Chapter Two: Prelude

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Derek drove to Scott's in silence, not wanting to think about anything. He was so frustrated right now, because what happens if Stiles already screwed with someone already? He couldn't do that. Stiles was his, and his alone.

Derek pulled up to Scott's house, irritation steadily growing as he heard the loud music emanating from the house. Mrs. McCall obviously wasn't home. There were empty beer bottles scattered across the front yard, as well as... used condoms. Derek stared at them silently and walked onto the porch. Discarded pizza boxes and various broken bottles were piled up in the corner. He hesitantly rang the doorbell. No answer, that's probably because everyone's was playing tipsy and getting knocked up, so they couldn't hear the doorbell ring.

Derek lost all of his patience and busted the door down.

The people inside the house weren't fazed at all. They looked at him like he was just another person joining the party, and they started crazily cheering for him like he just won a million dollars. Frankly, he didn't feel like a million dollars. It reeked of alcohol, sex, drugs, and all that shitty jazz, and not to mention a girl ran up to him.

"Hey sexy, you wanna play tonight?" She said seductively as she ran her finger down his chest and stopped at his belt buckle. Derek scowled and told her to fuck off. She looked irritated, and she stormed away and started playing with other horny idiots.

Derek started to look around. There wasn't really much to see. There was the fucking idiot in the corner, doing who-knows-what. There was a small congregation of chicks in another corner talking about their sexual exploits with drug addicts. Derek thought that was the most bizarre case of pedophilia ever. He kept on looking around for a drunken idiot with cute moles on his face, but Stiles wasn't really around. This place is so awkward. He opened a door and walked in a couple having... relations. What was even worse was that the slut offered him to join and make it a really hot threesome. Derek resisted the urge to gag himself; the nausea was already beginning to stir, and slammed the door. Kids these days are so fucking crazy.

Derek looked around for half an hour, until he gave up. He muttered something incoherently to himself, and bumped into someone. He was already pissed because Stiles decided to be under the influence and get himself caught up in this god-forsaken hellhole, not to mention, someone threw up on his jacket. His favorite leather studded jacket. He wanted to cut a bitch so fucking much because no one, throws up on his jacket.

He was about to say something really rude, but he looked at the person behind him and scowled even more, but he showed the slightest bit of worry. It was Stiles. His face was slightly cut up— who knows what he was doing— and he clasped a half-empty beer bottle, its contents sloshing whenever he shook it around. He had a very distant gaze, but he spoke to Derek.

"D-Dereeeek, niicee to seeee youuuu."

Derek couldn't smell anything right now. Everything was being masked by the stench of alcohol and sex, but something about Stiles was so off, and not because he was drunk. Or was he even…

"Stiles. What is wrong with you."

"Derreeeek you doooo carreee." He flashed a cheesy, shit-eating grin, and Derek resisted the urge to smile back.

"Cut the crap. We're leaving. Like now." Derek said as he dragged a ditsy Stiles across the entire house. He kept quiet, but Stiles was making weird and random gestures to things that weren't really there. He must have drunk more than just a bottle. Obviously.

They reached Derek's car. He opened the backseat carefully, and Derek got pushed in.

"What the hell?" Derek muttered confusingly as he toppled into the passenger seat.

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