane off to wherever. Lately Scott’s
been taking up space on the couch, begging Stiles to get off his ass and go for
a swim in the infinity pool with him.
There's also usually a gardener somewhere on the property, Jacob the pool boy
every other Saturday and when Derek has his days off some guy named Michael
brings them groceries and makes them dinner. Stiles' Dad's personal assistant/
Derek's sister, Laura, comes by to see how they're doing when Stiles' Dad is
really swamped and worried.
So days like today, where it's just Stiles and Lydia, are rare.
Derek is on a hiking trip with some of his buddies from the community college
basketball team he's on. It's Sunday so no Helena or Jacob and Derek made sure
they had enough groceries before they left. Chris is away in New York with
Stiles' Dad, Lydia's Mom is at a charity gala in London for the Alzheimer's and
Dementia Society, and it's pouring down rain so no gardeners.
Stiles and Lydia start off at opposite ends of the couch, watching Zoolander
just because it's on but neither of them are laughing. The house echoes with
the rain and it's cold in the living room because neither of them have bothered
to turn up the thermostat.
Slowly, like boulders sliding across Death Valley, Stiles and Lydia find
themselves pressed together in the middle of the couch.
Lydia sighs and runs her fingers through his hair. "I'm bored," she says, and
Stiles knows what that means. He's bored too. Bored and lonely. “Call Scott.”
“Scott’s at his Abuela’s for the weekend,” Stiles grumbles. “He wouldn’t shut
up about going all week.”
Lydia’s leaning against him now, solid warm weight that makes the room seem
just a little bit smaller. Stiles puts an arm around her shoulders and presses
a kiss to her temple. When he pulls away Lydia is smirking at him and Stiles
rolls his eyes. Whatever. She's just as much to blame for this as he is.
Lydia kisses his cheek, then Stiles kisses her nose and they go back and forth.
Eyebrows, chins, hairline—they play kiss chicken like they used to when they
were 14, in the coat closets of a dozen never-ending gatherings and galas and
formal events. Lydia finally plants one on his lips and Stiles feels his heart
speed up, catch in his throat.
There's something deliciously weird about kissing Lydia. They were both already
teenagers when they met and Stiles would be lying if he said he'd never had a
crush on her in his life, but she's his step-sister. It's a title Lydia doesn't
try to wash off.
Stiles beats Lydia's kiss on the lips by practically sticking his tongue
halfway down her throat, and Lydia tops that by climbing into his lap and
shimmying her hips. Bras get unclasped. Jeans are unbuttoned. Lydia pulls off
her sweatpants and they're kissing and grinding in their underwear to the sound
of Ben Stiller and the rain when the proximity alarm beeps and Lydia shouts,
falls back off of the couch and lands on her ass.
It probably isn't funny, but Stiles laughs anyway and pulls his pants up,
willing his dick to calm down before whoever the hell is in the driveway gets
to the house. He’s never had sex with Lydia, and never would. Not in a million
years. But three glasses of stolen champagne and a pile of fur coats when they
were 16 set the standard for kiss chicken a little bit too high. Jacqueline,
the woman who dressed Stiles for events, never found out where those Roberto
Cavalli slacks went.
The Dumpster behind a Ritz-Carlton in Toronto, that’s where.
Lydia flips Stiles’ off and pulls her sweatpants back on.
"I totally won," she says.
"Like hell you did."
The front door opens and Lydia and Stiles scramble to get to opposite ends of
the couch, trying to portray 'We weren't doing anything weird'. Stiles feels
kind of sweaty and his heart is still pounding in his ears. He puts a foot up
on the coffee table and looks over the back of the couch as casual as he can
when Derek comes in. He's absolutely drenched, his white t-shirt sticking to
the sharp dip of his waist, the broad set of his shoulders.
Stiles wants to lick him. His dick is still kind of hard from Lydia, and he
grabs one of the throw pillows, puts it on his lap.
"We got rained out," Derek says. "You guys want to get pizza and watch movies
or something tonight?"
Lydia keeps facing the TV, but Stiles can see that she's trying not to smile.
"Sounds like a plan, my man," Stiles says.
~*~
Scott goes to the movies with Allison, Danny and a couple other kids from
school one Saturday in October. Kira, Erica, Boyd and Allison's ex-boyfriend
Isaac come too and they get frozen yogurt after and talk about some party
everyone but Scott and Kira went to last weekend. Isaac spends the whole night
practically glued to Scott's side. It turns out they're both Blink 182
superfans and Isaac basically does a backflip when he sees the picture Scott
got with Tom Delonge when he was fourteen.
At the end of the night Scott takes Allison home in his Mom's car. He tries not
to feel small and dirt poor when they pull into her family's gated community.
Allison’s family isn’t as aggressively rich as Stiles’, and her Mom works from
home so there’s always someone around to make sure she meets curfew. They’re
half an hour early because Victoria Argent scares the balls off of Scott.
“Well, see you later,” Allison says. She knots her hands up in the sleeves of
her sweater, looks from the outlines of her knuckles up to Scott again. “I
guess,” she adds.
“Yeah…” he says, looking out his window at the front of her house. There’s a
light on in the kitchen, but no one is at the window. He tries to give himself
a pep talk in his head, but it turns into his Mom saying, ‘Kiss her, dumbass.
And stop leaving your underwear in the bathroom’.
He can do this. He can kiss Allison. And he really should start picking his
underwear up.
Scott swallows hard, imagines he’s stuffing his nerves down, down, down. And
then he’s turning back to Allison, leaning over the console… Allison giggles
and leans forward herself, meeting him halfway. Their lips touch once, almost
too quick to count—
And then Allison’s phone starts vibrating off of the dash with an onslaught of
texts.
"Is she fucking serious?" Allison growls.
"What happened?" he asks. And then, “Oh my God, is it your Mom?!”
Allison gives him a look and he shuts his mouth. “It’s Lydia,” she says.
“Oh.”
He knows he should ask what’s wrong, but Scott sort of doesn't want to know.
Lydia and Stiles problems are never normal problems. Someone is always being
carried out of somewhere or being questioned by the cops or punching someone in
the face. It took a while for Stiles to realize that instead of enjoying his
drunken mishaps, most of his stories just kind of made Scott sad.
Because none of the stories ever mentioned either of them having any fun.
"Lydia called Jenna McCarthy a fugly slut. Again." Allison looks like she's a
few seconds away from throwing her phone, but instead she just takes an
unsteady breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. "She's at a
house party on the East Side and they're about to fight."
"Is her bodyguard there?"
Allison shakes her head, looking equal parts angry and scared. "Derek has the
night off." Allison undoes her seatbelt, then hesitates. "I should let her get
her ass kicked. I should just... I should - "
"Where's the party?" Scott asks, starting the car.
Allison sighs and gives him a weak smile. "It's off Crest Avenue."
Allison calls Stiles on the way over and by the time they get there a massive
black SUV with 'SHERIFF LTD.' on the side is pulling up on the other side of
the road.
Scott expects Stiles to get out, but instead a massive dude with messy black
hair and stubble slams the driver's door. He's in a pair of pajama pants and a
red sweater with thumbholes, but he's still probably one of the most imposing
guys Scott has ever seen. It might just be the murder glare, though. Stiles
comes running around front of the truck, chewing on his bottom lip.
The bearded guy manages to look absolutely livid even when he yawns. It’s
almost like he’s silently roaring. Snaps his mouth shut like he’s digging his
teeth into the night as he cracks his neck side to side. The guy storms up
across the lawn, leaving the three of them to scurry after him.
"That's Derek," Stiles says quietly, like he's afraid of Derek hearing them.
"Your bodyguard?"
Allison says, "His personal chef."
"And he’s training my glutes back into shape," Stiles adds half-heartedly.
Scott's used to this game, where everyone lists all the shit poor mysterious
Derek has to do for Lydia and Stiles. Scott’s only ever been over when Derek’s
been out of the house with Lydia, or on his day off. Two months of friendship
and this is the first time Scott’s ever seen the guy. He’s gotta say…
Bodyguard is probably what Derek's going to put down on his resume.
The house is a mess of Solo cups and abandoned shot glasses. The air has that
ripe sweat-and-liquor smell with a nice hint of weed and vomit. Scott can't
even hear the music over the sound of people cheering on the fight in the
living room.
He doesn't see much of the fight. Derek disappears into the crowd and then the
music cuts off with a loud crash.
"Did he just smash their stereo?" Allison asks.
Stiles says, "Probably." He crosses his arms and pretends to be casual, but
Scott can see he's nervous.
"MOVE," Derek roars somewhere in the crowd.
A short fourteen seconds later and Lydia is slung across Derek's shoulders in a
fireman's hold.
"Holy shit," Stiles mutters and Derek shoots him a look that could wither
plants.
"Get in the fucking truck," Derek says. It’s dangerously calm, like he’s
telling them the weather.
Stiles salutes Scott and Allison with two fingers. "See you guys on Monday," he
says. His voice is just a few octaves too high. "If Lydia survives the night
she'll be there too."
They’re out of the door for a heartbeat, not long enough for Scott and Allison
to process the situation, when Jackson stumbles down the stairs so drunk he
can’t keep himself upright. “Can I go home now?” Jackson asks weakly, and then
proceeds to throw up on Scott’s shoes.
It’s still the best first date Scott’s ever had.
~*~
Derek doesn't say a single word the whole way home. When Stiles tries to turn
up the radio he grabs his hand and gently puts it back in Stiles' lap.
Lydia mumbles something in the back, completely tanked and out of it.
Derek gets kind of scary when he's angry and Stiles has always hated how much
he likes it. It's like he's their Papa Bear and Stiles and Lydia are his cubs.
Which is a depressing analogy, because Stiles' Dad should be Papa Bear, but in
the past two months his Dad has been home a record thirteen days.
Stiles misses how easy it was when he was a kid and could go with his Dad. He
had a nanny and a tutor after his Mom died, and his Dad would tuck him in every
night and bring him to meetings. Stiles used to sit under the board table and
play with his toy cars. He got to eat little gourmet pizza's for lunch with his
Dad almost every day.
After Stiles' Dad remarried... It wasn't the same.
He kept getting into trouble and Lydia seemed to magnify Stiles' natural
propensity for starting shit. At 13 they both got smashed on pilfered booze at
a charity event and a couple weeks later Lydia got all four of them permanently
banned from a Chipotle in San Diego for tripping a waitress, which ended up in
a tabloid. By the time they were 14 Stiles and Lydia were on the front cover of
every other shitty garbage magazine with some rendition of the term 'PROBLEM
CHILD' splashed over their scowling faces.
Sometimes Stiles likes to read about all the coke he apparently snorts while he
takes bubble baths and listens to Michael Buble.
Stiles and Lydia have been planted in Beacon Hills since they were 15, with an
ever changing host of surly nannies and stoic bodyguards. Derek is the only one
to stick around for close to a year, and it's times like this that Stiles
wonders how.
They pull up to the house and Derek has his door open without shutting the
engine off. Stiles takes the keys when Derek is in the back, hoping that maybe
if he hides them Derek won't leave. Lydia's Mom was supposed to be home this
week, but she's not and Stiles has been alone all night and is going to be
alone again once Lydia goes to bed and Derek goes home.
Lydia throws up in the kitchen sink before Derek gets the mop bucket out of the
closet and trucks her up the stairs to her bedroom. Stiles runs the tap
nervously, trying to clean it up before Derek comes back down, but Derek
doesn't spare him a glance. He grabs Lydia's gym water bottle and shoves it
under the tap until it's full then thunders back up the stairs. Stiles hears
Lydia yell at him for a few minutes, but Derek doesn't shout back and
eventually Stiles sits down at the kitchen island with nerves bunching up his
stomach.
When Derek comes back he flicks the kitchen lights on and they both blink at
the sudden brightness. Stiles hadn't even noticed he was sitting in the dark.
Derek rests his hips against the drawers and holds onto the countertop, his
head dropping down. "It's my night off," Derek finally says.
Stiles says, "I know."
"I just wanted to sleep."
And Stiles repeats, "I know."
"This is not normal, okay? None of this is fucking normal. Where the hell are
your parents?!" Derek jabs his own chest with all of his fingers, looking just
a little bit crazed. "I'm twenty-one, Stiles. I'm only four fucking years older
than the two of you."
Stiles forces himself to stare at Derek's face, makes goddamned sure he doesn't
cry even though he knows what this is. He's heard it all before.
"What are you going to do?" Stiles asks.
Derek rubs his face with his hands and turns the sink on so he can drink
straight from the faucet. He snaps it shut with a sharp flick of his wrist. "I
don't know," Derek mutters, wiping his wet chin. Stiles would find it mind
numbingly hot if he wasn’t already mind-numbingly terrified.
Stiles voice wavers a little when he asks, "Are you going to quit?" and he kind
of hates himself for it.
"Quit?" Derek starts. "What? No. Why would I quit?"
"Because we're awful." He doesn’t say “Because we're problem children. Our
parents are never home. We're lonely. We're angry. You shouldn't have to deal
with it.”
He doesn't say any of it, but Derek knows. Derek has always known. He holds a
hand out to Stiles, who takes it a little too eagerly. Derek must have meant
for Stiles to lace their fingers together because he doesn't roll his eyes or
anything.
"It's not your fault," Derek grumbles. He lets go of Stiles' hand and pushes
off of the counter. "Get me a pillow. I'm sleeping on the couch."
~*~
Derek crashes out on the massive leather sectional while Stiles watches The
Real World near his feet. He notices when Stiles starts running his thumb in
circles over the skin of his ankle, but Derek pretends he's still asleep so he
doesn't have to make Stiles stop.
~*~
"I had to drive Jackson home," Scott says on Monday morning. "He threw up in my
Mom's car and I spent all yesterday cleaning it up."
Stiles makes a face and tugs his trig textbook out from under the stack of
college brochures he's been ignoring. "Gross."
"More than gross. I didn't even do anything bad on Saturday." Scott tries to
swallow down the giddy feeling, remembering Saturday and how close he'd gotten
to kissing Allison. "But it wasn't all shit..."
"Did you hit it off with Scarves McGee?" Stiles asks. He sounds a little
bitter, but Allison warned him that Isaac was a sore spot for Stiles already.
Scott shrugs. "Yeah, I guess," he says. He fake-tackles Stiles into a garbage
can and laughs when Stiles squawks. "But you're still Numero Uno."
"Good. It better stay that way."
They stop outside Stiles' trig class, waiting for the final bell for Stiles to
go in. Scott has a free period and he usually spends it watching movies on his
laptop in the cafeteria. Today he's got some old school scifi DVD Stiles lent
him.
"Hey, so...." Stiles starts. "I was wondering, uh."
"Wondering?"
Stiles waves a hand around, like he always does when he can't find his words.
"Yeah, you know. Thinking a bunch. I mean, it's not for a little while but
maybe... Would you want to come to my birthday party?"
"Shit, of course! Why wouldn't I?"
Stiles bites the inside of his cheek and shuffles backwards a bit. "I know you
don't drink or smoke or anything and you don't like the whole," he mimics a
camera taking a picture, "you know. But Lydia is throwing my party at a club in
LA that doesn’t ID and we're going to go down in a party bus with a bunch of
people.” He quickly adds, “Allison is going,” before Scott can say anything.
Scott snorts and smacks Stiles in the shoulder. "It's your birthday, bro. It
doesn't matter if Allison is there or not. We'll have fun."
Stiles grins at him and says, "I'm gonna hug you now."
And he does, so tight Scott has to pry him off to breathe.
~*~
By the time the final bell rings all anyone can talk about is Stiles' party and
whether or not they'll get invited.
Scott doesn't really think much of it. Party bus, yeah. Cool. And alcohol
somehow, even though everyone going is 18 and under. But whatever. When he gets
home his Mom tells him he can have a few drinks if he’s responsible, but gives
him a fourteen minute long safe sex speech (with drawings!) until Scott wants
to evaporate and ascend into a cloud.
It isn't until November 16th, when Scott is wedged in between Allison and Danny
with a beer in his hand on a party bus motoring down the coast (with Derek
reading an e-book with his headphones in at the back) that Scott remembers
Stiles has a life outside of Beacon Hills, one he's never been a part of.
Scott has seen Stiles drunk. He's seen him drunk and high and falling all over
the place. Scott doesn't drink, always offers to be the DD, but he's been to a
couple of house parties with Stiles, and picked Lydia and Stiles up from more
than a few. Halloween was a solid six hours of Stiles running around drunk in a
Spiderman costume and the night before Homecoming Scott and Stiles sat in the
Stilinski's home theatre and watched two whole seasons of Adventure Time
because Stiles was so baked he didn't understand the passage of time.
But this is LA. This is the stuff that makes it into the tabloids, which is
weird in and of itself. Last week while Scott was at the grocery store with his
Mom the Pacific Prowler told him that Stiles had spent the weekend with his
pregnant teenage girlfriend in West Hollywood.
That was bullshit though, because Stiles had been at a family barbecue. Scott
knew—he brought the potato salad to celebrate Stiles' birthday and his Dad
being home for the next two weeks.
But now he's here on the party bus, horrendously under dressed and not sure of
how to proceed. It gets worse when the bus stops at the hotel and everyone is
drunk except for the driver, Scott and Derek. They all stumble out in a noisy,
glittery mess and Scott follows after everyone, unsure of what to do.
"You get used to it," Derek sighs. He pulls off his reading glasses and flips
open his wallet. There's a company credit card and Scott goes up to the front
desk with him and helps everyone get checked into their rooms.
"I think I have a spare dress shirt or something," Derek says as they climb the
stairs to the fourth floor together. Everyone had tried to jam into the
elevator together and Derek had led him over to the stairwell with a soft, "Let
them figure it out."
"Oh, thanks. That'd be cool."
Derek smiles at him, and he's a hell of a lot different than the half-crazed
guy in the plaid flannel pants that had smashed a stereo and carried Lydia out
of that house party like a caveman.
"It's a lot to get used to, but you do. Eventually." He holds the door open for
Scott and says, "Plus there's a lot of free food at these things. I've been
saving room for sausage rolls all week."
Stiles and Scott are sharing a room for the weekend (an arrangement Stiles had
been over the moon about), but the elevator must have gotten lost, or gone all
the way up to the pool on the top floor. Derek lets Scott into his room, the
one he has alone, and it's probably one of the nicest hotel rooms Scott's ever
seen in his life.
There's a fireplace with a flat-screen above it and the bed looks like
something straight out of a Sears catalogue.
Derek drops his duffle bag on it and riffles through his neatly folded clothes
until he pulls out a sheer blue dress shirt. It's a bit big on Scott, but it's
better than the sort-of nice grey polo he'd been wearing because his Mom told
him to.
"You know, it's weird," Scott says as they both sit on Derek's bed and drink
imported beer from the mini fridge. "I've been Stiles' friend since September
and I think I've met you once."
Derek flicks through the channels with the weirdly futuristic remote, settles
on a re-run of The Walking Dead.
"I think Stiles is embarrassed about me," Derek admits. "Lydia too. They act
like I'm their nanny."
"Hate to break it to you, but you sort of are."
Derek laughs into his bottle and slouches a little against the headboard.
"They're good kids. Sometimes."
They sit in relative silence for a while, mostly because Scott starts watching
the show and forgets that he's having a beer with Stiles' terrifying bodyguard
when he should be pre-drinking with his friends, partying it up. He wants to,
mostly. It's just...
"Are there going to be, like, celebrities at this thing?"
Derek shrugs. "Probably. But more often than not you don't even notice someone
is famous until they've spilt their drink on you."
"You know from experience?"
Derek does this weird thing where he lifts his eyebrows, but lowers them at the
same time and tips his bottle back. Scott watches his throat as he swallows and
feels his own tightening up.
This is all a part of Stiles' and Lydia's life, something all of his friends
don't even think twice about because they're all used to it. Scott isn't. Derek
probably wasn't before he started working for the Stilinski-Martin's. Scott
looks around for something to talk about, because the room is too quiet. He
notices the keychain on the zipper of Derek’s luggage, recognizes the logo.
“You went to Beacon Public?” Scott asks.
Derek lowers his beer, grinning a little at him. “Yeah, I did. Stiles said you
went there?”
“For three years. But BHPA was closer to my house, and it looks good on college
applications…”
“True. Did you know—” Derek stops himself and looks down at his beer. “Wait,
no. You wouldn’t.”
“I knew a lot of people. You’d be surprised.”
Derek shrugs, picking at the label of his beer. “Probably not,” is all he says.
Scott’s phone starts ringing and it’s Lydia and Allison on the other end,
telling him there’s a hot tub and a bar upstairs and he needs to be there, he
needs to be there or he isn’t allowed back on the bus. “They’re all in the
pool,” Scott says as he hangs up. “I guess I should go with them.”
Derek snorts. “Don’t sound so excited.” He kicks off his shoes and gets comfy.
“Make sure they’re dried off by seven.”
Scott salutes him, and only realizes in the elevator that it’s a habit he’s
picked up from hanging around Stiles all the time. The doors open to the top
floor and Iggy Azalea is blasting, everyone is swimming in their underwear and
Stiles has a drink in each hand. He’s dancing in the middle of an Allison/Lydia
sandwich, wearing the stupid crown he’s had on his head all day.
It's sink or swim now.
~*~
Sink or swim turns into sink almost as soon as the night starts.
When everyone is dried off and drunk, all the hair is straightened and the
cuffs are rolled up, Derek and Scott get them over to the fancy restaurant
across the street. Lydia gets mean when she drinks and it's a solid seventy-
five minutes of Scott and Derek apologizing to waitresses. Stiles is off in his
own little world. He keeps trying to talk to Scott and Derek, but he's a bit
fumbly so he ends up eating half a cake to himself before taking a nap on
Boyd's shoulder.
Isaac managed to snag himself a party bus invite through Scott and they talk
through dinner, pressed together from their toes to their shoulders.
But that isn't where Scott sinks.
No, Scott makes the mistake of thinking his baby-buzz from four beers spread
out over the afternoon makes him impervious to getting trashed. He nervously
orders a pint at dinner and is amazed when they actually give it to him without
asking for his ID. Two more pints and Stiles is racing him, seeing who can
finish their drink first.
Scott wins. He’s certain Stiles lets him.
On the bus Scott feels fucking impervious, takes four of Jackson's 'just drink
it you pussy' shots in the bus on the way to the club and by the time they
actually get in the door Scott is leaning on Stiles, who thinks Drunk Scott is
fucking hilarious.
He keeps asking if the girl from The Vampire Diaries is going to be here,
because Scott loves the girl from The Vampire Diaries. Stiles assures him she
will be and Scott nearly shits his pants when he sees her come out of the
bathroom later in the night.
Time goes into a sort of funnel after that. Everything goes in one end the
right way, but it all ends up get stretched and mixed and knocked out of order
once his big dumb drunk head processes it. He dances, gets drinks, dances some
more. Hugs Stiles so tight and tells him “I love you man, I love you so much.
You’re my best. Your my friend and you’re my best, Stiles.”
The next thing he knows he's sitting in a private booth with Allison and she's
kissing his throat and he has the worst boner of his life because she's almost
touching it and he's going to die if she touches it. Just erupt from
embarrassment.
"It's okay," she murmurs in his ear. "Just relax."
Allison kisses him slow and deep and the booths are so curved that Scott
doesn't really think anyone can see anyway, no one knows that Allison is
reaching into his jeans and holy fucking shit, her hand is on his dick and he
can't breathe for a second. It's all too weird and good and perfect. Allison is
having trouble keeping her balance above him and Scott can't find the energy to
do much more than kiss her and stroke her hair while she strokes his -
And then Isaac is there, hovering over them and Scott says, "Oh fuck. Shit."
Allison and Isaac used to date, why does he always forget that?
He thinks this is it, this is the dramatic awful painful moment of his high
school life. This is the traumatic even that turns him into the 40 Year-Old-
Virgin.
But Isaac just says "Move over" and a few confusing seconds later he's kissing
Isaac while Allison giggles and leans down to lick the head of his cock.
Yeah. Scott loses track of Stiles, to say the least. Especially when Allison
leads the both of them to the women's washroom and basically pushes Scott and
Isaac into the handicapped stall.
Funnel effect. It's all kind of groggy, but Scott's pretty sure he sucks a
dick. A really nice dick. Isaac's dick. Wow.
They don't really look at each other once they leave the stall and a couple of
the girls give Allison some looks that make Scott get angry and he doesn't know
what he's yelling at them, but he's really fucking yelling.
Like, screaming yelling. Allison drags him out while Isaac apologizes.
Back to the bar, a couple shots with Isaac and Allison while they talk about
sucking cock, and then -
Blackout.
~*~
Stiles sees Isaac and Allison leave with Scott looking like a wet noodle
flopping between them around one and his first instinct, through the drunken
fog of his brain, is to go back to the hotel and make sure he's okay.
He finds Lydia first, but she's grinding between Erica and Jackson something
fierce so Stiles leaves her the hell alone. Boyd is too drunk to care, Danny is
making out with some baby headed actor who was in a couple episodes of CSI:
Miami and maybe One Tree Hill at some point.
He doesn't want to run to Derek like an impotent toddler, not after the whole
Lydia-freakout thing, but Stiles belatedly remembers that that's what Derek is
here for. He's their bodyguard and if Stiles is drunk and wants to go to bed,
why would Derek be angry about that?
But Derek is nowhere to be seen, and after a full half hour of searching the
dance floor, Stiles gives up. The club is huge and packed, and Stiles ends up
at the bar alone. The bartender asks if she can get the birthday boy something
to drink, and he asks for water.
He's never asked for water before.
There's a couple of girls from a British pop band lounging around the bar in
their crop tops with their legs thirty miles long, but even when one of them
grabs him by the belt loops Stiles finds himself saying, "Sorry I have to find
my friend."
Which is nuts, because it’s his birthday. Stiles lives for drunk bathroom sex.
It’s what gets him to eat his broccoli and set his alarm clock. But tonight
just doesn’t feel right. He’s… worried. He has this feeling in between his
ribs, this awful sense that he’s hurt Scott. He’s corrupted him. He needs to go
apologize, he needs to hold Scott and tell him how sorry he is for being awful.
Finally, Stiles' search ends at the booths. Derek is sitting down with Heather,
the blonde haired girl Stiles used to play with when he was a kid and travelled
with his Dad. She gives him a wary look, because Stiles has a reputation for
being a drunk asshole and both of those things don't mix well when it's your
birthday.
But Stiles isn't all that drunk anymore, and the loud music is giving him a
headache so he slides into the booth with his water and says, "Scott had to
leave. We should go back to the hotel."
Derek is surprised, to say the least, but he leaves the club with Stiles and
hails a cab for them. The trip wasn't all expenses paid for anyone except
Scott, but Scott is never allowed to know that. The bus got them to the club,
but everyone has to find their own way back to the hotel.
Stiles and Derek don't talk much on the ride back. Derek looks almost as tired
as Stiles feels.
Lydia texts them a jumble about going for McDonalds with Erica and Jackson and
Derek makes her send a picture of her with food to prove she’s there. He only
stops worrying when he gets a Snapchat video of Jackson pretending to fuck a
Big Mac while Lydia screeches in laughter.
Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'm worried about Scott," Stiles says. "He's never been
drunk before. I should have watched him closer."
"It's your birthday," Derek reminds him. "I was the chaperone for you two. I
should have been paying better attention."
Stiles smiles to himself. "Oh yeah. It's my birthday."
18. He's legal now. But he doesn't say anything, because Stiles is always extra
careful nowadays not to make anything weird between them. He can flirt and joke
and outright proposition Derek when he's sober, but never when he's drunk. It
just feels too honest.
By the time they get to the hotel Stiles feels more worn out than drunk. He
buys two bottles of Gatorade from the pop machine and leans against Derek in
the elevator because he just wants the night to be over with.
Derek walks him to his door and Stiles groans when he opens it.
Scott is passed the fuck out in his underwear on Stiles' bed and Allison and
Isaac are asleep in Scott's. Allison looks like she passed out mid-reverse
cowgirl, clothes intact. There are wet towels everywhere and someone definitely
threw up.
There's porn going on the TV.
Someone room serviced an ice cream sundae and it's now mashed into the carpet.
"What the fuck," Stiles whispers.
Derek makes a soft hissing noise and Stiles looks at him in shock.
The hissing noise repeats and then suddenly it's like dam breaks and Derek is
howling in laughter. "This is priceless," Derek gasps. "Your eighteenth
birthday. You’re sober.” His grin widens and he waves an arm dramatically at
the room. "Welcome to adulthood."
Stiles glares at him, but it only lasts for a moment. Then they're both
laughing. Stiles shuts the door and punches Derek weakly in the arm.
"It's my birthday," he says. "I'm sleeping in your room."
~*~
Stiles is asleep and in a t-shirt and his Calvin Klein’s before Derek is even
done brushing his teeth.
Derek is exhausted but he stays up long enough to get a goodnight text from
Lydia, then crawls into bed. The bed itself is huge, so at first it's like
they're not even sharing it together. He falls asleep fast to the sound of
Stiles' breathing and doesn't think he'll wake up until noon the next morning.
But then a couple hours pass and Derek bumps noses with Stiles in the dark.
They must both wake up, because suddenly the room is too quiet and Derek can
feel every inch of Stiles' body pressed up against him tense up.
Derek starts to pull away just as Stiles shoots forward the last little bit and
presses their lips together.
Derek should push him away, but it's late and Stiles is 18 and Derek wants him
to feel good. He wants to just hold him down and cover every last inch of
Stiles' skin like armour, keep him safe from himself and let him know right
into the fabric of his skin that he's worth it, he's worth everything. He's
loved, he matters, everyone needs him. Derek needs him.
Stiles presses in closer, pushes their lips together harder and makes Derek
open his mouth. The kisses get slick and deep quick and then Stiles rolls them
so Derek is underneath him. He grinds his hips down and Derek isn't hard yet,
but he will be. Oh, he definitely will be.
Stiles sits up and slides his shirt off and Derek wiggles out of the hoodie he
put on in case of a drunken Lydia emergency. Stiles' kisses become more and
more frantic the more awake he is and his hips move faster, snap harder. His
breathing hitches unevenly in Derek's ear like he's about to come and Derek
grabs Stiles' hips with his hands.
"No, no, no. Don't stop—" Stiles whines.
Derek shushes him and kisses the hinge of his jaw. "Like this," he says, and
guides the roll of Stiles' hips into something hard and slow. Stiles makes a
low noise that cracks and Derek lets himself moan a little, lets himself let it
feel good. But soon he's fully hard and his sleep pants are chaffing, so he
rolls Stiles onto his back and kisses him sweetly on the mouth like he's always
wanted until Stiles tries to turn it into something hot and dirty.
"How far do you want to go?" Derek asks.
Stiles' breath catches and he says, "All the way" without really thinking about
it. Derek knows Stiles probably isn't a virgin. He's stood guard outside of a
lot of bathroom hookups, and that one memorable trip out on the boat with Ben
from Stiles' group therapy.
But he can't go full out with Stiles. Not like this.
"How about we just..." Derek says.
He tugs at the waistband of Stiles' underwear until he gets them off, then lets
Stiles pull his pajama pants down. He doesn't expect Stiles' hand on his cock
to be as hesitant as it is, but once he makes Derek groan, Derek can't seem to
stop. He gets his hand on Stiles' cock and kisses him so hard it almost hurts.
There's complimentary hand lotion in the bathroom, but Derek doesn't want to
break this apart, afraid it'll make things more awkward than it needs to be.
Stiles is leaking so much anyway. It's just on the wrong side of painful, but
Derek hardly notices. Not with the way Stiles is shaking, small tremors up and
down his spine.
"I'm gonna come," Stiles warns.
Derek kisses his cheek. "Then do it already."
Stiles laughs while he comes over the inside of Derek’s wrist, the noise going
shaky and high in his throat until he collapses back against the bed.
"Just jerk off on me," he mumbles. "Just fucking... Oh God, just— "
Derek wants to tell him to shut up, stop saying stuff like that or he's going
to come, but that's the point, isn't it? "You're so lazy," Derek says without
heat, jerking himself off at an almost leisurely pace compared to what Stiles
had been doing.
"Oh holy shit," Stiles breathes. "You’re fucking beautiful."
For the first time Derek notices that he can see the barest lines of Stiles
figure from the blue glow of the touch screen alarm clock beside the bed, that
Stiles can see him too, watch Derek get himself off onto Stiles' stomach. It's
all too much, a mix of everything he's feared and everything he's wanted and he
has to keep thinking 'It's legal, it's legal, he's only three years younger
than me... technically'.
"Please come on me," Stiles says softly against his ear, wrapping one hand
around the back of Derek's neck and the other over the hand Derek's working
himself with.
With everything that’s happened, Derek’s mind somehow gets stuck on, ‘Stiles
said please’ and he will never admit that that’s what makes him come.
Derek's orgasm goes from his toes to his teeth and he thinks he says, "Oh fuck,
Stiles," but he can't be sure.
It takes forever to catch his breath and before he can panic Stiles just
cuddles up against his side and kisses his temple, humming 'Happy Birthday to
Me'.
~*~
In the morning Derek isn't in bed and Stiles is covered in dried come. He sees
a note on the nightstand but he's too embarrassed and angry to read it, because
this is Derek's room and it's seven in the morning and he couldn't even be here
after....
Whatever. It wasn't sex. They just made out. And jerked each other off. Lame.
Except it wasn't lame. Not at all.
Stiles doesn't cry in the shower.
Much.
~*~
The note reads 'CALL UR DAD'. Stiles crumples it up and throws it at the wall
along with the TV remote.
Then he calls his Dad.
He doesn’t say much other than “Yeah” and “Okay”, and when his Dad says, “Are
you sure you’re not upset?” Stiles mumbles “No Dad” before hanging up in his
ear.
His toes seem so far away, so pale against the carpet, and he can’t catch his
breath for a second. The room smells like sex. Stiles ears are ringing, and
it’s times like these that make him wonder what it’s like to be alone in the
middle of the sea.
~*~
Scott doesn't really wake up all Saturday. He feels like he's dead, a little
bit. Standing up is a no-go, so he vetoes the next club on Saturday night.
Isaac and Allison come hang out in his room before they go to the club and
Allison offers to stay behind and just chill in the room with him.
"It's okay," Scott promises. "I'm probably just going to sleep."
She brushes her fingers through his hair and Isaac clears his throat from the
other bed, the one Stiles hasn't come back to. Scott was a total flake on him
yesterday, and it looks like Stiles is returning the favour.
"About yesterday..." Isaac finally says.
They all sort of freeze like they've heard a ghost.
"Umm..." Scott thinks he should apologize, but he doesn't really know where to
begin. Sorry we had a threesome in a public washroom? He doesn't really
remember much of it, outside of the booth and getting a mouthful of Isaac's
come.
'Have a few drinks, but don't get wasted like Stiles,' his Mom said. 'Make sure
you wear a condom,' she said.
He somehow doesn't think his Mom thought any of her advice would be necessary,
definitely didn’t think all of her advice would be ignored.
"It was... kind of fun," Allison admits. She blushes and puts her head in her
hands. "Really fun."
Isaac rubs his neck, where he isn't wearing a scarf almost as if to show off
the ring of hickeys around his throat. Scott knows a couple of those are his
fault and it makes him smile. "Yeah, we should... Maybe... Do that again
sometime?"
"Like soon," Allison agrees. "Definitely soon."
"I'd suggest right now, if I weren't so fucking hungover," Scott groans. Isaac
throws a pillow at him and Allison catches it before it whumps Scott in the
face.
"Well..." she starts.
Isaac shifts on the bed, lips quirking up into a smirk that makes the bottom
drop out of Scott’s stomach. Oh fuck.
And fifteen minutes later Scott is watching in utter amazement as Allison rides
Isaac like a prize pony on the bed across from him. He tries to correlate what
he's seeing with the girl who showed him around school on the first day, the
girl who uses butterfly clips to keep her hair out of her eyes. And Isaac, the
big gangly drama nerd who once cried in front of Scott just from talking about
Travis Barker's drum work.
They're fucking in the bed beside him. Isaac is staring right at him, the
colour going right to his cheeks as he grips the sheets. He's still wearing his
socks. Scott is so hard he can feel his pulse in his dick.
None of them end up going to the club.
Scott officially loses his virginity to Allison and Isaac before it's even dark
out.
"Happy birthday, Stiles," Scott tells the inside of Allison's thigh.
She's better than any cake he's ever tasted.
~*~
At four in the morning Stiles makes his grand return to their hotel room. Isaac
rolls onto the floor and tries to hide under the bed, but Allison just grabs a
big shirt off the floor and helps Scott find his underwear.
Stiles is slung between Danny and Derek, so drunk that his legs aren't working.
Scott isn't one to judge because he was in the same position last night, but
there's a major difference. Scott had been laughing when he got back to the
room.
Stiles is fucking sobbing.
"Get him in the shower," Derek says.
Scott throws all the wet towels from last night into the shower (because this
hotel room has a tub and a shower, how the fuck) and presses himself against
the wall while Danny and Derek get him to sit down in the tub.
"We've got this," Scott tells Danny.
He looks more than relieved to get the hell out of there. "Isaac? Really?" he
asks.
Scott glares at him. "Just go, Danny."
"I hate him. I fuck-fucking hate him," Stiles whimpers.
Derek takes the detachable shower head off the wall and shushes Stiles. He
turns the water on and makes sure it's warm on his hand, and it's a lot like
watching Derek hose down a soapy toddler. Except Stiles is covered in
regurgitated Jager and his head is rolling around, eyes going in and out of
focus. He starts heaving bile and Scott rubs his back.
"Should we take him to the hospital?" Scott asks.
"He'll be okay. We've had worse."
It doesn't seem possible. Scott has seen Stiles in a lot of bad states, but
this is something else. He can't stop crying, keeps grabbing onto Derek's
shirt.
"Why doesn't he want me?" Stiles asks over and over. "What did - What did I
do?"
They get him stripped down to his underwear and Allison has Scott's bed remade,
because they'd been fucking on Stiles' bed since five o'clock. She has the ice
bucket out for him and Derek guides him down into the sheets and then stays
sitting beside him, petting his hair while he muffles his crying into Derek's
side.
"I miss him," Stiles repeats a couple times. "I miss him. I miss Dad."
"I know, Stiles. It's okay," Derek says. Scott sits on Stiles' other side and
starts rubbing his back again. "We're here for you."
"I'm not good enough," he mumbles into Derek's ribs.
"You're good enough," Scott says. "We love you."
For some reason that just makes Stiles cry harder, so Scott resolves to just
not say anything. Isaac comes back to the room with a couple bottles of water
from the lobby and he talks with Allison at the door for a couple seconds
before they say they're going to go.
Stiles finally falls asleep with his puffy face smushed against Derek's leg.
They manage to get him onto a pillow and Derek and Scott clean up the aftermath
without really talking.
When they're in the bathroom Scott finally gets the courage to ask what
happened.
Something like shame passes over Derek's face before he clears his throat and
says, "Mr. Stilinski was supposed to be home for the month..."
"But there was an emergency?" Scott guesses.
Derek shakes his head like 'What can you do?' He hangs Stiles' wet t-shirt over
the shower wall, looking like he wants to say something he isn't strictly
allowed to say.
"I'm going to tell you something, but you can't fucking say a word about it.
Not to anyone. Promise me."
"I promise."
Derek cranes his neck to look out the door. Stiles is still passed out. "I only
got this job because my sister is Mr. Stilinski's personal assistant. And she
said..." He bites the inside of his cheek and sags back against the shower
door. "Stiles' Dad doesn't know anything is wrong. He thinks Stiles is just
acting out because he's a teenager, but from the time I've spent with Stiles?
He needs help. Professional help."
"But he already has - "
"Yeah, and he doesn't take it seriously. You can take him to the water but
you're fucked to make him drink, you know? Or not drink." Derek points at
Stiles sleeping in the other room. "That kid has all the opportunity in the
world and it's getting pissed away because his Dad can't see he's depressed."
Scott's heart swoops in his chest. His first instinct is to deny anything is
wrong, because Scott just wants Stiles to be happy and if Stiles says he's
happy then maybe he is -
But he knows that isn't true. He's always known it. Stiles is spoiled and bored
and has everything Scott could ever dream of, but it's all Michael Kors watches
in an empty mansion. Both Lydia and Stiles are fucking miserable, but Lydia…
She has goals. She’s hellbent on Ivy League, knows when to pull the plug on
most nights. Stiles has no ambition. He’s smart, but he doesn’t care. The only
reason his grades have improved is from all the time spent doing homework at
Scott’s coffee table.
Scott's never seen someone cry like that, like the world was ending, and when
he looks at Derek he can see the burden and how heavy it's weighing on him.
"You really like him, don't you?" Scott asks. It's there and gone in a flash,
but Scott can see the surprise. Derek knows he's been caught. "Maybe you should
just tell him."
Derek shakes his head, looking down at the wet tiles. "I can’t… I couldn’t—” He
rubs his nose with a knuckle and looks everywhere but at Scott. “Does Stiles
really seem stable enough to be in a relationship right now?I don't think
anyone knows just how bad that kid is trying to hit the self-destruct button."
"What can we do?" Scott asks.
Derek shrugs, and in the silence that follows they both end up staring out the
bathroom door. It's like no matter what they're eventually drawn back to the
shivering lump of Stiles under the blankets.
"I'll think of something," Derek says, but it sounds a lot like 'I don't know'.
He pulls his room keycard out of his wallet. There's a picture on the inside
sleeve of a teenage girl in a graduation gown, but Derek snaps it shut before
Scott can really tell who it is. "You can have my room for the night if you
want."
Scott clasps his hands together, refusing the key. "I can watch Stiles.
Really."
Derek doesn't even argue with him. He just rubs his eyes and straightens up.
"If that's okay... I have to go check on Lydia anyway. Just make sure he
doesn't roll onto his back."
"Can do."
Scott stares at Stiles after Derek's gone, but it makes him too sad so he turns
out the lights and puts on some reruns of The Simpsons to keep him awake. Just
in case.
~*~
On the bus back to Beacon Hills the next morning, Stiles very pointedly sits
beside Boyd. He doesn't mean it as an offense to Scott or Derek (okay, maybe a
little bit to Derek, who hasn't said anything about Stiles' unexpected birthday
present), but his head is slamming and his eyes feel sticky from crying. He's
angry and sick and Boyd is a quiet dude.
He doesn't make silence weird. When he talks it's as if they haven't gone half
an hour without even looking at each other, never gets offended when Stiles
doesn't answer him. For all that Stiles loves to hear the sound of his own
voice... Well, he really doesn't like to hear the sound of his own voice. He
talks a lot, but his favourite people are always the ones who don't need to
fill the empty spaces with words. The ones that don’t say he’s weird for
covering his ears when he has to talk about hard stuff.
Boyd's empty spaces just happen to be bigger than other people's, and he’s not
close enough for Stiles to worry about having to confide in him. It's perfect
for a hangover the calibre of the one Stiles currently has.
He stretches out over half of the back bench on the bus and zones out, too
pissed at his Dad and sick to his stomach to really sleep, but he's not exactly
awake either.
After a solid hour of humming bus engine and low, tired voices, Boyd tucks his
Nintendo DS under his leg and turns towards Stiles. "This was really fun," he
says.
"The parts that I remember were pretty wicked," Stiles agrees. He's thinking of
the handjobs in Derek's room and his face feels hot, but it's dark at the back
of the bus so Boyd probably doesn't notice.
Boyd snorts and rolls his eyes, but Stiles knows that Boyd had to be escorted
out of the club on the first night for stumbling.
"I can't believe none of us were ID'd."
Stiles can definitely believe it. Every bouncer in both of the clubs they
crashed was an employee of Sheriff Ltd and knew it was in their best interests
to look the other way. Otherwise Stiles has a pretty convincing fake and guys
who watch doors at clubs in LA are rarely the type to read tabloids about
underage celebutants.
"Birthday luck, I guess," he mumbles. "This hangover is killing me. Next year
I'm just gonna buy a cake, smoke a bowl and watch anime." Which is what he did
last year
"Count me in," Boyd says. Stiles' gets stuck on it, the words pulling at the
back of his head. Even when Boyd says, "I think I'm going to live a rum and
coke free life from now on," all Stiles hears is "Count me in."
As if...
"If you ever wanna, like, hang out at my place..." Stiles leaves it open ended,
self-conscious.
Boyd doesn't seem to notice the way Stiles sits up, the way his fingers knot
together. Or he does notice and just doesn't say anything. "Sure, man. What's
your cell number?" Stiles gives it to him and Boyd sighs and slumps back in his
seat. "I need a nap."
Stiles makes a noise of agreement and waits until Boyd's eyes are closed to
check his phone.
There's a single message from an unknown number. It just says "This is Boyd."
He's known Boyd since the seventh grade. Invited him without question to every
birthday party, bowling alley, movie night, pool party, and unsupervised rager
from pre-pubesence. He's pretty sure Boyd was at his bar mitzvah, remembers
getting a card with $100 in it from the Boyd family anyway.
But he never had Boyd's phone number. Never thought to ask.
~*~
When Scott gets home it's dark out. Derek drives him from the mall parking lot,
where they drop off the party bus, to his house. Stiles and Lydia are asleep in
the backseat and Derek seems content just to listen to his Mumford and Sons CD
without talking. They don't really have much they want to say outside of
Stiles, and that's a no-go with him slipping in and out of consciousness behind
them.
"I'll text you after," Scott says softly and Derek just nods at him.
He uses his key to get in the front door. The house is quiet and the driveway
was empty, so his Mom must still be on shift.
Scott takes a long shower to wipe the filth of the weekend off. It's good to be
home; Scott always feels restless without his own toilet.
He tries to have some one-on-one time in the shower, thinking about Isaac and
Allison and holy shit, Isaac and Allison. He lost his virginity. In a
threesome. Then did it again. Instead of finding it sexy in the privacy of his
empty house, it just makes Scott feel kind of... weird.
Almost as if the whole weekend was a dream, something that would be too
complicated and perfect to actually happen. He didn't even get to tell Stiles!
It wasn't something he was going to text to him, and after what happened
Saturday night Scott doesn't really feel like the whole situation would make as
much of an impact on Stiles. Not when he's still obviously upset about his Dad
bailing on his birthday.
Scott understands dead-beat Dads. He could write an anthology on 'Why Your
Father Is Scum and Doesn't Fucking Matter', but Scott met Stiles' Dad.
John Stilinski, elusive multi-billionaire, had been barbecuing in a fleecy
pullover with a wolf on it while Stiles chattered at him and held a plastic
platter of hamburger patties. Their introduction had been, "Dad, this is Scott.
We have first period together. He lives sort of near the grocery store? His Mom
is really cool, we hang out at his house all the time after school and do
homework."
Stiles' Dad had put down his spatula to shake Scott's hand, said, "Anyone who
can get my kid to do his homework is top in my books."
His Dad wouldn't let Stiles or Lydia have a beer at dinner and afterwards he
sent everyone (meaning Scott, Allison, Lydia, Stiles and a couple of their
cousins) into the home theater to watch Monsters University.
It was the most mundane, normal family barbeque of Scott's life. No fistfights.
No too drunk uncles. There was cake and Derek spent most of the night with a
girl who Scott is now 95% sure was his sister, Laura.
It was like someone had flipped a switch and Stiles' freefall had stopped. When
Scott thinks about Saturday night he gets this awful sick feeling in his
stomach. It comes with the very real understanding that the Stiles at the
barbeque was a show and the Stiles crying so hard into the pillow that he burst
blood vessels clean around his eyes was the real deal.
And that that side of Stiles was one his Dad never sees.
Scott gets out of the shower and sits on the toilet lid in his towel, staring
down at his phone. It's pretty clear what has to be done, but Scott understands
why no one has said anything before. Stiles doesn't want his Dad to know how
bad it is. Lydia is probably the same. And John definitely knows they're
troubled, but they both go to councillors twice a week. Lydia has anger
management, Stiles has had the same therapist since his Mom died—they both go
to group therapy for their binge drinking. Stiles spent a week in rehab last
summer, after his Dad found out via Perez Hilton that Stiles had taken ecstasy
at a rave.
Scott rubs his hand through his hair. He hates this, hates worrying about
something he has absolutely no control over. Stiles is his own person—Scott
can't do anything to make him any less impulsive and broken.
There's no quick fix. No easy way out.
Fuck.
He opens up a new chat on his phone, Derek's name burning itself against the
back of his eyelids. It feels like a betrayal, but he knows it isn't.
'i have an idea. ur not gonna like it' he sends.
~*~
The kitchen light is on when they get back to the house. Lydia makes Derek take
her stuff up to her room, but Stiles goes to the fridge first to get something
greasy.
There's a white box of gourmet cupcakes on the top shelf. The icing says 'HAPPY
BIRTHDAY STILES!'.
He thinks about throwing them in the trash, but he ends up eating four in a row
before lying down on the couch. Stiles doesn't want to cry. His eyes are still
sore from last night, but the house is so big and silent all the time and he
ends up with tears streaming down over his cheeks and he's too lazy to wipe
them away.
"Stiles?" Derek asks from the threshold. "I'm gonna head home."
"Yep."
"Are you okay?"
"Yep."
There's a pause, the span of a couple heartbeats, and then Derek says, "About
Friday..."
Stiles rolls over so his face is pressed into the couch cushion. "Just get the
fuck out of here please."
He doesn't hear Derek move, but the front door opens and shuts a few seconds
later and the proximity alarm beeps as Derek heads back down the driveway.
Lydia comes downstairs a bit later, freshly showered. She sits with his feet in
her lap and puts on a Paranormal Witness marathon. Stiles can't pay attention,
and he's not sure it's the hangover.
"There are cupcakes in the fridge," he says after a while.
"I saw." Her voice is tight.
They were supposed to be here. Both of them. Lydia and Stiles never talk about
it. They don't even acknowledge it because it's just all the time now. No one
is ever home. No one gives enough of a fuck to be home. Not Lydia's Mom. Not
Stiles' Dad. They just don't fucking matter.
"They think we can handle it," Lydia says after a while. "Mom told me they can
leave us because they trust us."
Stiles laughs, hard like the lump in his throat. "They shouldn't."
They really shouldn’t, because if they think they can trust Stiles not to be a
fuck up, if they think they can show him they don’t fucking care and expect him
to function—well, his Dad’s got another thing coming.
End Notes
     stiles and lydia's parents were married when they were already
     teenagers. they're great friends, best friends even, but they dont
     see themselves as brother and sister and infrequently play a game
     called kiss-chicken, where they see who can go the farthest kiss-wise
     before they chicken out
     sometimes the game goes too far, but it's pretty harmless
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