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Mieczyslaw Stilinski was only six, but as he so liked to tell anyone who would listen, he was not stupid.

He knew his mom was sick, even though his parents seemed to be trying to keep it a secret.

He knew his mom was always going to the doctor, he knew she took 'pills' that she was always telling him would help her 'feel better,' but they only ever seemed to make her worse.

Mieczyslaw knew a lot of things.

And what he didn't know, he learned very quickly.

He learned to stay very quiet when his parents were shouting about bills, he learned not to ask his dad about his mom anymore because the sadness in his eyes was something he hated even more than Jackson would shove him around, or take his toys at playtime.

He learned to stop asking either of his parents any kind of questions about going places, because they would only get this very sad look and say, "Mommy's very tired today sweety, maybe some other day."

Stiles always, always hated it when his parents were sad.

He wished they wouldn't keep it all a big secret.

It was beginning to make him a little angry that they thought he was too little to know, but mostly sad.

They were fighting again.

His mom had said something about bills. His dad said the money didn't matter to him, but even he knew that it really did and he was only six!

They kept arguing back and forth but as soon as his mom mentioned the hospital he was quickly sent to his room.

The little six year old hated when this happened.

He'd been sent to his room a lot lately.

Sometimes he thought about just telling his parents that he knew. But he didn't think that would really help all that much, especially with how sad they both looked just the other day after he'd told his mom he hoped she'd feel better after she'd coughed a lot.

She'd looked like she was about to cry.

So instead of letting his parents know that their secret wasn't as well kept as they thought, he decided he would do his best to be a big help instead of 'A big handful.' like his teachers and kid doctor always called him.

He knew that when adults said stuff like that, they were just trying to say he was trouble without him understanding. Mieczyslaw did not like that almost everyone thought he was 'A little problem,' as he'd heard one of his teachers put it.

So he resolved that from now on, he would not be a problem to his parents.

He would do his very best to do all his homework, to not ask so many questions all the time, to pick up all his things even without being asked, and to Never Ever ask if/why his mom was so sick.

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He'd only been eight for a week and a half when his mom died. She'd been getting worse for a long time, in and out of the hospital every other month since he was seven, and still, they told him nothing.

After far to much not knowing for his taste, he finally just waited for one of those days when his dad worked so late he only got home when he was meant to be asleep, and his mom was 'Just resting my eyes sweety, I'll play with you in a few minutes.'

They happened a lot more now.

The Too Tired days.

Sometimes she would go to sleep and not wake up for hours and hours, but sometimes she would only be asleep for a couple of minutes. the quick days didn't happen so much anymore either.

But for once, the tired days would help.

He remembered the passcode to his parents home computer, even if his parents thought he didn't, so he waited until one of the Quiet days came, and with a notebook and pencil in hand, he sat down at the computer and used all his dads not so secret passwords to finally get his answers.

He knew what doctor papers looked like because he'd seen some of his moms that he wasn't supposed to know about, so as soon as he saw the pictures of them on the screen, his moms name scribbled onto the top of each page, he got to work. And he wrote down every word he saw. 

He might not understand most of the big words, he couldn't even say half of them! But he was determined to write down each and every one down in his best handwriting so he could look up what they meant later.

It took him almost three whole Quiet days to write down all of it, and every night he would sit on the floor of his closet with a flashlight and look up what each of the big words meant in his dads big Mr. Websters word book

He didn't like what they meant.

They meant his moms brain was sick. That she would start to not remember lots and lots of things. That she would be really tired all the time, and not even the doctors knew how to make her better.

And still his parents told him nothing.

So he pretended he didn't know.

He pretended to believe it when his dad would tell him his mom was 'Just not feeling too good today, maybe tomorrow?'

He pretended to laugh and smile with his friend Cora at school. He pretended that his dad was telling the truth when he said that everything would be ok when his mom went to stay at the hospital for almost a whole week right after his eighth birthday party. (it was really only him and Cora and a quiet girl named Erica who said she liked superhero's and princess's, even though he'd invited his whole class. He still liked it though.)  

He'd even met Cora's older brother one of the times he'd been waiting at the hospital after school before  his dad got off work. He'd decided to wait out in the hall that time.

It was one of the days his mom wouldn't stop screaming that she didn't know him. That he was a stranger. A demon coming to kill her. Just a little monster.

He didn't like those days.

So he sat outside his moms room, just down the hall on a row of chairs, when an older boy sat down in the next seat over. He would've paid him no mind like he usually would with strangers,  but in the corner of his eye he saw the boy frown in such a similar way to his Bestist friend Cora, he couldn't help but stare.

"You look sad like my friend." He said, abruptly breaking the silence.

The older boy looked startled for a moment before turning to look at the rather small child sitting only just shy of beside him and giving a confused hum.

"You have the same kind of sad as my friend." He said in the tone most kids use when they think they've explained something in a completely normal way when they absolutely have not. The boys frown got bigger, but not in a more sad way. It mostly looked like when Cora didn't understand any of what their teacher said in math class.

"And the same confused. But Cora's eyebrows don't frown like yours do." He said after thinking for a minute.

The older boy looked surprised for a second before a sort of understanding look settled on his face.

"You must be Cora's friend, Max right?"

Mieczyslaw knew that was definitely Not his name, but he nodded anyway.

He and Cora had met on the first day of First Grade. He'd been playing King Max and The Wild Things by himself near the edge of the playground at recess, and she had come bounding over pretending to be the Biggest Wild Thing. They'd played together for the rest of recess, and after he'd tried to tell her his name, she'd decided it was far too complicated to say, and decided to just call him Max.

They'd been best friends ever since.

"Cora is my little sister," The other boy offered, turning in the uncomfortable plastic chair to face him better. "I'm her older brother, Derek. She talks about you all the time at home." He said, a small pleased smile showing at the corners of his mouth, but it seemed to falter when he remembered where they were.

"I'm here 'cause my little cousin scraped his knee up pretty bad. My Aunt was picking me up from school when she got called to come get him. What's got you stuck here?"

Max shrugged his shoulders and settled a bit more into his chair.

"My mom is sick, I have to wait here for my dad to get off work and take me home."

Derek made a sad face again and patted his back. He said he was sorry his mom wasn't feeling good, and hoped she'd feel better soon. And all of a sudden, the newly eight year old boy felt a rush of sadness, and found that his mouth was moving before he could stop himself. "She won't get better."

Derek seemed surprised by this, but he didn't say anything yet, and Max couldn't help but let all of the words he'd sworn to Never Ever say to his parents seemed to come tumbling out.

"I'm not supposed to know, but I looked. Her brain is sick," He hesitated for a moment before adding. "I don't think she's gonna be here much longer." His voice barely above a whisper, but Cora's brother seemed to have to have heard him. He didn't want to look at his face this time.

Neither of them said anything for a long time, when Derek suddenly asked. "Do you know your dad's number?"

Max nodded slowly.

"Do you think I could call him? I could ask if you could hang out at our house instead of this stuffy hospital, he could either come get you, or my Uncle Peter could take you home after."

Now that was an offer he could get behind! He would get to spend even more time with Cora, and he wouldn't need to spend anymore time alone with his mom today!

He quickly rattled off his dads number, having memorized it by heart since he was five.

Thankfully his dad actually picked up, and Derek quickly explained the whole situation, along with his offer.

The Sheriff, having heard all about his sons best friend Cora, and having met a few of the Hale's, he easily excepted the offer once Derek (who'd texted his mom for permission only just before the call)  had told him almost a million times that they really didn't mind, and that Cora would be ecstatic about having a friend over, especially if he stayed for dinner.

The Sheriff and Max both, sighed in relief. 

Chapter Text

Max had gotten used to Cora's tendency to tackle hug a long time ago, so aside from the short, muffled Oof sound upon impact, he hardly reacted at all aside from returning the friendly contact.

The adults on the other hand? Clearly were unused to the affectionate brutality.

As soon as the happy pair had hit the floor, there were several exclamations , most of shock or surprise, but the most prominent was a womans stern voice shouting, "Cora!" Startling the both of them from their happy reunion, never mind the fact that they'd only just seen each other less than two hours ago.

Max tore his gaze from his best friend and almost instantly locked eyes with a slightly taller woman with dark curly hair and dark blue eyes. She didn't scare him. But she didn't look like the friendliest person.

Her mouth was set in a firm line as she turned her gaze from Max, to Cora, who quickly picked herself up from where they were sprawled on the floor, dragging him onto his feet beside her.

"Cora, we don't tackle guests." 

Cora looked down, clearly embarrassed, muttering a soft, "Yes ma'am."

Max looked between Cora and the woman who he was assuming was her mother, and frowned.

A part of him wanted to ask if her eyes could glow like Cora's, but he decided against it. Sometimes it's best if grown ups think they know more than you.

"I'm Max, Cora's best friend." He stated, making sure he pressed his shoulder against Cora's. For as long as he'd known her, physical affection and touch had always been important to Cora, especially when she was having a rough day at school, or was upset. He never minded though. He never really got a lot of hugs, so he loved being able to give as many as he wanted to her, and he was glad to feel his friend begin to relax beside him.

"It's nice to meet you Max, I'm Cora's mother, Talia. I hear you'll be joining us for dinner tonight?"

That night had been one of the best he'd ever had. For the next few weeks that month, he spent his after school hours at the Hale house until either Peter drove him home, or his dad picked him up, though that only happened once or twice...

He liked being able to play with Cora, and sometimes they'd been able to talk either Derek or Peter (and if they were especially lucky, then Both) to play with them, which was how they both learned that 'Max', was just a nickname, to which Peter instantly demanded to know his real one, especially since Cora seemed to think it was so difficult. The eight year old laughed at the older Hales as Derek resolutely declared that he would rather not butcher his name, and Peter, though he could pronounce it quite well, said that Mieczyslaw was far too much of a mouth full, and settled to call him Max. Peter also seemed to find it funny when he found out how Cora'd come up with the nickname.

"King of the Wild Things?" Peter had said with a laugh, "Well that is quite the fitting name." 

But all good things must come to an end.

And before the month had drawn to an end, his mother passed away in her sleep.

Max had been the only one in the room.

His dad was meant to get off early that day, so he was told to wait at the hospital.

The Sheriff had only told his son that his mother might not get better barely a week before.

Peter ended up coming to get him that night.

He learned later that his dad had called him. Asked if he could let his son stay the night since he was currently across town dealing with a wreck, and didn't think he could handle dealing with his son at the moment. not when he was exhausted, and he'd just received the news that his wife had passed. Said he just needed this one night so he could greave.

Peter had excepted almost instantly. 

Max was so very glad when Peter had come rushing into the hall, it was the same hall where he'd met Derek only weeks before, and swept him into a great big bear hug, and murmured,

"I'm so sorry Mica."

Only two weeks after he stayed the night at Peters apartment, the Hale house was burnt to the ground, leaving only three survivors.

Laura, who'd only just turned nineteen, left town as soon as the police had allowed it, taking Derek with her. He had no idea where they planned to go, and no way to contact them. He pretended that didn't hurt as much as it did.

Peter...Peter had been inside the house when it burned.

He'd been the only one to come out of that house alive, and was now in the same hospital his mom had been in for all those months.

He heard some of the nurses say he was Catatonic, that he was lucky to be alive.

Max didn't think being stuck sleeping all the time was very lucky.

But Peter would be okay.

He had to be.

He would visit him every day to make sure of it.

The first night he spent at home with his dad, he told him he wanted to be called Stiles.

Being called Max made him think of Cora. But Cora was gone.

His dad had said that Stiles had been his grandpa's nickname from the army.

He'd never met his grandpa, but his dad said he was a kind, strong man. He wanted to be like that.

Unfortunately,  the Sheriff was called out to the station right after dinner, so he'd told Stiles to head strait to bed, and to stay inside.

Stiles decided to sit in the back garden before he went to bed though.

It had been his moms garden. He'd helped her plant the flowers himself.

He did make sure to be close to the house though, their backyard faced the woods that led into the preserve, and they didn't have a fence.

He didn't know how long he sat there. But he liked sitting on the grass, just listening to the wind sing through the trees.

But as he sat there, he suddenly became aware of what sounded like small fumbling footsteps. he couldn't quite see where they were coming from since it was so dark, and the moon wasn't full enough to cast enough light. It didn't sound like a dog, or any of the stray cats he would sometimes see around the Neiborhood. He stayed as still as he could, hardly daring to breathe.

For some odd reason he didn't feel afraid.

Whatever it was, it was getting closer, and even though his lungs were beginning to ach, he refused to take even a small breath for fear of scaring whatever it was away. He could feel it in his bones that this was something important.

And he could never have been more right. 

Chapter Text

Stiles met Scott McCall in Fourth Grade.

He'd been the new kid, having recently moved to Beacon Hill's with mom, who was going to be a new nurse at the local hospital.

He was small and shy and some of the bigger boys (mainly Jackson) teased him because he had asthma, and couldn't play sports very well because of it.

Stiles had given Jacksom a black eye that day.

Scott liked to say they were best friends, but Stiles knew he'd only ever had two of those. 

One was dead. And the other?

The other was his careful secret.

Stiles sat frozen on the edge of his mother's garden, listening as the soft fumbling footsteps came closer, and closer.

He didn't know why, but for some reason he knew that whatever it was, it wouldn't hurt him.

And as soon as the little thing came stumbling out of a clump of  over-thick bushes, he could hardly contain a gasp.

It was a little baby horse!

Stiles had no idea that someone in their small town had horses! They must be looking for the little thing.

With all his initial fear gone, he stood and moved slowly toward the long legged creature in the hopes that he might be able to herd it closer to the house so his dad could take it back home. But as the eight year old got closer, he began to realize that this was definitely not just a plane old horse.

At first it's coat looked like a deep black that reflected what little moonlight shone through the trees; but as he got closer he saw that it was really just a deep navy blue, with patches of a lighter shade around it's muzzle and underbelly. the fuzzy looking beginnings of it's main were almost black, but still held more blue than anything.

But what really gave the little thing away, was the little tiny nub of a beautiful black horn that could be seen under the fluff that was just barely beginning to hang down over forehead.

Stiles didn't even have to guess at what it could be.

It was a Wild Thing; just like Cora and Derek and Peter.

And he was King Max. He had promised Cora that he would always take care of his Wild Things.

He'd never told his dad about what happened that night.

As far as the Sheriff knew, he'd gone strait to bed like he'd asked, and he'd never once thought of telling Scott.

He'd learned very quickly that Scott was not very good at keeping secrets, so he'd always made sure that anything he told the younger boy was something he didn't mind others knowing. (He'd been suspicious about Scotts trustworthiness from the start, so he'd tested his theory by telling him that he had a crush on Lydia Martin. The whole school knew by the end of the week) 

Like the fact that he was a year older than their peers, seeing as his teachers had held him back a year. His parents had taken him to a child specialist right after, and he'd walked away with his ADHD diagnosis. The Adderal only helped so much. All Scott knew was that he had ADHD. 

He also never told him the real reason why he never wanted to hang out on Mondays after school. For some reason he didn't like the idea of Scott being in the same room as Peter....

Everything seemed to be going fine up until their Freshman year. 

Stiles had heard that his dad was looking for a body in the woods...

A woods where the murderer could still be hiding.

A murderer that could kill his dad. 

He hadn't wanted to go alone though, so he'd convinced Scott to come along.

He hadn't meant for Scott to be attacked though.

Or anything that came after....

Chapter Text

Stiles knew that something was going on with Scott. He knew his friend was changing somehow. 

He could see it in the way he'd been posturing back at Jackson, in the way he'd been quicker to get upset with Stiles over small things, in the way he'd been a touch more reckless.

It worried him in a way he hadn't been in a while.

Scott was meant to be simple, predictable in his actions and interactions.

In all the time he'd known him, Scott was always getting onto him over his brash, confrontational approach, always trying to convince him to back down, to leave it alone.

This Scott? This Scott was egging Jackson on, was more demanding in his wants, and it had not escaped Stiles notice that even though the younger boy complained constantly about the loss of his inhaler, grumbling about how it would probably take them forever to find it out in the Preserve, he hadn't once needed it all day. Not even after Lacross try outs!

(And really, don't even get him started on that shit-show. Scott had never even attempted a backflip his whole Life, let alone to jump over a whole person! it really baffled him on why Scott wasn't even questioning it, let alone freaking out?????)

He felt somewhat guilty.

He had a sinking feeling in his gut that he might know what was happening to his only friend, and it probably wouldn't have happened if he hadn't dragged him out into the Preserve last night.

But it was no use dwelling on a past that can't be changed.

Stiles knew that from experience.

If only his dad could learn too.

After school, he drove Scott back out to the Preserve in what Stiles was beginning to think would be a pointless search for his missing inhaler.

They'd finally managed to make it to the area Scott said he'd dropped it, which was concerningly close to where he'd seen the other half of the body, when a gruff voice shouted from somewhere behind them, "You shouldn't be here! This is privet property!" Which promptly scared the ever living shit out of the both of them.

Stiles quickly turned to face whoever it was, fully prepared to explain themselves in the least incriminating way possible, but as soon as he actually saw who it was, every word that had been right on the tip of his tongue died before it even left his mouth.

Scott, noticing that Stiles seemed to be frozen, started apologizing for the both of them.

Stiles had completely tuned out anything his friend was saying, his brain pretty much Bluescreening at the sight of one Derek Hale.

And he did know without a doubt that it was Derek. 

 He would know those blue-green eyes anywhere from all the days he spent hanging out with Cora and the other Hales at the now burned out shell of a house. And as soon as the older man moved his gaze from Scott, Stiles knew he was indeed correct when he saw the immediate recognition in his eyes.

"Max?!"

Scott froze mid sentence, looking at Derek as if he'd grown a second head.

"Uhm...no man, neither of us are named Max?" He frowned.

Derek, in complete Derek fashion, completely ignored Scott, moving closer to Stiles, almost as if he didn't believe he was really there. 

Which, rude???? He was the one who left without saying anything! That was so not on Stiles.

"I- is it- that's you...right?"

The question was asked with so much tentative hope that Stiles really couldn't have even teased him about it without feeling like he was taking a favorite toy away from a tiny puppy, never mind the fact that it was being said by a very muscly man in a very intimidating leather jacket, with eyebrows that could put most to shame.

So, instead of any assortment of teasing words or scathing remarks that he could've made, about why he left? Why he never even tried to contact him again? why he never even said goodbye.

He pushed it all aside, because he was here now. And he could spend however long berating him and being upset with him in privet, instead of in front of Scott, who was being weird lately.

"Yeah. It's me Derek." He said, giving an awkward lopsided grin, studiously ignoring Scotts incredulous look from beside him.

After a good fifteen minutes of whisper arguing with Scott, which had involved a threat of calling his dad, he managed to convince his friend that he did in fact know the scary dude in the leather jacket, and he really actually wouldn't murder him and throw his body into a bonfire, and since he needed to get to work, Stiles was going to be the most awesome friend ever and let him drive Roscoe as long as he picked him up for school tomorrow.

Scott was still putting up weak protests until Stiles pointed out that if he wasted any more time on this, then he really would be late for his shift, to which he immediately started rushing to the Jeep, shouting over his shoulder that if Stiles ended up getting himself murdered, then it totally wasn't his fault since he'd tried to talk him out of it.

Derek had watched the whole interaction with an amused glint in his eyes.

Chapter Text

The two of them ended up in a small diner that Stiles used to go to sometimes with his parents, though he mostly remembers when Peter would bring him and Cora after school when one or both of them had a bad day. The food was always good here, but most of the time he just couldn't bring himself to actually come.

It felt nice to be here with Derek though. He still felt like something was missing, but it didn't feel as much like being hollowed out.

Stiles managed to wait 'till they ordered their food before asking, "So...what are you doing back?" Making sure to say it quiet enough that it wouldn't catch the attention of any eves droppers.

Derek was fiddling with the cuff of his jacket, which Stiles recognized as one of his nervous habits, and sighed deeply.

"Laura's missing," He muttered. "Something happened. We'd been staying in New York for the past six months, and I thought... I thought we were finally gonna stay, but... she just- a few weeks ago, she started acting kinda weird? Said she got something in the mail. I didn't ask because she hated if I tried to question her, then she told me she was coming back here. That I couldn't come with her," Dereks frown deepened as he recalled the memory. "I was getting worried because I hadn't really heard from her in the last few days, so i packed up to go after her. Max I-"

"Hey," Stiles interrupted. He could see Derek was starting to loose his cool, his breathing accelerating, and he knew if he didn't calm down soon, he would either start crying, or have a panic attack. And neither sounded like a good thing, so Stiles quickly moved himself onto Dereks side of the booth, making sure he pressed himself against his friend, causing Derek to be borderline smooshed into the wall.

To anyone else, the position would probably look uncomfortable, and Stiles actions would most likely come off as extremely rude, but it was in fact quite the opposite.

Stiles knew Derek hated feeling exposed when/If he got emotional or upset, and the best way to comfort him was most often through physical contact. So Stiles decided to kill two birds with one stone, and give Derek the comfort of being close to him, while also being somewhat shielded from prying eyes by 'blocking' him into the booth.

"You don't have to keep talking. You can just take a break while we wait for our food to get here and I can catch you up on what's been going on here? We can even pick it up again someplace else even." He said lightly, and was glad to note that Dereks breathing had already begun to even out.

Derek nodded slightly, so Stiles found himself spending the next twenty minutes telling Derek about basically everything that had happened since he left, even though most of it was about his failing miserably at lacrosse, but still acing his classes, trying his best to avoid Jackson, while also getting the best revenge on anyone who decided to mess with Scott for his inhaler. Derek seemed content to listen to the endless stream of words, and continued to listen even after they got their food.

They finally ate in a comfortable silence, but Stiles kept an eye on Derek, making sure he wasn't overwhelmed, and basking in the fact that he had at least one of his Wild Things with him again.

Derek was weighing his options on how much he should tell the teen.

He would never forgive himself for managing to trust Kate, and he never wanted to make a mistake like that again.

But this was Max. 

His baby sisters best friend. 

If anyone would understand it would be him.

He'd always been good at understanding things.

Cora had always wanted him to know anyways, maybe...if she was watching, it might give her a reason to smile.

Derek waited until they got back in the Camero, there were too many ears in the diner.

"Max I..." He started. Stiles turned a bit in the passenger seat to better face him, and waited semi patiently for the man to gather his thoughts.

"I, my family, we were- I am. I'm a Werewolf." He bit out. He'd stumbled horribly over it until he'd finally just said it. He'd shut his eyes, not wanting to watch as Max's expression turned to disgust or horror. waiting for him to call him a liar, or crazy or even just run out of the car and away from him entirely.

Instead, he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder, and slowly opened his eyes. to his surprise and great relief, he saw no trace of the fear, horror disgust he'd been anticipating on Max's face. He still looked at him with the same warmth he always had in those soft whiskey eyes, his expression one of care and concern that he remembered him having around him Cora and Uncle Peter.

And any traces of lingering anxiety melted away when Max smiled.

"I had been wondering to be honest. I knew all of you really were 'Wild Things,' but I just figured it was something I probably shouldn't ask about. Especially since your mom always seemed like she didn't want me knowing." He shrugged. Like it was no big deal that his childhood best friend and her family were actual Werewolves.

"I was actually hoping I could ask you about that though..." He started.

Stiles explained the situation with Scott, including the reason they'd been out in the Preserve in the first place, and after receiving a thorough scolding from Derek, told him about what happened with Jackson, the mess that was lacrosse tryouts, and how he'd even seen Scott's eyes flash yellow for a few moments, the same way he remembered Cora's used to once or twice throughout the day.

By the end of his rant explanation, Stiles was somewhat slumping into himself from the relief of finally being able to release all the pent up stress of keeping it all to himself, and Derek was letting the new information sink in.

There was a rogue Alpha running around biting random teenagers without their consent, and it was most likely the one who'd killed Laura.

"Looks like I'll be pretty busy then," He sighed. "But you'll help? Between a new wolf and a an Alpha, I'm probably gonna need it." He huffed somewhat hopefully. 

"Are you kidding! I'm not just gonna dump Scott on you and leave man! Besides! this just means we have a reason to hang out all the time!" Stiles was already beginning to bounce in his seat out of excitement.

"Just one question real quick though, what the hell is an Alpha?"