So, this is weird. Like, really weird. But it's something that has been crawling around in my brain for awhile now, and I can't seem to get it out. So I'm going to try to write it out. Please don't stone me.

This is pretty short, because its kind of more of a preview than a first chapter. I might not continue it. Depends on the reception.

Closing the door of his apartment, Derek threw his keys on the tiny kitchen counter and tossed his jacket over the back of one of the odd, mismatched chairs that were neatly arranged around the small table that he and his roommate referred to as "the dining room." He strode into his room, quickly tossing off the black and green uniform polo he had to wear at work and pulling on an old band shirt he swiped from his father. Walking out into the narrow hallway, he walked the two feet to his roommate's door.

"Case?" he yelled through the door, rapping lightly with his knuckles. "I'm really jonesin' for some lo mein, do you think we could…" he trailed off as he opened her door, sticking his head inside.

Casey was scrunched up in a ball on her bed, wearing an old pair of jeans and an oversized SJTS sweatshirt that he'd seen her wear a lot since they graduated. Derek always teased her about it, but she never really responded.

At first he thought she was asleep, because she was so still, but as he moved to take the wad of tissues she had clenched in her right fist, he noticed her eyes were open, staring blankly at the comforter.

"Hey…Mission Control to Space Case. Everything alright up there?" he asked teasingly, but gently.

When she still didn't respond, he ran a hand through his eternally-messy hair and tried not to sigh. Matured though he might be, at 20 years old, he still wasn't very good at dealing with this kind of thing.

"Well, at least she isn't crying," he thought to himself. There were few things in this world he hated more than seeing Casey McDonald cry. Uh, well, anyone really. He just said Casey because she's right in front of him. Yep, that's it.

"Hey, come on Spacey, what's wrong," he asked, sitting on the edge of her bed and tucking back a stray strand of her soft hair.

That's when the waterworks starter. Or restarted, from the looks of things.

"Spoke too soon," he muttered under his breath. Casey continued to sob, pressing her face into the comforter.

For a moment, Derek sat frozen on his little corner of bed, wracking his mind to figure out what might possibly be the source of his step-sister's obvious distress. He came up empty.

While Casey and him actually got along these days (sort of), and even though they still shared a living space (not their idea), they were far from best friends, and despite the occasional night in together, and smattering of shared acquaintances, and the whole "sharing a family" thing, they had very little to do with each others' lives.

Hesitantly, he scooted closer to the sniveling, snotty, salty ball of rough fabric and soft flesh that used to be his stepsister. Awkwardly, he put a hand on her back, tracing it slowly up and down the rough bumps of her spine.

"Talk to me, Case," he said in what he hoped was a sincere and encouraging voice.

She mumbled something into her comforter that sounded, to him, kind of like "free dumplings." He silently prayed Casey hadn't heard his stomach growling, and tried to will away the mouth-watering image of lo mein and beef and broccoli and dumplings and pork fried rice and…

Casey. Right.

"What was that, Princess?" The nickname had turned into more of a term of endearment than an insult over the years.

"He. Dumped. Me," she choked out, between sniffling gasps. Then her face went back into the comforter. Derek briefly wondered if it was possible to die from blanket inhalation.

Then his mind went down a different path. He honestly hadn't even really known Casey was seeing someone. Sure, he was aware she went out on dates, but it's not like he ever met the guys. Or guy, apparently. Yeah, Casey tended to be a drama queen, but she wasn't that bad. He figured if she was this upset, it had to have been pretty serious.

"Who? I'll pound him for ya," he said in a mock serious tone. In response, Casey barked out a strange sound that might have been a laugh—or a sob. Probably a combination of the two. She didn't say anything, but she seemed to calm down a little bit when Derek tried to talk to her.

"Is it someone I know?" he asked, feeling for all the world like they were 18 again, playing twenty questions on the drive from school back to London.

Biting her lip, Casey moved her head up and down in a motion that Derek could only assume meant yes.

"Is it…Jordan?" he asked, naming the first good looking guy he could think of that they both knew.

"No," came her muffled reply.

"Marc?"

"No."

"Um…that one guy you used to talk to all the time in psych last semester? That always tried to get me to join the intramural basketball team?"

"Seth?"

"Yeah, that one."

"No."

Derek was stumped. He continued to wrack his mind, trying to think who else it could possibly be.

In a slow, arthritic motion, Casey pulled herself into a sitting position. She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"Its Paul," she said so quietly he barely heard.

"Paul?" Derek questioned. "That nerdy redhead in our Calc study group?"

She shook her head.

"No," she said softly. "From high school."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Gay Paul? The president of the drama club?"

Casey blew out a frustrated breath. "Damnit Derek, no. THE Paul."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the tiny room. Derek stared at her incredulously. After a long minute, he spoke.

"Paul?" he squeaked out, sounding eerily reminiscent of Edwin when he was going through puberty. "Like…Paul Greebie? The guidance counselor Paul!?" He must be mistaken. There must be some other Paul.

Casey said nothing, just stared intently at her fingers.

Her silence spoke volumes more than any words could.

Heh. Yeah. Well?

Also, I know Derek at least is pretty out of character. But, maturity, changes, etc etc