Stiles:
Stiles groaned as he slid into his seat, putting his Econ book on his desk with a heavy boom. He sighed heavily as he watched the rest of the class piling into the room, settling in just as uncomfortably.
What a better way to start a Monday, Stiles thought, other than in this hellhole. Stiles looked around, sighing as he remembered that none of his friends were in this period.
Stiles straightened up at the sound of the bell blaring. He began watching Coach stumble into the class absentmindedly. He began talking about lacrosse and other sports coming up, constantly stopping to take a jab at Greenburg.
Stiles was beginning to doze off when Danny leaned over towards him, whispering, "Class is boring so far, huh?"
Stiles just nodded, his face falling further into his hand.
"Yes," Danny said so quietly Stiles didn't initially hear him.
"What?"
"I said yes," he grinned.
"Yes?"
"You are attractive to gay guys."
Stiles lifted his head slightly, a grin playing across his plump lips. "Thanks, Danny. Now the day's not as bad."
"So," Danny started, leaning back in his chair as Coach continued his assault on Greenburg's choice of apparel. "I was wondering if you'd like to join me on a date this weekend."
Stiles was taken aback, he never thought Danny, of all people, would ask him out. "Dannyboy, I'm sorry but I'm already taken."
"Really?" he asked in shock before his face displayed a wide grin. "Nice job, Stilinski. Who's the lucky guy?"
"How do you know it's a guy?"
"Hunch."
Stiles began to smile a sweet smile at the thought of his boyfriend, "His name's Derek."
"Well, Derek is a lucky man."
"Not as lucky as me," Stiles mumbled to himself, doodling in his notebook.
Stiles continued his doodling until the bell sounded, starling him. He stared down at his work, unable to comprehend the drawing. It was a mixture of dark and light lines, forming together to make a mess of a drawing. He could almost make out a shape when Coach's voice echoed through the room.
"C'mon, Stilinski, get to class. This is my free period."
Stiles nodded, stuffing his book and drawing into his backpack, hurrying out of the room and up the nearest stairway, into Chemistry.
"Stupid of me to think that I would keep my breakfast down while having to see you in my class, Stilinski," Mr. Harris jabbed. Stiles payed no attention, noting that neither Scott nor Lydia were in the class. "Take you seat, Stilinski."
Stiles took out his book and drawing, examining it further.
Time seemed to fly by quickly, as it was nearing lunch. Stiles still hadn't seen the Pack in any of his classes and was getting worried. He looked down at the drawing and the piece of paper he had been writing on.
Arrow
Eyes
Cal---
Forest
USELESS
Stiles read the words off, making sure to label them in the drawing. He couldn't wrap his mind around one of the things.
"Who the fuck is 'Cal '?" Stiles thought out loud, drawing attention of his partner.
"What was that Stiles?" she asked, looking at the drawing.
"Nothing," he whispered, putting the drawing away.
She looked taken aback, "Stiles, what's wrong? If you think the drawing is bad, it wasn't," she reassured.
"Thanks, Alina," Stiles smiled. "I'm just worried for my friends, they didn't show up today and I don't have my phone so I can't contact them."
The bell for lunch rang, startling the two.
"Here, Stiles," Alina said cheerfully, handing her phone over to him. "Use this."
Stiles smiled, pushing Derek's number into the digital screen. He placed the phone to his ear, receiving no rings but instead the voicemail of his mate.
Derek never turns his phone off, Stiles thought.
"Can I try another line?" he asked Alina, catching a nod as he dialed Scott, receiving the same outcome.
Stiles knew something had to be wrong if neither his boyfriend nor his best friend were answering their phones. Stiles handed Alina her phone back, mumbled a quick 'Thank you' to her before rushing towards his locker. Stiles collected his materials, shutting the locker and rummaging for his keys.
Damnit, he cursed himself, Derek brought me.
He didn't have his Jeep or any ideas where his friends went. Stiles accepted the shitty situation for what it was, sitting alone at their normal seat. He watched intently on the forest, trying to ignore the looks and whispers of the teenagers around him.
He was never popular. Never by his own doing, at least. He was popular by association. He was friends with Scott McCall, star lacrosse player, Lydia Martin, school genius and beauty. Hell, he was dating Derek Hale, an infamous legend in Beacon Hills High's basketball team. He wasn't much, besides sarcastic, pale, fragile, human Stiles.
He quickly got up when the bell rang out, catching a glimpse of figure by the forest line. He shook the image out of his head as he prepared for the rest of the day to come.
--*--
Stiles hurried out of Coach's room after school, checking his messages - after he turned the volume all the way up - one from almost all of the Pack. Stiles looked questioningly at one of the messages in particular.
From: Isaac
Won't b comin to skool. Sick 2day.
Stiles instantly knew something wasn't right, Isaac was lying. Werewolves can't get sick, Stiles thought, rushing into the school parking lot. He looked around for any sign of Derek's car but found nothing.
Stiles let out a large sigh, Great. Now I'm walking.
Stiles began walking down the wooded road, watching as the cars zoomed past him. He shook his backpack off his arm, reaching inside for a jar. Stiles gripped the cold glass, pulling it out of the sack and holding it close to him. He remembered what Deaton had said, 'Mix both Wolfsbane and Mistletoe into Mountain Ash and no supernatural creature will be able to detect you.' He cut into the forest quickly, knowing that the Packhouse would be coming up soon.
He came up to the building, cautiously entering.
"Derek?" Stiles called out as he walked further into the house. "Scott?" he tried again. He reached the staircase, beginning to ascend it, "Anyone?"
When Stiles reached his and Derek's bedroom, he came to a stop, straining to listen. He heard the front door open quickly and a couple sets of feet enter the house. He ducked quickly into the large closet Derek had built, tossing the contents of the jar in a circle around him.
"¿Está aquí?" a booming woman's voice called out.
"No, no hay nadie aquí," a man's voice called out.
"Eso es una látisma," the woman said once more.
Damnit why'd I have to take French? Stiles mentally sighed.
"Incendiar a la casa," the woman called once more before heavy boot steps.
Stiles let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Soon, he heard more footsteps and the front door slam shut. Stiles climbed out of the closet when the scent hit his nose.
Fire.
"Shit!" Stiles cussed as he raced downstairs, the living room lit in different shades as the fires raged through it. He raced towards the door, pulling out his phone but dropping it as a large ceiling beam fell in front of him, cutting him off from the front door. Stiles regained his composure, looking for the phone to no avail. He quickly raced up the staircase, suddenly overwhelmed with the urgency to save the memories.
Stiles pulled boxes upon boxes out of the rooms, tossing them out the windows on the back side of the house as the fire continued to come closer.
Derek:
Derek and the Pack, excluding Stiles, walked through the forest, their clothes torn and battered.
"Stiles isn't going to be happy, Derek," Lydia sighed, walking behind the brody man.
"I know, but I'd rather he be safe."
Derek slowed to a stop, pinching the bridge of his nose. He suddenly burst into life, punching the nearest tree, "I can't believe we let the Calaveras evade us!"
The Pack remained silent until Liam spoke up, "Do you guys smell that?"
The werewolves sniffed the air, sharing a look of concern. Derek was the first to speak, running as he did so, "It's a fire."
The entire Pack took off through the trees, dodging and weaving through the hanging branches and patches of plants. They stopped in their tracks as the view of the Packhouse, burning, came into their sight.
"No," Derek mumbled, tears forming at his eyes. "Not again."
"I'll call Stiles, tell him to get here," Isaac said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "Scott, call 911," Scott nodded.
Isacc pushed the keys on his phone, putting the phone to his ear.
From inside the house, a calm ring rang out. All of the werewolves shared a pained expression.
Stiles was inside.
* A/N: I am so sorry this took so long to get posted, but life got ahead of me, and when I planned to upload this, I just wasn't happy with it, so, here I am, posting it 3 days late. Also, within the next few days, my new story will be up (Another Sterek Story: 'The Cult'). I would very much appreciate it if you guys give me your opinion. Soon, within the next two or three chapters this story will come to an end, but don't worry, there will be a sequel. I will be creating the sequel maybe two weeks or so after the end of this story. Thank you all so much for the support so far and I can't wait to continue this story and see how you guys like my new one. *