Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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            “I swear, that guy is not real,” Stiles mumbles to his best friend, Scott, on the bench. It's lacrosse practice on Monday afternoon, and Derek Hale, senior and captain of the team, is trying to slowly explain his moves. He wants everyone to pay attention, because he's trying to improve their plays for the big game on Saturday. However, Derek's “slow” movement is still too fast for Stiles.

            Derek moves faster than anyone he's ever seen before. It's not as though people don't talk about the fact that Derek has “mad skills” (Scott's words, not his), but Stiles is having a hard time believing that his “mad skills” aren't suspicious.

            Derek stops talking to the team, eyeing the junior. Stiles' thoughts are interrupted because he'd gotten used to the way Derek's voice sounds, and the silence had surprised him. His expression is the same as always: not happy. Stiles doesn't shift uncomfortably, even though he is uncomfortable under Derek's stare. He just makes eye contact, and gives Derek his best loopy grin.

            He doesn't need to cross his arms to let everyone know that is not impressed. It's alright though, because Stiles knows his position as bench warmer is secure. Derek asks, “Is there something you would like to say to the team, Stilinski?”

            Derek knows his name? He's been on this team for two whole fucking months and not once did Derek refer to him by name. Actually, Stiles is sure this is the first interaction they've ever actually had, so he's not sure that Derek has ever referred to him by anything before. They'd been in the same space before, years ago, but Stiles knows they never spoke. Not once. Stiles would remember if they had. Derek's not the forgettable type by any means. He just shrugs and tells the captain, “I was wondering if you're even human. You move so quickly. I mean, it's ridiculously fast. No human should be able to move that fast, y'know? It's unfair for us. I mean, it's obvious you work out, and I don't, so that could be why, but like...I was just wondering if you were human, that's all.”

            He watches, his curiousity doubling, as Derek quickly adverts his eyes. He then looks over at Boyd, the big scary lacrosse player who Stiles is terrified of. They share some sort of look that Stiles can't identify. There's a story there, he thinks. Derek says, “Stop talking, Stilinski, or I'll—”

            “Put me on the bench all season?” Stiles asks knowing full well that Derek Hale can't threaten Stiles with shit. Even if he kicked Stiles off the team, he'd still hang around at practices. Someone had to keep Scott company while he goes on this “whole new me” kick. Although it had been two and a half months, and Stiles realizes that Scott is too determined to be somebody people remember. Not that Stiles is complaining. It's added something new to their lives, and Scott isn't changing drastically.

            Some snickers come from the rest of the team. Stiles notices one of their teammates, Isaac Lahey, rubbing his hands together nervously. Derek just sighs, frustrated, as if he can't handle Stiles anymore. Then he continues talking about his new play, while the first liners and Scott listen carefully. Stiles, of course, just watches Derek a little more closely than ever. There's something unusual about how fast he moves. When Derek pretends to dodge a blow from the other team, the movement makes his body seem a little blurry for a split second.

            Yeah, Stiles doesn't think Derek's even human. But that might not just be because he can move. He's practically a god with his grumpy expressions, his sharp looks (the only interaction they'd had before today), and the way his ass looks in his lacrosse pants. Stiles saw Derek smile once, from across the courtyard, and he'd accidentally knocked over two garbage cans. That's how beautiful Derek Hale is. He'd never heard his laugh though, but damn, he could bet that it was a rich, flowing sound. Or maybe it sounds as if Derek had a bad cough because his body had no idea how to make the noise.

            It's not as though Stiles had been stalking Derek, but he knows a lot about him over the years of...casually paying attention to him. Derek Hale hangs out with Boyd, the extremely terrifying dude on the team, Erica, a freakishly sassy blonde girl who was also freakishly hot, and Isaac, a quiet kid who never talked and always kept his head down.

            Then of course, the other Hales. His sisters, Cora and Laura, hang around Derek a lot. He always sees Derek's sisters laughing, and poking him, while Grumpy Pants looks ready to murder one of them. Or both.

            It's obvious, though, when Derek hugs them goodbye, or shoves them away with one hand, that he adores them. Stiles sees it in his face, even if his grumpy expression doesn't change much. Once, some guy had been harassing Cora, and Derek went all caveman on him. The guy had run away. Run. There hadn't been any chance of stopping him either. He'd been terrified. No one bothers the Hale sisters anymore.

            “Stilinski, since you're clearly not paying attention—” Derek starts to say.

            “Oh trust me, I'm paying attention.” It comes out flirtier than he means. Still, Stiles beams up at him with mischief dancing in his eyes. He can't tell a soul how anyone else reacts, because his full attention is on Captain Hale. God, he's sexy. He quickly repeats the play to Derek, and smirks with satisfaction when Derek deflates a little. “But I do have a suggestion.”

            Some people on the team (read: Jackson, the asshole) roll their eyes, others look amused (Boyd, intense dude), and some people's eyes bounce back and forth between the two of them with a deep expression of worry (Isaac, the quiet kid).

            “Oh yeah?” Derek asks. He doesn't look mad or even annoyed. He almost looks hopeful? That's weird. Derek just oozes confidence, so why would he look hopeful that Stiles has a suggestion? Stiles wonders if Derek's bored of being captain and always coming up with plays for the team in Coach's office.

            Speaking of Coach, where the hell is he today?

            Stiles squares his shoulders a little, as he tries to draw his thoughts back in. Maybe Derek is one of those twisted souls that enjoys feedback. Stiles hates hearing people tell him how crappy he's doing, or that he should improve something, because he feels like it's a person attack. Even if it totally isn't.

            “Instead of Boyd, use Scott. The other team will be expecting Boyd. They always put four guys on him.” Stiles grins at Boyd, who only nods in agreement. Whew, he won't be getting punched today. “And you know Scott can catch the ball and run fast. It's his throwing that needs work.”

            “Thanks buddy, but I don't think—” Scott starts to say.

            Derek nods at Stiles. He clearly thinks the idea over in his head for a second, before announcing, “Alright. Let's run through it. I know you've been running regularly, so I—”

            “How do you know we run regularly?” Stiles asks, not caring that he's just interrupted Derek. Most people on this team would have been slapped over the head by another teammate for even considering interrupting Derek, but no one would touch Stiles. Being the Sheriff's son has some perks, even if they're limited. At least, he thinks it's because of that. Then again, he wouldn't put it past Jackson to take a swing at him.

            Running for Scott and Stiles had become part of the New Improved Scott McCall plan. They ran every Tuesday and Thursday night. Sometimes Stiles runs alone on Saturdays and Sundays, or after practices. It'd become a way to blow off steam, a way to escape for Stiles.

            “I live by the forest.” Derek leaves it at that. Stiles thinks, Well duh. Everyone knows where the Hale house is. Derek shouts names and gets people onto the field. He doesn't look at Stiles, leaving him on the bench, and walks over to the team.

            He reiterates exactly what he wants them to do, and blows a whistle. Stiles knows exactly where the Hale house is—and Scott isn't a fan of running by it often.

            Stiles, bored of the bench suddenly despite having enjoyed most of his time on it, gets up and walks to stand beside Derek. They silently watch the team go through the play. Scott catches the ball each time, and runs as fast as he can. Stiles and Scott had been working on his endurance without his inhaler, and surprisingly, it'd helped. But each time the play was over, Stiles would hand Scott his inhaler, and they'd do it again. Each time would be slightly different, per Derek's instructions.

            He watches each player, studying them. Scott's doing a great job, and Derek's been giving him a few more pointers on how to shoot. Boyd is intense as always, but he actually seems to be enjoying himself immensely. Stiles watches Jackson charge towards Isaac, who doesn't run out of the way—just prepares for impact. Jackson skids to a stop before he makes contact, and then scoops up the ball that Isaac had dropped.

            A few minutes later, the team waits for direction from their captain. Isaac and Scott are standing near Stiles, so Stiles holds his hand out for a high-five from his buddy.

            “Again!” Derek bellows.

            Stiles watches as Isaac flinches. It's a subtle movement.

            They work through the play again.

            “This might work, Stilinski,” Derek mutters. Stiles wonders if that's his way of saying he's impressed. Stiles isn't sure though, because the statement had sounded like neither here nor there, just Derek murmuring thoughts aloud.

            “It will,” Stiles says with certainty. “Scott has a lady to impress.”

            Derek turns to give him the most skeptical expression humanly possible. Stiles just snorts in response and says, “We have ten minutes of practice left. They worked hard enough, send them to the showers.”

            “This is my team,” Derek mumbles. But he blows the whistle and waves them inside anyway.

            “Our team,” Stiles corrects. “Dude, there's no "I" in team.”

            Derek gives him a levelled look, and then asks, “Why are you even on the team?”

            Stiles wonders if he should be offended. He's not, and is tempted to act as though he is, but decides against it. He just gives Derek the truth.

            “Because someone's gotta look out for Scott. He could embarrass himself, and what friend lets him do that alone?” Stiles jokes, but the amusement falls flat on Derek. Stiles shrugs, and heads towards the school.

            He debates whether he should call Lydia tonight. Scott will be too happy about playing in this weekend's game to listen to Stiles' ramblings about Derek Hale. And boy, does Stiles have ramblings about Derek freaking Hale.

♚♞♚♞♚♞

            When he gets into the parking lot about twenty minutes later, Scott chattering away about the big game, Stiles spots Cora running past them. He follows her with his eyes, or tries to anyway because dammit, she's fast too. Must be a Hale thing. And Stiles finds she's throwing her arms around Derek. He watches as Derek picks her up off the ground, simply by squeezing her and standing up straight, and then drops her onto her feet. Cora punches his shoulder, but then they both laugh.

            Derek Hale just laughed. Laughed. Derek Hale. He says something to Cora, which makes her laugh really hard. Her hands are flying as she speaks, and Derek high-fives her. He high-fives her. Stiles knows he's staring but he doesn't care.

            How is it that he'd been thinking that he'd never heard Derek laugh today and Derek laughs? Of course, Stiles is too far away to hear it and that pisses him off. But he can see for himself that Derek's laugh didn't sound like a dry cough. Plus Cora doesn't seem surprise, so he must laugh more often than Stiles thought.

            Stiles wonders what he has to do to hear that noise. Suddenly, he decides that it's his new life mission. Make Derek Hale laugh that freely. Yeah, it's not a bad plan at all.

            “Dude, are you even listening to me?” Scott whines. He taps on the Jeep to get Stiles' attention.

            “Did you just see that? Derek laughed. And smiled. And I think he made a joke.” Stiles opens up his driver's door and leans over to unlock Scott's door. Stiles isn't sure why he locks the doors to his Jeep. The truth is that his dad, the Sheriff, had drilled a personal book called, How to Be Safe, into his head. Nothing interesting ever happens in Beacon Hills, so Stiles isn't sure why he feels compelled to listen.

            “Who cares what Derek does?” Scott asks. Then he looks suddenly worried. “Think Allison will come to the game?”

            “Lydia will make her go to watch Jackson, so probably.” Stiles' mind is still on Derek as he pulls out of the parking lot. It bewildered Stiles that Derek could look happy, let alone be happy. Stiles supposes he just never thought about it. It's not as if he thinks of Derek often anyway.

            Truly, he doesn't. Except maybe today, because Stiles is an awful bro and doesn't catch a word that Scott says until they pull up into Scott's driveway. “I can't wait. Maybe we can work on your skills this week and get you up to first line quality. I hate to leave you on the bench.”

            Stiles snorts. “Dude, the bench and I are homies now. Don't worry about me. I like the illusion of being on the team. You should ask Isaac to help practice your skills. He's pretty good, and he won't yell at you like the rest of the team probably would.”

            “He doesn't even talk,” Scott says. “It could be weird.”

            “No weirder than you making first line for a play. It's worth a shot. You should call Allison and ask her to come, even though she'll probably be coming anyway.” Stiles gives his best friend his best smile, and Scott beams. “She'll probably be happy to hear from you.”

            “That's a great idea! Thanks so much, buddy. I'll drive myself to school tomorrow. I won't have that big project to bring in.”

            “Sounds good. See you.”

            “See ya!” Scott jumps out of the Jeep, and shuts the door, leaving Stiles to think.

♚♞♚♞♚♞

            When Stiles gets home, he realizes that his obsession with Derek Hale is back. Was it ever really gone though? He's positive that he knows nothing about Derek Hale, even though he believes that Derek loves swimming, hates soccer (Derek had ranted about how pointless it was once, which made Stiles laugh because dude, lacrosse isn't any different really), and can go either way on a warm piece of pie. He knows nothing else though, because Derek laughed today, and Stiles hasn't seen that once since he developed his fascination with him seven years ago. What ten year old wouldn't?

            Derek is only a year older, but even at eleven; he'd given off this air of confidence, mixed in with mystery, and a vibe that had made Stiles wonder why he seemed so responsible. Derek had been a very serious child. Stiles had wanted to be like him. To be all tough and surly at eleven. By the time his eleventh birthday had come around, Stiles had forgotten his small fascination with Derek Hale.

            Until he was thirteen that is, and he had joined the swim team (his dad was encouraging sports, especially after his mom had died). Derek Hale had been on the team too, swimming faster than anyone. Sometimes Stiles had watched him with an innocent curiousity that had grown into a full-blown obsession. Derek Hale looked good, even at fourteen, half-naked. Stiles could appreciate it.

            At this point in his life, Stiles had already developed an appreciation for both sexes. Not that he had told Scott until they were sixteen. Scott, of course, had immediately suggested he ask Danny on a date. Stiles had shrugged off the idea, if only because Danny is so far out of his league and interested in a guy named Ethan. Just because Danny is out and proud, doesn't mean that he and Stiles would hit it off. He and Danny had kind of become friends anyway. Kind of. He's not entirely sure Danny likes him much, because Danny's best friend is Jackson, and Jackson hates Stiles.

            Stiles feels creepy, wondering what's beyond the surface of Derek Hale. He's officially seen proof that Derek can laugh and high-five, and now Stiles wants to know everything about him. Last year, Derek had almost lost his family in a fire. Stiles had heard all the details from his dad, who had only told him so that Stiles would quit bitching at how rude Derek Hale is.

            Allison Argent's older sister, Kate, had been dating Derek for a few months. Apparently, she had gone crazy. She had claimed that the Hales were monsters who needed to be "put down" and had tried to set their house on fire. Luckily, Derek's mother, Talia, had caught her in time to call the cops.

            Kate admitted to everything and had been moved to a mental institute for help. She just kept muttering about how the Hales are monsters. The Sheriff said at one point she's screamed it. Stiles' dad explained that Derek could have lost everything, and that was tough for a kid to go through, so Stiles needed to be nice.

            Not that Stiles had ever truly been mean to Derek. That would've required them to talk.  Hell, Stiles knows that they hadn't even talked when they'd been on the swim team together. For two main reasons: one, Derek had been in a completely different level, and two, Stiles had stayed off Derek's radar until today. Or, he supposes, maybe until he signed up for the team with Scott. As captain of the lacrosse team, Stiles figures Derek must have taken time to learn everyone's names.

            It seems like the responsible thing to do. Stiles snorts at the thought. Jesus, Hale.

            “Dad!” Stiles shouts when he realizes that he wants to know if he has information on the Hales. When he doesn't hear a response, he decides to head downstairs. It's only then that he remembers his dad's on the night shift.

            Feeling restless, Stiles decides to go for a run. He won't invite Scott though. Today's Monday, and Scott only ran on days they didn't have practice. Stiles ran because it's one place where he can turn his brain off.

            He parks his Jeep at the side of the road, and makes sure it's locked tight. Not that there's anything worth stealing in his baby, but he knows his dad would lecture him if he found out. He turns on his music, putting his headphones in. Stiles starts off with a slow jog, before he finds a faster pace that suits him.

            All thoughts of Derek, the ones that had been plaguing him since practice today, slip away. It isn't until Stiles turns down a path that's close to the Hale house that he lets his thoughts go down that path.

            He doesn't slow down, but he turns down his music, listening to see if any of the Hales are outside. And scores.

            “Oh my god, Derek, you're so unfair!” Cora's familiar voice comes. Stiles starts to slow down now. “Why did you have to tell Mom that I have a crush?”

            “You know the rules,” Derek. There's a sound of car doors shutting.

            “God, you ruined a great day!”

            Stiles strains to hear anything else, so he slows down into a walk. He's a little out of breath, so it's a perfect time to take a small break.

            Another door, heavier like a house door, slams shut. Stiles tries to glance through the bushes, and in his distraction, doesn't see Derek Hale on the path. So naturally, he crashes into him and stumbles down to the ground.

            When Stiles looks up, all he sees is a grumpy ass Derek Hale glaring at him. “Whoa, dude, should've said something. I didn't see you—”

            "Stilinski," Derek growls. Goddammit, that sounds so nice coming from Derek's lips. Stiles really needs to get over his obsession with the dark, brooding, and don't forget mysterious, Derek Hale. How is that going to happen when he speaks like that? He's suddenly acknowledging Stiles' existence, and Stiles isn't going to pass that up for anything. “What are you doing here? You and Scott run on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

            “And I run on the days we don't, alone.” Stiles shakes his head. “Seriously dude. Do you have no manners? Help me up, would you? You knocked me over.”

            Derek doesn't move, or look very impressed, so Stiles sighs dramatically and scrambles to stand up. He brushes off his ass.

            “It's not safe to run alone past dark, Stilinski.”

            Stiles can't resist. He sticks his tongue out at Derek. “The sun won't set for another forty minutes. I'll make it back to my car by then, Hale.”

            Derek eyes him carefully, as if he doesn't buy Stiles' lie. Truth is that Stiles doesn't give a shit if he's running in the dark. What's the big deal? It's not like there's anything that's going to come out and attack him. Literally nothing happens in Beacon Hills. It's not a bad thought, because it keeps his dad safe. “Good. Be sure to do that.”

            “If you're worried, about poor, little ol' me, you could always join me. Protect me from the dangers of the woods.” Stiles waits to see Derek's reaction. Not one damn thing changes on his face. He doesn't even look the slightest bit amused, and Stiles remembers his goal to make Derek laugh. He gives him his best smile.

            “Just go home, Stiles.” Derek's expression changes slightly, as if he's suddenly tired.

            “God, no one wants me fucking anywhere these days.”

            “I'm sure that you have more private places to fuck.”

            Stiles blinks three to maybe a thousand times before he realizes just what exactly Derek Hale had said to him. He snorts, and that turns into a full laugh. Clapping a hand on Derek's shoulder, and bending forward, he wheezes, “Holy shit that was priceless. Your face. I bet you do excellent at poker.”

            “Never played,” Derek mumbles. But Stiles sees it. He sees that Derek's a little more relaxed, a little more amused.

            “We should sometime,” Stiles suggests. Then he hastily adds, “A lacrosse team bonding experience.”

            Derek cocks his head, intrigued. “Do you think the team needs to bond more?”

            “Duh. At least, bond without Jackson. He's an asshole, and no one likes him but Lydia.” Stiles shrugs, taking his hand off Derek's shoulder. How had he managed to keep it there for longer than a second? “But it might be nice. Make us more team-feeling. Well, the others anyway. Greenberg and I are content to stay on the bench.”

            Derek turns his head suddenly and then looks at Stiles with his grumpy face again. “Go home, Stiles. Don't keep running tonight, alright? You'll wear yourself out for practice tomorrow.”

            And just like that, Derek jogs away from him, through the bushes towards his house. Stiles doesn't entirely know why he listens—maybe because it's Derek freaking Hale and everyone listens to Derek—but he heads back to his car. Now, Stiles wonders how it's possible to have gone seven years without ever saying one word to Derek, to having three separate conversations in one day.

            Wow. He could almost get used to this.

            Derek Hale is a sex god, and Stiles wants to find out just how good he is.

            When he pulls up into his driveway, he finds himself smiling. I'm sure you have more private places to fuck. What a joke. Stiles wouldn't have expected Derek to have in it, but as he realized earlier, he doesn't really know Derek too well.

♚♞♚♞♚♞

            “Is Allison out there yet?” Scott whispers nervously to Stiles, who puts his hand on his shoulder sympathetically. Scott hadn't shut up all week about the game. It's okay though, because Stiles had called Lydia three times this week to gush about how fine Derek Hale's ass is. Stiles hadn't talked to Derek since Monday, but he'd gone to practices and watched Derek's ass when he could. Stiles gets how Scott feels. A little, anyway. Stiles likes to think he has more self-control than Scott.

            He totally doesn't.

            Stiles peeks around the corner, his eyes immediately finding the little ginger he'd had such a big crush on. After Lydia Martin, with her determined look, had told him that he would never, ever have a chance with her, she had said that they could be friends. Stiles is pretty grateful for Lydia's friendship. The girl just knows how to give advice, and cut out all irrationality. She sits on the bleachers, with a brunette at her side. Stiles whips back around the corner to look at Scott. “She's here.”

            “Oh god,” Scott whines. “I need her to think I'm...”

            “Scott, if she doesn't like you for who you are, she's stupid.” Stiles shakes his head. He steers Scott back to the change rooms, giving him a pep talk the entire time. “You told me that your phone call went well, and she's been sitting with us during lunch, so stop worrying. She's clearly into you, and I'm sorry, but your lacrosse skills aren't going to make or break it.”

            “You think?” Scott asks, hope filling his tone.

            Ah, that's the Scott that Stiles knows and love. Scott is the definition of hope. Stiles had been in some rough spots, especially after his mother had passed away, but Scott always brought his mood back up. Scott is hope personified. So, if Scott has hope that he can impress Allison, Stiles is positive his buddy will impress Allison.

            “I know so,” Stiles says, loyally. He gives Scott a beaming smile, before they enter the locker room again. Derek eyes them when they walk in, as though he doesn't trust whatever they had just been up to, and Stiles adds quietly to Scott, “You're going to do great, Scott. And even if you fail, you'll bounce back. You always do.”

            “You're the best, Stiles.” Scott leans into his best friend a little. Stiles glances around, super casually, before he lets his gaze land on Derek. Derek adverts his eyes, but Stiles knows that he was looking at them. He almost feels as though Derek's listening to them, but it's impossible. There's so much noise going on right now, and Derek's on the other side of the room. “I'm glad you joined the team with me.”

            “Anything for you, man. I'm excited to watch you play!”

            “It's only happening because you suggested it to Derek. Have I thanked you for that?”

            “Only thirteen thousand times, Scott. Shut up.”

            Coach gets everyone's attention with a quick yell. Stiles notices Isaac jump. Coach points a finger at Scott. “McCall, I hear that our big game move depends on you. Christ almighty, don't fuck it up or you'll be joining Bilinski on the bench permanently for next year too. God forbid you become another Greenberg. I already have one of those, and—oh, Greenberg, shut up.”

            Stiles ignores the rest of Coach's pep talk, which is from Independence Day, and nothing he hasn't heard before. It isn't long before Coach is shouting at them to get their asses onto the field.

            Stiles runs out beside Scott and Isaac. Scott hadn't taken his suggestion to ask for Isaac's help on improving, so Stiles plans to ask after the game is over. It's not as though Scott will get better with his help, so why not ask Isaac? The kid might not talk much, and maybe Stiles had observed that those reasons are most likely due to the fact that he looks like a scared puppy all the time. Stiles had seen Isaac tug his clothing on once. He'd just gotten a glance, because the movement has caught his eyes. He had still seen the bruises. They aren't bruises from lacrosse, and the thought makes Stiles a little sick to his stomach.

            He'd talked to his dad about it, but without any evidence of it, or Isaac asking for help, there isn't much they can do.

            But maybe if Isaac hung around Scott after school to work on his lacrosse skills, Isaac would have an extra few hours break of being terrified. Not that Stiles could assume that Isaac is terrified. Hell, he can't assume much, except that it's obvious Isaac is miserable. He wonders how hanging out around Derek Hale sometimes helps, because Derek's just as miserable.

            Stiles settles down on the bench. Truth be told, Derek isn't just as miserable. Not after seeing the way he'd laughed the other day.

            Wondering if Derek, who's now on the field and kicking some ass, had thought about Stiles much after their encounters on Monday, Stiles kicks a rock with his shoe. He probably hadn't given Stiles a second thought, but Stiles hadn't stopped thinking about Derek since Monday. He had many unanswered questions. He had been trying hard to not romanticize Derek, but he's not entirely sure he's succeeded.

            He keeps his eyes bouncing between Derek and Scott. At one point, Derek gets the ball and starts to run. He's going seriously fast until he visibly slows down. Stiles watches, his eyes narrowing on Derek. Stiles is positive, absolutely positive, that Derek realized he was running too fast and slowed down to a more normal speed. Stiles cocks his head, wondering what the hell that was about.

            “What—did anyone just—?” Stiles turns to see the only person around him is Greenberg. Greenberg wouldn't have seen shit. He leans forward, focusing on Derek now. Because that isn't normal, and how isn't anyone else reacting?

            It's not the first time it happens either. Stiles catches Derek running too fast, and slowly down with a quick glance around while wearing a guilty expression, three more times. Stiles turns to look for the Hales in the seats. When he spots them, he watches as Cora murmurs something out of the corner of her mouth to her mother, who looks highly displeased even though her son's scored most of the goals tonight.

            Stiles can't figure it out, except he knows that Derek had had to think about slowing his run down. No one else would have picked up on it, because they're not studying Derek as though he's the key answers to every single exam Stiles would ever have to take.

            Wondering why the Hales are ridiculously fast people—he'd seen Cora running the other day, and it's not as though his brain had filed that away—or why Derek's mother looked disapproving of Derek's awesome skills, Stiles considers the fact that maybe Mr. Serious takes steroids. Perhaps Derek's mother knows that, and is disappointed in her son. Coach doesn't do frequent drug tests. Stiles thinks that's mainly because Coach forgets and assumes that he'll be able to tell if his students are on drugs.

            Perhaps it's entirely possible that Derek Hale is on steroids. The thought kind of disappoints Stiles, and he wonders if that's because he'd romanticized him. He really doesn't want to do that.

            Not when Derek starts cheering for Scott to run. Wait, where did the time go? This is their last play. Stiles looks up at the scoreboard. It's counting down from 13 seconds, and Stiles stands up. He starts cheering for Scott, forgetting to feel bad about not realizing that the game is almost over, and pumps a fist in the air.

            “Yeah, buddy!” he shouts, laughing. He grins with pride as Scott shoots and...scores!

            Stiles goes crazy, and runs out onto the field to be the first one to tackle Scott.

            Stiles knocks Scott down in one sweet tackle.

            “You did it!” Stiles shouts into Scott's face, laughing. “You did it!”

            “I know! How cool was that?! And it's all 'cause of you!” Scott throws his arms around Stiles, neither of them giving one shit about what anyone thought of Stiles lying on top of Scott. Stiles eventually rolls off Scott, and helps him up.

            “I am so proud, man! Now, go get your girl!” Stiles tells him. Scott grins, high-fiving other team members as he runs over to the stands.

            Stiles beams, happy. He high-fives some of the guys, and then turns to see Derek watching him carefully. He looks happy though, but unless you saw it in his eyes, you wouldn't know it. Stiles walks over.

            “Scott is going to be talking about this game for years,” Stiles tells Derek, not caring if he gets a response. Sometimes it's just nice to talk to someone without any worries about how they'd react. Stiles figures the worst Derek will do is walk away. Or, Stiles thinks amused at himself, run away. Freakishly fast. “I'm happy you gave him that chance, because what did I tell you? They put four people on Boyd, and none on Scott. He was their unsuspecting villain. Oh man, look at him. Allison's hugging him. He's also going to be writing really bad poetry about that moment for the next two years, at least.”

            “You were right,” Derek states. Stiles cranes his neck to look at him with curiousity. Derek glances at Stiles, before looking towards Boyd. “We won, because you were right.”

            “Aw, Derek, is that your way of saying thank you?” Stiles grins. “If that's the case, then you're welcome, your majesty.”

            Derek shoots him a dirty look. Then he looks back at Boyd, scrunching up his nose slightly. Stiles turns to see Boyd crossing his arms slowly. Realizing that he's missing something, Stiles turns back to Derek to ask what the hell is going on, but Derek sighs first and says, “Boyd wants me to ask if you'll...if you'll help me come up with other plays.”

            Stiles blinks. Once. Twice. Maybe even three times, before he nods with his mouth open. “Yeah, uh, yeah, sure, I guess I could do that. Doesn't Coach help you?”

            “He's giving me more responsibility.”

            “So he's feeling lazy.”

            Derek's lips turn upwards. It's a smile. A smile. Stiles tries not to fall over right there. Derek just smiled for him. Just 'cause he insulted Coach with pure amusement in his tone. No one could hate Coach. The guy might shout everything he says, but at the end of the day, he was there for him when his mother died. Hadn't even known Stiles, but he'd known his mom. Stiles remembers Coach walking up to him at the funeral, and quietly telling Stiles that she'd been a good person, and sometimes bad things happen to good people and the world 'fucking sucks', but he'd pull through. And hey, maybe one day he'd coach him at a team in high school. Not that Stiles had ever told anyone that.

            “We'll meet Monday at lunch.”

            Stiles studies Derek's face. It hasn't quite lost it's smile yet, and his eyes seem to spark with something. Stiles can't put his finger on it. He shifts on a foot though, and then quietly says, “Okay. Sure. I'm not sure I'll have any other brilliant ideas though. It might be a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, so don't get your hopes up.”

            Derek's smile lifts again, and he shakes his head. “It better not be a one-time thing, Stilinski.”

            “Or what? You'll stick me on the bench?” Stiles asks.

            “I'll make you the mascot.”

            Stiles tries not to let his amusement show, because he really doesn't want to be stuck in the mascot costume. It's a freaking cyclone, and looks ridiculous. Has a face and everything. Stiles nods once slowly. “Message received loud and clear. I'll study up on lacrosse techniques.”

            Derek rolls his eyes. “You do that, Stilinski.”

            Stiles lifts his hand, to give Derek a thumbs-up, only to knock Derek's gloves out of his hands. He makes a noise of surprise, before bending down to pick them up. That's when he notices the tips have holes in them, as though Derek's fingers had been shoved through them. Only that can't be right. The gloves are pretty thick, and Stiles can't imagine how much force it would take to rip through the material with the tips of the gloves.

            Not to mention how much that would kill one's fingers.

            Stiles awkwardly hands them back to Derek, who shoves them underneath his arm and glares.           

            He knows when he's not wanted, so  he starts to walk away, almost because he's unsure what else to say to Derek. Only Derek's voice makes him pause in his tracks. “Stiles, tell the team we're going out for pizza at the arcade.”

            Stiles turns and asks, “Team bonding?”

            “Yep.”

            Stiles grins. Interesting. He's not sure why Derek's taking any of his suggestions, but he's not stopping him. After all, they are his wonderful ideas. Stiles makes rounds, inviting everyone—including Scott, after another bro hug and congratulations—and then Stiles walks up to Isaac.

            “Did you hear that Hale's taking us out for pizza at the arcade?” Stiles asks.

            “Boyd,” is all Isaac says. Stiles hadn't thought it was possible but Isaac really does speak less than Boyd. He wonders how Isaac, and Boyd, and Derek all hang out. Stiles bets they never keep anyone's parents up, because they're all so fucking quiet. Stiles also finds it interesting that he understands with that one word that Boyd told Isaac.

            “Want a ride?” Stiles asks.

            “I have...” Isaac hesitates. Stiles wonders if he was going to say he has to go home. But Isaac nods. “Thanks.”

            “Great!”

            He decides this is a good time to leave Isaac to process the whole social interaction. Honestly, his dad would be pretty proud of him. He'd wanted Stiles to reach out to Isaac for a while when Stiles had suggested what might be happening at home. He thought maybe if Isaac started hanging around the Sheriff's son, he'd eventually ask for help. Stiles hadn't thought it would help, but he'd caught that look of conflict with some deep fear before Isaac had accepted the ride.

            He'd just kill two birds with one stone—and makes a mental note to learn where that saying came from—by making friendly with Isaac, and then having an opportunity to ask him to help Scott and his skills. While he'd scored the winning goal tonight, Scott would need to work at it. Scott's throwing skills weren't the greatest, but his shooting skills weren't bad.

            “Bilinski, I hear that you convinced Hale to take everyone out for a celebration,” Coach says, or shouts, when Stiles walks into the locker room. A few cheers of excitement from the team occur, and Stiles just shrugs. Coach smiles. “Good, I like that my bench warmers are wanting to bond with my team. But do not take them out to get wasted, you hear?”

            “Loud and clear, Coach.”

            “These guys better be ready for tomorrow's practice.”

            “What?” a few responses come, with loud groans.

            “Just because we won our first game, doesn't mean that we get to slack off!” Coach Finstock heads towards his office, and just before he enters, he shouts, “Greenberg, put that away. No one wants to see that shit.”

            Stiles lets out a small laugh.

♚♞♚♞♚♞

            “Isaac's getting a ride with us,” Stiles tells Scott as they walk towards his Jeep. Isaac is nervously standing beside it already. He never hung around in the locker room longer than necessary.

            “Why?” Scott whispers.

            “Kid needs a ride, Scotty.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Be nice.”

            “He's just so quiet.”

            Stiles hadn't told Scott about his suspicions. He figured it wasn't his place to talk about. Plus, he'd been worried that Scott would freak Isaac out by how damn nice he would be if he knew. At least this way, Scott's polite but with some caution. Stiles doesn't want to overwhelm the dude.

            “Hey,” Stiles and Scott say in unison when they get close to Isaac and the Jeep.

            Isaac nods, before glancing down at the ground. Scott shoots Stiles a dirty look, but Stiles frowns and gives him a warning look.

            “Congrats on the game,” Isaac whispers when they're in the Jeep, before Stiles has turned it on. Stiles isn't sure he would've heard Isaac if he had had the Jeep on. Scott turns around to see him.

            “Thanks, man! I'm surprised that we're going to the arcade. I heard that the team didn't do anything last year,” Scott says happily. Stiles relaxes. Okay, so Scott would play nice. Did he ever really doubt that? No.

            Stiles sees Isaac shake his head in the rear view mirror as he pulls out of his parking space. Somehow, Scott and Stiles keep up a conversation regarding the lacrosse team for the next fifteen minutes.

            Stiles insults Scott about half a dozen times, before he says to Isaac, “You should see this one. He's so head-over-heels in love with Allison Argent. I'm surprised he's gone this long without talking about how much he'll miss her until Monday.”

            “She's coming to the arcade with Lydia,” Scott admits in a mumble.

            Stiles burst out laughing. “Ah, that's why you're not a lovesick puppy right now. You know, if you want to keep impressing Allison, you're going to have to work on your lacrosse skills. Isaac, you're good. Think you could help him out?”

            Scott shoots a look at Stiles, and then looks at Isaac hopefully—or so Stiles assumes correctly, because he knows his best friend way too well sometimes. Scott smiles, but it's his hopeful puppy expression. “That'd...that'd be really nice.”

            Stiles glances in the mirror to see Isaac nod. “I guess I could.”

            “When works for you?” Scott asks, happy again. “I don't want to interrupt your routine too much or make you go out of your way—”

            “We could hang around after practices,” Isaac suggests.

            “Oh, man, that would be so great!” Scott says, with a laugh. “Thanks, man!”

            Isaac nods, but Stiles glances into the mirror again to catch the smallest hint of a smile. He lets them chat—it's mainly Scott talking, but Isaac's nodding along now, completely enthralled in everything that Scott's saying—and Stiles wonders again just how Isaac, Boyd, and Derek hang out. He wonders if they play video games, or just sit in a circle grunting. Stiles can picture the latter so clearly, he tries not to laugh to himself.

            He also tries not to feel as though he's disappointed in Derek for potentially doing drugs. It doesn't seem like the Derek he knows...at least, the one he's made up in his head, so it bums him out a little more than he'd liked to admit. Stiles wonders if he could casually talk to him about it, and if Derek admits it, he could help him.

            Not that Stiles is even close enough to Derek to help him for something so serious. God, Stiles really needs to stop living inside his head.

            When they get to the arcade, he pulls in beside Derek's car. It's the only remaining spot near the front. It'd be weird if he didn't pull in beside the Camaro. Stiles announces they're here, and gets a bland look from Isaac which clearly states, No shit. He smirks a little, pleased to know the bugger has a little bit of humour.

            When Stiles enters the arcade, he finds an empty seat beside Lydia Martin. He slips into it, happy to see Scott sit across the table with Allison and Isaac. “Hey beautiful.”

            “Ugh, Stiles, stop that.” Lydia's eyes sparkle. She leans forward and whispers, “A little birdy told me that this celebration was your idea.”

            “Not quite. I just mentioned team bonding time,” Stiles whispers back. He glances around, surprised that he doesn't see Derek. He then focuses all his attention on Lydia.

            She used to be the person he worshipped, but now he's too intrigued by Derek to even think twice about his previous crush. Lydia makes a small humming noise.

            “Shut up. I told you about how I mentioned it when I ran into him—” Stiles stops talking. He waves a hand in the air, as though that finishes his thought. Then he adds, “He asked me to lunch on Monday to help him with new plays and stuff for the team.”

            Lydia's eyebrow shoots up. She smirks, almost as though she's pleased with herself. As if she was the one to suggest it, but it was clearly Boyd. Derek had said so. “That sounds lovely, Stiles. What a great way to get to know, Derek.”

            “Ugh, Lydia, it's about the team. I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to get to know me...does he?” Stiles' eyes go wide at the thought. Then he remembers it's Derek, and he's positive that he has no interest in getting to know Stiles, so he deflates. He glances around once more, and still no sign of Derek, and then tells Lydia, “I saw something weird today.”

            “What's that?”

            Stiles quietly, so quietly that Lydia asks him to speak up three times, tells her his suspicions of Derek being on steroids. She frowns. “Stiles, there's no way.”

            “Explain that then,” Stiles counters.

            “I refuse to believe it. I think you're overreacting to his athletic abilities because you want him to be different.”

            And well, hell, doesn't that suck? He'd been telling himself to stop romanticizing Derek Hale, and he'd gone and done it anyway. Stiles sits back in his seat, completely deflated now. Lydia pats his hand. It's then that he notices Derek's stepped into the room. He silently takes a seat beside Boyd and Erica at the end of the table. God, it seems like everyone was here with someone—Erica and Boyd, Lydia and Jackson, Scott and Allison, Danny and Ethan—and Stiles feels ridiculously single. It's not an unusual feeling. The truth is that Stiles isn't even sure if he wants a relationship. They all seem so complicated—especially if you look at Lydia and Jackson's.

            They were so on-again/off-again that Stiles has a hard time keeping track. She loves him, he knows, but Stiles has also picked up on some sexual tension between her and Aiden. He's relieved that there had never been sexual tension between them, despite his crush on her, because the whole Jackson-Lydia-Aiden thing kind of worried him. It's a strange dynamic that Stiles never, ever wants to get involved in.

            Stiles doesn't want to speak aloud anymore, so he texts Lydia.

STILES: lyd, you're positive that he's not on steroids?

LYDIA: stiles, jackson would probably know if he was, okay?
LYDIA: I know you're obsessed with him, but why?? 

STILES: he's sexy?

LYDIA: ugh, get to know him first or something
LYDIA: stop stalking him, and go talk to him
LYDIA: okay? 

STILES: maybe

            Only less than an hour later, Stiles asks the table who challenges him to a racing game. Derek nods, and silently follows him to the game. What is happening? Stiles isn't sure how much more Derek interaction he can handle before his brain explodes with shock.

            When they start playing, and Stiles realizes how good Derek is compared to him, he doesn't worry about winning and decides to take Lydia's advice. “So you gave me credit for team bonding night?”

            “Yep,” Derek says, his focus completely on winning the game.

            Stiles, determined now, tries again. “Why did you do that?”

            “It was a good idea,” Derek says. His eyes never waver from the screen, not even briefly. He turns another corner, before Stiles realizes he's quit driving all together. He starts his car back up, and focuses too. Derek adds, “And no one would've believed me if I told them it was my idea anyway.”

            “Why not?” Stiles asks, surprising himself by almost catching up to Derek's car.

            “I'm not the social type,” Derek deadpans.

            Stiles can't resist. His laughter bubbles out, because Derek's right. It would've sounded unbelievable coming from him. Stiles turns another corner on the screen, and is excited to see Derek's car in his view. “God, you're so not. Why'd you choose the arcade?”

            “Spend a lot of time here,” Derek mutters. He crosses the finish line, and disarms Stiles with a grin. “Kicked your ass.”

            “Who knew you'd be into this shit?” Stiles says, laughing. “Let's play again. This time, no talking. It's distracting.”

            “You were the one—” Derek shakes his head, with an exasperated sigh. It's almost as though he knows Stiles well enough to know that Stiles wouldn't let him win the argument. Stiles counts it as a win, and decides that maybe Derek isn't so grumpy after all. He puts in some more tokens and the game starts up again.

            Stiles watches the screen intensely, making sure that all his concentration is on the game, when someone opens the arcade door and a breeze comes through. The breeze brings the insanely sexy scent of Derek to his nose, and he breaks his concentration to look at him. God, Derek's so damn focused that it's kind of cute. Stiles panics for a second, remembering that he had challenged the sexy beast, and focuses once more on the game.

            Derek, of course, won.

            “C'mon, let's play something else.” Stiles scans the room, and grins. “Air hockey time. Nobody beats me at air hockey.”

            Derek lets out a grunt, but he follows Stiles to the table. They put in their tokens and then prepare to play. Just before Derek drops the plastic puck in the center of the table, he flashes a silent warning to Stiles. He would not be an easy opponent.

            Luckily for Derek, Stiles is up for the challenge.

            When the game is still going, twenty minutes later, and the score is up to 6-6, with the next goal being the winning one, Stiles doesn't realize that they've gained an audience until he hears the glorious clanking of the puck going into Derek's side of the table.

            He lifts his arms, cheering victory, when people start clapping. Stiles grins at Derek, and then turns to share a high-five with Danny. Stiles challenges, “Are we playing another one, or are you afraid to lose again?”

            “I'm not afraid of anything,” Derek counters. He puts in a token, his eyes daring Stiles to do the same. So Stiles does. And then, they're playing again.

            This time it's less intense, so they lose their audience. Stiles is okay with that. He decides they've been silent for too long. “So who'd you have to kill to get your crazy speed?”

            “What?” Derek hisses, hitting the red puck back to Stiles.

            “Dude, you run so fast. Actually, you do a lot of normal things fast.” Stiles shakes his head. “It's kind of ridiculous. Like, maybe try being a normal human being and run at a normal speed, y'know? Give us mere humans a chance.”

            Derek seems to stiffen, but he continues to play. When he doesn't say anything, Stiles wonders if he's managed to hurt Derek's feelings. He'd meant it as a joke, light and easy, to see if he could get Derek to admit to drugs. He's not sure why he thought that it'd work. Derek doesn't really talk to people. After the silence drags out, Stiles says, “Dude, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to insult you. I'm just saying, you can run.”

            Derek just nods, and continues to hit the puck back. They'd fallen into a silent game of passing it back and forth, without the challenge of trying to win. After a moment, Derek says, “Running fast has just been a natural ability.”

            Stiles shrugs. “Whatever, dude. It's pretty awesome. Why aren't you on track?”

            “Too dull,” Derek responds. That's why Stiles isn't on the track team. Alright, he can work with that.

            “Do you run in the woods too?” he asks.

            Derek's eyes widen a little at the question, before he nods. “Yeah, I jog and stuff.”

            Okayyyy, Stiles thinks. He definitely thinks that Derek's on some steroids and feeling weird because he hasn't been running on it, 'cause he hasn't need that boost. Damn. Stiles shakes his head a little. “Do you have a favourite path?”

            “I prefer going off the paths,” Derek responds as he hits the puck back to Stiles. It's a slower game this time, as though both of them wish to drag it out. Stiles hopes so. God, he hopes so.

            “Isn't that dangerous?” Stiles asks, eyeing Derek.

            “I'm not some skinny, defenceless kid.”

            “You're definitely not a kid,” Stiles murmurs. The puck slides back to Derek. He glances up, to see surprise on Derek's face, and the puck clangs into his net. He smirks. “Is that how I beat you? Just shock you with words. Because I can be quite good at that. I mean, if that's what it takes to win...all's fair in love and war, right?”

            Derek just gives him a grunt, placing the puck back onto the table.

            “I have a question. What do you...and like your friends do when you hang out?” Stiles asks, switching tactics.

            Derek tilts his head, before hitting the puck a little harder this time. “We do what most do. We talk, eat, and play video games. Sometimes come here.”

            “Isaac too?” Stiles asks.

            Derek shakes his head. “His father doesn't let him do much.”

            Stiles gets quiet. He glances around to see that Isaac is now playing the racing game, the one Stiles had played with Derek, with Scott. Allison cheered them both on. Clank, and Stiles glances down to see Derek's scored on him.

            Before he places the puck back into play, he asks Derek another question. “Is he...is he safe at home?”

            Derek eyes him suspiciously, as if he has other motives.

            “Dad's the Sheriff, dude.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I learned from the best, and I notice stuff; it's an annoying habit...”

            Derek shakes his head. “I don't think so, but he refuses to talk about it.”

            Stiles nods. “Okay.”

            He places the puck down.

            The continue to play in silence until Stiles scores on Derek again. This time it's Derek who doesn't put the puck back into play right away. He takes a minute or so before asking, “Why do you run alone, since you're the Sheriff's kid, and have probably heard about the animal attacks?”

            Stiles frowns, but answers anyway. “Dude, they're animals attacking animals. As far as I know, they haven't attacked any humans. It's probably just animals doing their natural shit. I don't know why you're so worried about the woods. They're not that dangerous.”

            Derek nods, but Stiles can tell he isn't buying it. He drops the puck. “You should do the buddy system. What if you get lost?”

            “First off, I know those woods pretty damn well. Secondly, I'm assuming you'll be around lurking somewhere and can help me.” Stiles grins, and Derek raises a single eyebrow in response. Stiles adds, “You could join me, but you never do.”

            “You couldn't keep up,” Derek says. Something about his tone says that he's trying to be funny, and Stiles lets out a small snort.

            “No, not with the way you run. Sometimes it's like a blur dude.”

            Derek scores the final goal and nods. “I should go home. Have a nice night, Stilinski. Boyd—let's go.”

            Stiles hadn't even realized Boyd had started to hang around the table. He frowns, but before he can protest, the two of them are gone.

            Stiles glances over at Scott, Isaac, and Allison who seem to be enjoying themselves. Hell, Isaac is even giving them a shy smile. Happiness, Stiles thinks, is contagious. First Derek had been caught smiling, now Isaac. What is the world coming to?

            Lydia and Aiden are off to god knows where, while Jackson rants about it to Danny and Ethan. He glowers at the twin. There are other players on the team—god, like Greenberg—but Stiles doesn't care to talk to any of them.

            Less than ten minutes after Derek and Boyd had left, Stiles tells Scott he wants to head out. Allison cheerfully says, “Lydia and I can give you guys a ride back home. Danny's taking Jackson out to that gay bar, because he's upset about Lyds.”

            “Perfect!” Scott says, grinning at Stiles. “So I'll see you tomorrow at practice, buddy?”

            “Sure,” Stiles says. He hugs Scott, each patting one another's back. “Have a good night, dude.”

            “You too!”

            Then Scott's back to kicking ass with Isaac and Allison. Stiles pulls out his cellphone when it buzzes before he gets into his Jeep.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: meet at my car on Monday. don't be late.

STILES: derek? how did you get my number?

DEREK: captain privilege?

STILES: that's a breach of privacy!

DEREK: it's in a bathroom stall, actually.

STILES: i'mma kill jackson. what a dick.

            Stiles drops his phone onto the seat beside him. He hears it buzz, but doesn't look at it until he's safe in his bedroom.

DEREK: he's a good player, maybe wait until after the season is over.

STILES: guess I could do that. just for you.

DEREK: how kind of you.

STILES: anything for you babe.

            Maybe he's playing with fire. He's not entirely sure he cares. Stiles doesn't receive a response for an hour, and by this time, he's curled up in bed almost asleep. He rolls over to pick up his phone.

DEREK: good to know.

            Stiles smiles, and for some reason, decides not to respond. Not only had Derek Hale talked to him on multiple occasions this week, asked for Stiles' brainstorming skills regarding the lacrosse team he's captain of, and bugged him on his nightly runs, but he had just texted him. Stiles is grinning as he falls asleep. What's better than your childhood obsession finally paying attention to you? He doesn't know.

            When he wakes up, he finds himself with a new text message.

DEREK: don't be late on Monday.