Authors Note: Just an idea that popped into my head. I had the story all written out on my old account but it got taken down so I decided to restart it. It will be shorter so that I can update more often. Enjoy! Review?


Stiles fiddled anxiously with his keys, twisting the rotting metal between his fingers and wringing the little chains which dangled off. His eyes flickered over to the clock, as silent and still as ever. He'd been glancing up at it constantly for the last several minutes, waiting for the little hand to tick faster and the larger one to hurry up and sprint to the end of the class period. He removed his hand from his pocket and rubbed his eyes, stifling out a small yawn. Stretching backwards and cracking his spine his eyes wandered up to the ceiling and began counting the tiles as he always did with boredom. 47, it never changed. In the background Stiles could hear the voice of his teacher droning on about math or science or galaxies or something that would be completely irrelevant to his life and his furry friend's problems.

A girl a few rows ahead of him flinched and shifted in her chair. Stiles eyes drifted over to the movement and gazed at the back of her blonde hair, secretly wishing for so much more. He had been in love with Lydia, but he was still a teenage boy and was captivated by anything with a bouncing chest and a heartbeat. He shook his head of any fantasies, trying to focus back on reality. It could never happen. Sure, he was normal. He had a relatively normal family, minus the mother. But the problem was with his relatively normal friend, minus the claws, furs, and prevalent drama and danger and his normal girlfriend, minus the angst werewolf hunting family. No, it could never work with him and another normal person. He knew too much, he had seen too much, and it may just push him over from being weird to being actually mentally unstable in another's eyes. Not that he could have had a chance with her before the werewolf fiasco, but any slight hope was beyond diminished. He had given up so much, so much normality, so much life, so many dreams to help Scott. He never got as much as a thank you.

Stiles shook his head and twitched his tongue on the inside of his mouth. He didn't need a thank you. Scott was his best friend; surely he would do the same if Stiles was the werewolf. Definitely. They had been best friends ever since his mother had passed away and a few scratches, late nights, and crazy life threatening events weren't going to change that. Plus, it was pretty awesome that your best friend is a werewolf. Not everybody got to have so much excitement every night.

Finally the bell pierced his ears and with one swoop of his arms Stiles gathered his books and dashed out of the classroom, ignoring his teachers glare. He sprinted towards his Jeep, now so covered in dents and dings and paint chips that it may very well fall apart at the touch. He popped open the trunk and tossed in his backpack, letting a flood of pencils and papers spill out. He muttered under his breath and toyed with the zipper, trying to get it to close. Then he heard footsteps slowly approach him from behind. He ignored them, assuming they belonged to someone who was just going to their car. When suddenly the footsteps stopped their pounding relatively close to stiles car. Stiles turned around out of curiosity and was met with a fist pounding into the side of his head.

Isaac let out a small smile as Stiles began to slump to the ground, still barely holding onto consciousness. His arm stumbled over his cars bumper and the rest of his body fell to the aspault from shock and pain.

"Derek wants to see you." Isaac said. That was the last thing Stiles heard before a fist plowed into his temple and introduced him to the dark slumber of unconsciousness.