Disclaimer: They're all Jeff's/MTV's. My god do I wish I owned Hoechlin though!


Eventual Sterek. I like a loooooooooong slow burn! This might end up being rated M, depending on how I feel somewhere down the line, but T for now! I'd love it if people could R first time writing any Teen Wolf FF. I'm worried that it's painfully obvious I'm from England from the dialogue, so I'd love to know what people think of that! Enjoy! xx


Stiles sat in the back seat of his Jeep, one foot resting on the seat in front of him, The Offspring blasting through his headphones to drown out the altogether too creepy noises the woods outside were making. He was alternating between taking swigs from a bottle of cheap vodka and glaring morosely at the dark window to his right. He pulled a face as the alcohol burned his throat, blinking up at the roof of the jeep in a bid to stop himself from crying. That's what the vodka was for, after all. To make all the bad things go away for a little while.

He groped in his pocket for his phone, and finding it, took several attempts to unlock it. 2:47am. The bright screen hurt his eyes in the darkness but he checked his inbox anyway. Still no messages from Scott. He considered sending another message to his so-called best friend but figured after begging Scott to contact him for the last four days, he'd just look pathetic. He took another large gulp of vodka, resting his head against the window as everything started to spin. He threw his phone angrily onto the front seat and let out a thoroughly unmanly shriek as the light from the screen illuminated Derek Hale, inexplicably seated in the driver's seat.

"What the hell are you doing in my car?" He demanded, pulling out his ear phones, aware that he was slurring his words and not caring.

"What are you doing drinking in your car at 3 in the morning?" Derek countered, his leather jacket creaking as he shifted in the front seat. When Stiles didn't reply, he reached up and flicked on the interior light.

"Turn that off." Stiles snapped, turning away from Derek.

"What happened to your face?" Derek frowned as he caught sight of the livid bruise on Stiles' cheek. He watched as Stiles' cheeks flushed furiously, an angry silence descending on the car.

"Got drunk, fell down, hit my face on my desk." Stiles muttered at last, absent mindedly running his fingers across the bruise. "My dad was pissed." The bitterness in Stiles' voice was clear and Derek could hear his heartbeat shift as he glared out of the window, chewing on a finger nail.

"How pissed?"

"Doesn't matter." Stiles replied, swallowing another burning mouthful of vodka.

"Stiles." Derek's voice was quiet, but it didn't take a werewolf's senses to pick up on the concern in his tone.

"He kicked me out, ok?" Stiles shouted, dropping his foot to the floor and slamming his hands against the back of the passenger seat. "But then I bet you already knew that, didn't you."

"I know you slept in your car last night." Derek offered.

"Could you just go away or something."

"So you can sleep in your car again? No. It's not safe out here."

"Yeah, yeah. Alpha pack, blah blah." Stiles waved his hand around dismissively. "I'm aware of them. But it's not like I've got anywhere else to go so I guess I'll have to take my chances."

"Stay at my place."

"No offence, 'cause I know I'm pretty hard up right now, but I think I'd rather take my chances in the woods than hang out in your creepy burnt out train carriage."Stiles bent down to retrieve the bottle of vodka from the floor of the Jeep, keeping one hand on the back of the seat to steady himself.

"I'm not offering. I'm telling you."

"Telling me what? That you're taking me to your abandoned warehouse without my consent? Pretty sure that's kidnap dude." Stiles laughed to himself, apparently amused by his own comment. "I'm fine here. Leave me alone."

"You're lying." Derek pointed out.

"Urgh. Fine. Whatever. Yes, I don't want to spend another night trying to sleep here, but then I'm not sure I really want to come and hang out in your werewolf clubhouse either. Why are you even offering?"

"Because it's not safe for you in the woods." Derek watched Stiles intently as he waited for a response.

"Fine." Stiles muttered after a brief pause. "Now move." He gestured at Derek, pulling his keys from his pocket.

"No. You're too drunk to drive."

"I'm fine. Move over."

"Stiles." Derek's eyes flashed red briefly as he sat resolutely in the driver's seat.

"That's not fair you know." Stiles muttered, reluctantly handing over the keys as he clambered over back of the passenger seat. "You're not my alpha. You shouldn't be allowed to growl at me." He flopped down in the seat, both feet up on the dashboard and frowned at Derek. "What about your Camaro? You're going to leave it in the woods?"

"I don't have it right now." Derek replied, turning the key in the ignition. "Scott and Isaac took it."

"You let Scott drive your car? Have you seen the way he drives his own car? Why do they need your car anyway?"

"No. I let Isaac drive my car. Do you always ask so many questions?" Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles.

"Yes. I'm not sure Isaac driving your car is much better than Scott driving it. Does Isaac even know how to drive? Where'd they go?" He fidgeted in his seat, leaning forward to pick at the sole of his sneaker.

"They're looking for Boyd and Erica."

"Huh." Stiles commented, wincing as Derek sped down the unlit road, tree flashing by on either side of the car. "You could drive a bit more careful you know" He added as Derek ground the gears as he tried to accelerate. "Can you even drive stick?"

"It's your heap of shit car that's the problem, no me." Derek growled, low and menacing. Stiles pouted briefly, leaning back in the seat once more and drumming his fingers against his knees. He shuffled further down in the seat and watched Derek through half closed eyes, feeling annoyed that he could apparently handle the Jeep with much more ease than Stiles himself.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked, yawning hugely. Derek shot him a quizzical look before turning his attention back to the road, one hand on the wheel, his other arm resting against the window.

"I told you. The woods aren't safe."

. o o o .

"I can't believe you talked me in to hanging out in your creepy ass warehouse." Stiles complained as Derek sped down a narrow road, the jeep bumping over the potholed surface. "Would you please be careful with my car! I bet you don't drive your own car down here like this."

Derek merely rolled his eyes, turning a corner sharply and slamming on the brakes. He smirked to himself as Stiles had to brace his hands against the dashboard to stop himself from falling off the seat.

"This isn't your warehouse." Stiles commented, stumbling slightly as he got out of the car. "Where are we?"

"My apartment." Derek replied, walking away from Stiles and pulling a set of keys from his pocket.

"Since when do you have an apartment? Why do you make your little wolf pack hang out in a train if you've got an apartment?" He had to jog to catch up with Derek, trailing behind him up a flight of rickety wooden stairs.

"It was Laura's." Derek muttered as he unlocked the door. He ushered Stiles inside, closing and locking the door before turning on the light.

"It's...uh..." Stiles began, looking around. The living room was small, with bare floorboards and two sagging couches. A dingy kitchenette took up one corner of the room and two doors, each with more than their fair share of peeling paint obviously lead to a bathroom and bedroom. There were no personal touches to be seen, Stiles noted, unless of course, you counted the bed sheet tacked up over the window.

"Don't." Derek snapped.

"I wasn't going to say anything bad!" Stiles replied guiltily. "It just doesn't look very lived in."

"It's somewhere to sleep." Derek shrugged, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He watched as Stiles wrinkled his nose at one of the couches before flopping down on the other.

"Somewhere to keep your many leather jackets as well, right?" Stiles grinned as he bent over to dig around in his back pack. Derek huffed in response, pushing himself away from the counter and crossing to the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of beer, hesitated for a moment and grabbed a second.

"You know, you could get in to trouble giving alcohol to minors." Stiles grinned as Derek handed him one of the bottles.

"I've been in trouble for worse." Derek replied, sitting down on the shabbier of the two couches and toeing off his boots. Stiles pulled a face as he twisted off the bottle cap, examining it briefly before pushing it into his pocket.

"Same here." Stiles replied, a downcast expression on his face as he picked at the label on the bottle. He took a long swallow before speaking again. "I've never seen my dad as mad as he was the other day."

"Because you'd been drinking?" Derek asked, stretching his legs out and resting them on the arm of the couch on which Stiles sat.

"Yeah. I can't believe you wear stripy socks." He grinned, tapping his bottle against Derek's foot. "When I think Derek Hale, I don't think blue and red stripy socks."

"Don't touch me. And don't change the subject."

"Urgh, fine. There isn't much to say really though. I mean, I guess my dad must have realised I've been drinking; stuff going missing from the drinks cabinet is a big giveaway after all. It was more the being so drunk I passed out at 4 in the afternoon that was an issue. That and the weed he found when he searched my room." Stiles sighed deeply, peeling strips of the label from his bottle and placing them carefully on the couch cushion beside him. "He kept asking why I've been drinking and smoking. What am I meant to say to him? 'Sorry dad, all this werewolf drama is making me have panic attacks and making me worry that people are going get killed on a daily basis'. That'd go down real well." He drained the last of his beer, picking up the remains of the label and poking them inside the empty bottle.

"When I couldn't give him an explanation, he told me to get out of the house." Stiles continued, slapping his beer bottle against his hand as he spoke. "Told me I was a disappointment and...and," he looked away from Derek, staring at the sheet covered window. "And that he was glad my mom wasn't here to see me like this."

Derek frowned, taking swigs of beer as he tried to think of a way to respond.

"Can we talk about something else?" Stiles asked, breaking the silence. "I've done enough dwelling on all this over the last two days."

Derek nodded, watching as Stiles got up from the couch, wandering into the kitchenette to place his empty bottle on the counter. He pulled open the fridge door to peer at the contents.

"Can I have another beer?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at Derek who nodded in response. He flopped back on the couch and watched Derek as he drank.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Can I stop you?" Derek replied, closing his eyes and resting his head on the back of the couch.

"Why do you have a fridge full of beer? I know you can't get drunk." Stiles began peeling back the edge of the label.

"I like the taste." Derek finished the last of his drink and got to his feet. He crossed the room and pushed open the bedroom door, aware that Stiles was watching him intently as he did so. He stepped into the darkened bedroom, pulling a heavy fleece blanket from the tangle on the bed.

"Here." He threw the blanket towards Stiles.

"You mind if I smoke in here?" Stiles asked as Derek turned away from him.

"Not really." Derek shrugged, reaching out to close the bedroom door.

"Derek?"

"What?"

"Thanks." Stiles mumbled, watching as Derek kicked the door closed behind him.

. o o o .

Derek jolted away, sitting bolt upright in the darkness. He scratched his chest and realised he'd fallen asleep in his clothes and pushed himself from the bed, shucking off his t-shirt and jeans. He sniffed the air as he pulled on a pair of dark grey sweat pants. The thick, heady scent of marijuana smoke filled the air. Derek smiled slightly; the smell reminded him of Laura, of a flea pit apartment in New York, of feeling scared but happy nevertheless. He turned to look at the door as an unusual noise caught his attention. Crossing the room, he rested on hand on the door knob as he listened; he could hear Stiles crying softly from the lounge. He scowled at the back of the door for a moment before turning away and crawling back into his bed, quickly falling into a deep, and thankfully dreamless sleep.