Quick Summary:

It is set Pre-Season Three in a slightly different TW world, where Derek is something like an heir to a (huge) Hale pack, but has been laying low to avoid his duties in BH. Then Peter ruins everything... It is still basically canon, the others just don't realize that Derek is a big deal outside of BH until this point.

Also, the boys (all of them) are seniors and Stiles is eighteen (Just let it happen. Feel your mind stretch to accomodate the changes...).

My goal is to make Stiles as awesomely spastic and fun as he is in the show, while also adding in lots of sexy Sterek.

Let me know how it works out, please. -^o^-

The first thing Stiles noticed when his eyes finally fluttered open was Scott's worry-stricken face leaning over him. The second thing he noticed was that every part of his body was pulsing with pain. Clearly he had been hit by a bus. This was it. The end. The big finale. Good-bye cruel world, riddled with girls who wouldn't look at him twice, test and quizzes, homicidal supernatural forces, and- oh yeah!- fucking werewolf jocks that don't know how to dial back when playing lacrosse with very frail, puny, breakable humans!

Fucking Jackson.

"Dude, are you okay? That looked…rough." Scott's voice acted like a homing beacon for Stiles dazed and pain-rattled mind. He watched bleary-eyed as his best-bestie shot a dirty look across the field. He turned his sore neck painfully to follow the heated glare, only to see an unrepentant Jackson shrug and smile smugly. Because that's what massive, ego-centric douchebags do- FYI. They abuse their supernaturally endowed werewolf hulk-strength and cause pain and suffering to the mere mortals cursed to be around them.

Scott returned his sympathetic gaze down to Stiles just as coach blew his whistle from where he was standing by the bleachers.

"Ballinski! I said to GUARD Jackson- not plant yourself in his path and stare at the pretty flowers! For God's sake, we have a tournament next week! What if you had hurt Jackson, huh? And Jackson! How about PASSING for a change?! McCall was wide-open! Hell, half your team was wide-open! Geez!" He blew his whistle loudly several times in rapid succession. "All right! Today's a loss! It's starting to look more like a Black-Friday Sale at Walmart than a lacrosse practice out here! Wrap it up and hit the showers!"

Stiles huffed a disparaging sigh from his place on the ground, taking Scott's proffered hand gratefully as he gently hoisted his aching body off the ground.

"That was an obvious foul, man. I'm gonna tell Jackson to knock those stunts off, alright? He knows better than to be using his wolf-strength in public like that." Scott whispered and turned his frowning face to Stiles' as he began to hobble towards the locker rooms with the rest of the team.

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Please point out for, like, the millionth time that I am breakable. Because he has listened SO WELL in the past. Face it, Scott- the dude is an arrogant jock with zero braincells and a massive superiority complex. Add werewolf super-powers to the equation and you end up with a very bruised Stiles- emotionally and physically." Stiles hissed angrily under his breath, knowing Scott had no trouble hearing him.

A shove from behind almost sent Stiles face-first back onto the damp and muddy field.

"Okay-yeah! Real mature! You're sooo cool!" Stiles shot angrily at the laughing Jackson and his group of cronies as they passed around him."

Duh, Stiles cursed himself. If Scott could hear him, then so could the Gauche-King, himself. Funny how these little things slip the mind following a fucking CONCUSSION. Stiles stumbled back up to standing position, ready to release a stream of angry curses, but Scott beat him to it.

"Hey- cool it, Jackson!" Scott practically growled at the boy, the low notes apparently hitting some nerves for his inner-wolf. Jackson's smile dropped for just a moment before he shrugged again and walked confidently inside.

"Yeah, that's right, Cujo! Go on, with your… perfect cheek bones and… hundred dollar cologne! WE'RE AT LACROSSE PRACTICE! Who the hell wears expensive cologne just to roll around in the mud and grass, all sweaty and arm-pitty and gross! WE'RE NOT IMPRESSED!" Stiles was cut off by a pat on his back from Scott, signaling that he was only embarrassing himself for no reason. As usual. Yep, no news-breaks there. Stiles gets humiliated in front of everyone, then follows it up with a healthy dose of self-inflicted humiliation that is shrugged off by everyone. Outstanding.

"Don't sweat Jackson, dude. He's a jerk." They strolled/limped inside and over to their lockers and began changing. Every tiny movement sent jolts of dull, aching pain through Stiles entire body. Man, he was going to be black and blue by dinner. Fucking fantastic. Scott began packing his bag quickly as he asked, "So, what was that out there, anyway? You were actually on your game today. That's why Jackson was so pissed. Why'd you zone out and give him an opening?"

"Oh, that's classy! Re-victimize the victim, Scott. Because it was totally MY fault that Jackson decided to run me over like a freakin' semi-truck. Fabulous." Stiles tossed his clothes and gear into his gym bag in annoyance, but was secretly preening from the compliment that he had actually managed to hold his own for, like, the first time ever today. After a few seconds of busy packing, Stiles couldn't act furious any longer. "…I was pretty awesome today, huh?" He broke into a wide smile. "I maybe could have even 'for-real' blocked Jackson if I hadn't been watching that crowd spying on us like creepers. Seriously, dude, you saw them, right? There was like, a whole group of people scoping out our practice from over by the far bleachers. I mean, talk about competitive. Just saying- if other schools have to send out parents and coaches just to check out our team, they are hitting an all-time low. I was totally about to flip them the bird when Jackson steam-rolled me." Stiles thought back on the dozen or so people standing not-so-covertly by the woods near the bleachers. Yeah, so it was a public place, but seriously? They looked almost like professional-league lacrosse players themselves. The men were mostly muscle, hard-eyes following the game intently. The couple of women with them weren't exactly delicate looking either. Hmmm, now that he thought about it, they may have even been scouts. From colleges. Shit- and they had front row seats to watching Stiles get beat-down. Thanks a ton, Jackson. Out loud, Stiles mused, never seeming to break his steady stream of words. "He was probably jealous that people were seeing my A-game, huh? Couldn't stand me being in the spot light, you think? " He flashed a cheeky grin at Scott who harrumphed, but nodded.

"Yeah, you've definitely been getting better. Like, a lot, man. If me, Issac and Jackson didn't have, uh," He checked around them to make sure they wouldn't be overheard. Most of the other players had already filtered out, eager to get home. One or two people were changing out of earshot of the two. The locker room was mostly silent in the area where they stood. He turned back to Stiles, voice quiet, "Uh, an advantage, then I seriously think you would be a contender for Captain. It's too bad."

"Pssh. True that. I could totally be like, running the team by now. I mean, all this fleeing for my life through forests and trying not to be killed by supernatural lizards and werewolves and all the crazy shit around here has really honed my skills. Total bummer that you guys are contributing to my success while at the same time acting as the only barrier to it. Worst. Bestie. Ever. You oughta be ashamed. A real friend would resign from the team and let his BFF shine for once." Scott was grinning widely beside him as Stiles ranted.

"Sorry, dude. You know I would if I thought it mattered. But, that would just leave you alone to deal with Isaac and Jackson. What kind of friend would I be then?" He zipped up his bag and leaned against the locker, waiting for Stiles.

"Uh, probably about as good of friend that you are now. I mean, I'm still getting pummeled half to death on the field by Jackson as it is. And Isaac, too. Hell, if he had been here, instead of group-brooding with Derek and the others, I may have needed to be stretchered off today. Can't you use your super-wolfy bonding skills to, like, discourage them from using me as a personal chew-toy?"

"Aw, sorry, bro. Isaac's part of Derek's pack, and you know Jackson won't listen to ANYONE. I can't really check them when they're out of line. Maybe I could talk to Derek, though. Get him to use his Alpha-voice, or whatever, to make them back off from you?"

"Oh, God- PLEASE DON'T. Derek might encourage them to just rip my throat out and end it all quickly. That dude is like, out for my blood or something. He totally has this not-so-subtle homicidal vibe around me. I half-expect to see him slither out from under my bed or come busting out of my closet on dark, stormy nights. Seriously, dude. He has no appreciation for my valiant efforts to constantly help dig his- and his pack's- furry asses out of the holes they keep digging themselves into. None! He just goes all broody, like 'I didn't ask for your help, pathetic, scrawny, human-boy, so flee quickly before I lunge at your jugular and rip it out with my teeth'."

Scott suggested thoughtfully, "I don't know, dude. I can't be a hundred percent sure, cause he's crazy-good a masking his scents from other werewolves. But, I don't get the impression he is interested in killing you. He acts tough and stand-offish, but if he seriously didn't appreciate you helping out, I think he would have found a way to cut you out of everything by now."

"Yeah, dude. By KILLING me. Like I've been saying all along. He's probably just looking for an easy way that wont get pinned on him. Why waste his super-manly alpha-male strength ripping me limb from limb just to get busted and go back on the run from the cops. I doubt anyone is going to believe ANOTHER animal attack around here. I mean- geez!- we must have the highest rate of animal attacks per capita in the US! How has no one gotten suspicious by now? No, he's planning something special for me… Oh-hey!" Stiles through his hands up, a thought dawning on him. "Maybe he recruited Jackson to be his hitman to take me out! That would totally explain the assassination attempt on the field today!"

Scott burst out laughing as Stiles finally shut his locker and turned to face him. "Dude, it wasn't that bad. I mean, if he was trying to kill you, it wouldn't be all that hard. Even WITH your amped-up lacrosse skills." Stiles rolled his eyes, wincing as he lifted his heavy bag up to his shoulder. The locker room was almost completely empty, and Stiles was ready to call it a day. Scott frowned at his friend, then smirked. "Hey, you want me to do the whole 'take away the pain' thing on you? It's no problem, and you'll feel a lot better."

"What? Yikes! No way, man. I def don't want you to lay your hands on my body and feel me up wolf-style. That's some weird shit, dude."

Scott's smile got wider as he closed the gap between them, running his hands smoothly over Stiles' bare arms, drawing up goosebumps from the other boy, who immediately tried to jump back, instead slamming himself into his locker. "Whoa! Stranger-Danger! Mitts off, dude!" Stiles tries to wrest himself from Scott's tight grasp by raising a leg to wedge between them and kick him off. Scott laughed out loud and raised his arms to wrap Stiles in a full-blown bear-hug.

"STILES! WHY DON'T YOU WANT ME TO TOUCH YOU?! JUST LET ME HOLD YOU AND I CAN TAKE AWAY ALL THE PAAAIIIINNNN!"

Stiles flailed uselessly, nearly choking on his laughter, knocking them both off balance. They stumbled heavily onto the wooden bench behind them, Scott landing on top of the red-faced Stiles. "HAHAHA! Scott- you fucking loser! GET OFF! HAHAHA!"

"STILES! WHY CAN'T YOU ACCEPT ME AND MY WEIRDNESS? JUST GIVE IN! IT WILL FEEL SO GOOD!"

The two boys ended up in a half-wrestling, half-hugging match with Stiles practically shrieking at Scott to let go in between sobs of laughter.

A far-off locker shut with a metallic clang.

Both boys froze, turning in the direction of the sound.

From behind the far row of lockers, Danny emerged, ears red, and made straight for the exit directly past them.

Stile's managed to lift his hand as high as he could, what with it being trapped by Scott's arms, and gave a little wave and cheerful shout, "'Night, Danny. Have a glorious weekend."

Danny's eyebrows rose briefly and he gave a short nod without looking in their direction before pulling open the door and darting out.

Both boys remained frozen in place for several more seconds, waiting for the embarrassment of the situation to pass. Danny of all people... After a few moments, Stiles turned his eyes to Scott's, just inches from his own, and asked, "Don't even pretend like you didn't know he was in here," he admonished. Scott flashed a beaming smile at his friend. After a few more moments, just enough time for their positions to get really nice and awkward, with neither wanting to bitch-out and move away first, Stiles asked quietly, "Hey, bud. Just wondering… could you like, scent if he was, maybe, turned on?"

"Dude!?" Scott hopped up laughing, finally releasing Stiles. He grinned incredulously as he picked up his bag. "You're not still hung up on that whole 'do gay guys find me attractive' thing, are you?"

"For SCIENCE, Scott! I'm just a teency-weency bit curious. I mean, senior year- no girlfriend, a guy has got to start reconsidering his options at this point. So? Any hotness-vibes rolling around the air?" He waved his hands around in a big circle, eyes hopeful.

Scott scrunched up his nose with a chuckle, "No, dude. Just alarm. He was alarmed with a hint of embarrassment. You happy?"

"Awww. Not even a whiff of interest? No subtle curiosity? Geez, I don't even have a shot with other dudes? Sometimes I wonder if I'm even playing the same sport as everyone else. Like, you guys are all playing baseball and I'm off over here doing competitive ribbon dancing or something." Stiles sighed mock-forlornly as he lifted his bag to head out behind Scott. He frowned for a moment, then shouted at Scott's disappearing back, "Hey-! Dude, no way! YOU DID IT! YOU ACTUALLY DID THAT CREEPY TOUCHING TRICK ON ME!? Uh, I feel so violated-!" He hurried after Scott, shouting about what a pervert he is and demanding his bruises back.

…-^o^-…

It was already dark as the two boys made their way outside and across the large school parking lot to Stiles' jeep. They were laughing loudly, Stiles buzzing energetically around Scott, flapping his arms and moving constantly.

They threw their bags into the jeep and hopped in before driving off into the distance.

In the dark and chilly night air, the soft, almost imperceptible sounds of nimble feet crossing over dead leaves filled the silence.

The members of the large group emerged from their separate hiding locations and met together just inside the tree line of the ink-black woods.

"You are sure that was Stiles? Stiles Stilinski? The ONLY one in this area?" A deep voice asked, disbelief in his tone.

"That is what Peter Hale reported. I checked several times. It is him." There was a small pause, in which nobody moved or spoke, seemingly all thinking carefully.

A third voice, female, spoke up, "He did not tell the Board that it was a young man." She gave a small growl, then added, "That's just like him. He probably intentionally didn't mention it, all for his own amusement. The Board is NOT going to find it as humorous if Peter has lied to them."

The second voice spoke again, quickly and sharply, "We do not know that he HAS lied." There was another silence, filled with the group pondering the possibility.

The female voice was the first to speak again, her incredulous words filling the crisp night air. "But, he's a GUY. A boy. Just a high school kid. No one here really believes that Derek Hale, the heir to the entire Hale pack, could actually-"

"Are you suggesting that Peter Hale, the current leader of the entire Hale pack, would risk his family's name and honor to lie to the Board about this?" Another, more stern voice growled out, threat lacing his words.

More tense silence filled the night.

The second voice finally stated carefully, "It is not our place to question Derek Hale, or his wolf's, choices. These things are decided by the Fates, not us. If Peter was being truthful," Several warning growls sounded lowly, and the speaker continued cautiously, "which I am SURE he WAS, then we will proceed as ordered. We need to act swiftly, before Derek catches our scents in his self-proclaimed sanctuary. We were directed to move fast, before he could react and stop us."

"If any of this is even true." Snapped the woman loudly. The growls started again, deeper and more dangerously, but she wasn't deterred. "I cannot believe this. And no one else will, either, if we take that boy to the High-Den! There is no evidence to support Peter's claim. Why is Derek and his scent not present around the boy? Why does he allow the *growl* (Soft/Warm/Soapy) beta to be close- to put his scent on him? And you all saw the *growl* (Arrogant/Pretty/Sickly-Sweet-Smelling) beta assault him. That would not be acceptable. This is surely a farce-"

"Enough!" The stern voice bit out with fierce authority as his eyes flashed red in the darkness, drawing a small whine from the woman, and causing the rest of the large group to whimper nervously. "You are dangerously out of line. We have a mission, and we are not meant to question the orders of the Board. We will take this 'Stiles Stilinski' to the High-Den, as ordered. It is the will of the Board that the heir of the Hale pack not shirk his responsibilities any further. He will join The Hunt or risk this young man being claimed by another. If he does not come to the boy's aid, then and only then, the Board will question Peter Hale's word. For now, we will trust the current leader of the Hale pack and treat this young man as the Hale heir's mate."

Okay. So, there's the intro. How was Stiles' character? Accurate?

The story seem kind of predictable?

Just roll with it- I'm going to have fun with this fic.