Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Life With Derek either.

This is just kind of a pointless, drabbley-type. I just wanted to write an LWD fic and this is what I got. Try to figure it out.



"What now, Derek? Come to ruin my life even more? Well, you can try, but I seriously doubt that this could get any worse. However, knowing you, you'll probably find a way to make me detest the world even more…" Casey trails off, almost as if she had more to say, but was simply too tired of it all to say it. "What's that?" She asks suspiciously, looking in the cup of steamy brown liquid that Derek offers silently.

He rolls his eyes when she doesn't accept it immediately, pressing the mug into her outstretched fingers. "It's something called coffee, Case. Even though I know that you're new to this planet and have never really adjusted to our human ways, it's good," He raises an eyebrow, making sure she takes a sip of the bittersweet drink before relaxing against the concrete wall. Going out on the rooftop had become a habit of the older teenagers of the house; they'd discovered it separately, and suddenly found each other. "More of the hazelnut creamer than the actual coffee; just the way you like it." He murmurs to her, and then drinks up his own like he's just realized he was extremely thirsty. "Why're you out here, anyway? The party's actually kinda cool downstairs."

Casey gives him a look, the look that makes the voice inside his head (which, annoyingly, sounds exactly like her singsong, high-pitched tone) automatically cry, "De-rek!"She sighs a little bit, and the wind hits her just right, making her hair fly out from behind her. He gulps softly without realizing, and he finds himself noticing that her cheeks are naturally pink, like she's always blushing. He tries to stop thinking when he finds himself saying that it's cute. "You know, I could ask you the same thing."

"Huh?" He says, confused. He's forgotten they were talking; it's easy to get lost in that pool of colors residing in her eyes. He could've sworn they were blue downstairs when she was hanging with her friends—scratch that, their friends—but now he could spot flecks of green, little bits of brown. They were grey, kind of; soft and comforting, almost like a darker shade of the moon. It was pretty.

She turns her head to look down below them, where they could fall any second if they weren't careful. "About the party. Why aren't you at the party, either?" She looks at him again, and her moonlight eyes are making his heart beat unnaturally fast. Maybe he's coming down with something, because these feelings are strange and nauseating. He never said, though, they were unpleasant.

"It was too crowded, too stuffy. Fun, but it's not my thing right now. I wanted to be alone. But I could welcome at least one more person. You're lucky I'm generous." He smirks at her and she scoffs, and it almost feels like when they first met. When they were witty and they bantered and he almost felt like they were friends; before he realized that you're not supposed to be friends with your step-sibling, you're not supposed to want to run your fingers through her shiny brown hair because there's this little thing called incest. Brothers and sisters are supposed to long to ruin each others lives, not actually like each other.

Her lips curve upward in an almost-smile, and he thinks that it's prettier than a lot of other girls' actual-smiles. "Thanks, Derek. You're the greatest," She says sarcastically, and it makes him grin. Not a smirk, but a grin—a genuine, Derek-Venturi-is-happy grin.

"Your turn."

"What?" She wonders, eyes confused. They almost twinkle when the light from the moon hits them at a certain angle; he almost wants to ask her to turn her head that way, because they look so pretty, dancing like that. He could stare into her eyes all day, but that'd be weird.

"Tell me why you're here." He says it like it's obvious, and she smiles at him, a wondering kind of smile. Her lips part a little so he can see a hint of the pearly-white teeth underneath. He remembers her telling him once that she's never had a cavity, and he can recall the amazement that someone could actually keep their teeth perfect until her age.

She shrugs nonchalantly, looking back over the vast expanse of road ahead of them. There was a lot to cover. "Same reason, I guess. Too crowded. It was getting hot." Derek frowned at the last comment; it was freezing outside, especially for a supposedly warm May night.

"You're kidding me," He argues, carefully moving his arm so that he doesn't slosh his coffee onto her. "It's freezing out here; even I'm still cold, and I'm pretty sure my jacket is made for those psycho people who are going up to climb Mount Everest." His eyes flit to her own bare arms, and he stares, disbelieving. "Case, you do realize you're barely wearing anything."

The brunette in front of him laughs, rolling her eyes, getting ready to stand up. "De-rek, it's just called a tank top. And since when do you care?"

"I don't," The boy insists, putting his hands on his knees and rolling his hazel eyes. "I just don't want to be blamed if you get pneumonia before summer even starts. So, enjoy your time out in the freezing weather in your precious tank tops, but don't come crying to me when I'm at the beach with Sam and Emily and Ralph, and you're down here blowing your nose and crying, 'Oh why, oh, why didn't I listen to De-rek?'"

Casey giggles lightheartedly, standing up a little too quickly. Derek realizes for the first time that she smells unnaturally like the Bud-lites that George put out downstairs. "Very funny, D. If it'll make you happy, I'll go downstairs and 'get my party on.'" She stumbles a little and he lunges for her ankle, grabbing 'Klutzilla' before she tumbles to her rooftop death.

"Jesus, Casey," He swears, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach is churning and his face is turning pink at her near-death experience. "Can you try not to be such a Klutzilla?" His muscles flex as he tugs on her arm, bringing her closer to the open window and further away from the edge.

She sits back down and gives a large sigh, and he can't help but look at her. "Hey, Derek?" She murmurs, and suddenly her voice is soft and quiet again. If he didn't know her any better, he could've sworn he heard fear.

"Yeah, Case?"

"We're family, right?" There goes his throat; it becomes as dry as the Sahara desert, and he can't talk because it's closed up and choking him, so he simply nods. "So we're gonna stick together, right?" Disbelief floods through him—he's got a buzzed Casey McDonald up here on a rooftop with him, asking if they're going to stick together. He can't do anything but nod. "Good. Because I don't think I could stand to be without you."

He bites his lip then. Hard. Until he can feel that familiar metallic taste of blood stain his tongue.

"Derek?" She whines again. Her voice is higher now, more innocent. He knows she's buzzed, because she could never get these words out sober. He knows she's inebriated, because he could never answer these questions with her sober. "Why do you hate me?"

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. "I – I – Case, I don't… I don't hate you. Where did you get that?" He mumbles, not bearing to meet her illuminating eyes. "God." He whispers to no one in particular, because the way his cheeks are burning isn't exactly comfortable.

"Okay, Derek. Okay," She breathes back, her voice almost as invisible as the wind. He can feel the tension cold against his skin, and he doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until he opens them to face emptiness. Suddenly, she's gone.

"Casey?" He says, almost panicked, and the breeze floats his voice away. She's left him, suddenly and silently, that he hasn't even realized until it was too late and she was unreachable.