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Entry tags:
SUICA 011 .stalk the clouds in the sky.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairing: Sterek, Stiles, Derek, Laura, Cora, Scott, Sheriff Stilinski
Rating: T
Word Count: 6,627
Synopsis: The first time Stiles was arrested, it was all a misunderstanding, really.
The first time Stiles was arrested, it was all a misunderstanding, really. He'd honestly just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. This was a statement he gave freely, shouting it at the top of his lungs as he struggled wildly--and uselessly--in the grip of King Kong, who was currently masquerading as one of Beacon Hills' deputies.
“If you'll just come this way, Miss Darrow, we can drive you over to the station and get this all sorted out,” said Deputy Hale 1, smiling patiently at him. She was Stiles' favorite of the three, and not just because of her thorough knowledge of classic films. Deputy Hale 2, known in other circles as the Eighth Wonder of the World, seemed to spend all his time rolling his eyes aggressively, while Deputy Hale 3 was more of the smirking and the handcuff-fondling and the muttering “resisting arrest, I see” sort of variety. Deputy Hale 3 was definitely the freakiest, though Stiles figured he couldn't really blame her for the power high--he vaguely remembered having attended elementary school with her before her whole family had packed it up and moved a few hours north, and everyone who'd known him as a kid seemed to have some sort of unresolved vendetta against him. Harris, for example, had once been in charge of a Summer Science Shindig for second graders, a three-month event that had left both Stiles and Harris traumatized.
Anyway, the facts, as Stiles was eventually able to explain, were as follows:
He was driving back from Berkeley, still riding high on the successful completion of his Bachelor's degree--as valedictorian; take that, Lydia--when he thought he saw something on the side of the road. It was difficult to make out what it was in the dark, but it was large and blocking half the lane, so he pulled over to call it in. As he stopped the jeep, though, the illumination of his headlights allowed him to get a better look at the object, and he--
“Fainted,” breathed Deputy Hale 3, delighted. With the revelation of this new, wonderful blackmail material, she lost all semblance of professional composure, if indeed she'd ever possessed any. “You seriously fainted. Oh my god, Stilinski--”
“Excuse me, it was an extremely gruesome scene! Blood and guts and gore, just--everywhere, and her eyes were just staring blankly at me, I can't even.” Stiles shivered, and Deputy Hale 2 took a break from his eye-rolling to shrug out of his uniform jacket and wrap it around Stiles' shoulders.
“Do you need something to drink?” he asked. “We have coffee, tea, hot chocolate, water...” Deputy Hale 2 had a smooth, pleasant voice when he wasn't growling orders, Stiles noticed--though he'd admittedly rather enjoyed the growling, too.
Stiles shook his head mutely, feeling warm and flustered and a little confused. His King Kong analogy was failing him. He also might need to reevaluate his list of Hale favorites, which was embarrassing.
Deputy Hale 1 chose that moment to reenter the interrogation room, still wearing her calm smile. “Thank you for giving us your statement, Mr. Stilinski,” she told him, nodding at the other two deputies, who both stood in one movement. “We appreciate your cooperation. You're free to go.”
“That's it? What about the body? Who did that?” Stiles frowned at Deputy Hale 1, suddenly realizing that her smile was harder to read than a poker face.
Deputy Hale 3 grabbed Stiles by the elbow and dragged him toward the door, which Deputy Hale 2 was holding open.
“We're still continuing our investigation,” answered Deputy Hale 1 as Stiles was shoved out of the room. “But preliminary autopsy reports suggest that she may have been attacked by a mountain lion.”
“A mountain lion?” repeated Stiles, stunned, as the door closed in his face. “A...mountain lion?”
--
Okay, don't get him wrong, here, Stiles knew attacks by mountain lions happened, and he knew they were gruesome and horrible when they did. He knew this in great detail, in fact, due to all the truly extensive research he'd done six years before when he'd been in desperate need to explain away a series of mauled bodies. He knew what mountain lion attacks looked like, and he knew exactly how to make something not committed by a mountain lion look as though it had been.
“Scotty,” Stiles whispered into his phone, cautious even from the relative safety of his old bedroom in his dad's house.
“...iles?” There was some indistinct muttering, and then a clatter. “Oh fu--what time is it?”
“Oh, come on, it's barely four.”
“...In the morning?”
Stiles sighed. “Yes, Scott. In the morning.”
“Why would you do this to me?”
“Scott, there's been a mountain lion attack.”
“Wait, what? Is everyone alright?” Scott sounded much more awake.
“A woman died. I don't know who.” Stiles allowed Scott a moment to process this, then asked hesitantly, “Scotty...do you think it really is a mountain lion?”
Stiles could hear the slow out-take of Scott's breath through the phone. “What are you implying, Stiles?” His voice sounded stiff and cold.
Okay, that had sounded bad. “I mean...you don't think there might be another unregistered, uh, individual of the lupine persuasion wandering around Beacon Hills, do you? Would you be able to tell?”
Stiles could hear Scott relax. “I don't know...yeah, I think I would. I mean, I knew right away when the Hales came back.”
Stiles bit his lip, nodding thoughtfully. “And you haven't noticed anything?”
“Not a thing.”
“Okay. But you'll be careful anyway, right?”
“I will. I take that gross crap you and Deaton made me every day. No one'll be able to scent me.”
“Good. I'll see you tomorrow?”
“You'll see me today, ugh. Go to sleep, Stiles.”
“Yeah, yeah...”
So maybe he was just being paranoid. After all, the Hales would have known right away if the attacker had been another werewolf...
Unless it had been using the same potion as Scott to stay under the radar. Unless they had known, and were covering for it like Stiles had covered for Scott.
But no, Stiles and Deaton had invented that potion themselves, and Scott had attacked deer and rabbits and stuff, not—not people. There was no way the Hales would cover up something like that.
Would they?
Stiles glanced at his desk, where Deputy Hale 2's uniform jacket was lying carefully folded.
Ugh. The last thing he needed right now was a case of the warm and fuzzies over a suspected accomplice in a murder.
...A murder that had probably never happened. A murder that was probably actually the tragic death of a woman at the hands of a wild animal. A murder that was probably being blown out of proportion by Stiles' guilt over well-intentioned deeds long past.
Stiles sighed. This, he decided, was a mystery best solved in the daylight.
--
The second time Stiles was arrested, it was slightly less innocent. He’d returned to the station the following day, bearing lunch for his dad--to keep him distracted--and Deputy Hale 2’s uniform jacket--as an excuse to get close and personal with the deputy’s desk drawers. He was just helping himself to the crime scene photos from the night before when a gruff voice demanded, “What are you doing?”
Stiles jumped, but managed to suppress his instinctive squeal. Mostly. “Deputy Hale 2! What a surprise to see you--at your place of employment.”
“My name is Derek,” the deputy replied, unimpressed. “And I believe I asked you a question.”
“I know your name,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes before fortuitously remembering that he had a carefully constructed excuse. “I was just returning your jacket! Thank you for loaning it to me last night, by the way. I was pretty shaken up.”
Derek the Second Deputy Hale’s eyes softened slightly, but he didn’t forget to nod pointedly at the photos spread across his desk. “And these?”
“I, uh, well…I just, uh--”
The door to the Sheriff’s office banged open. “Stiles. Office. Now.” The Sheriff did not sound pleased.
Stiles winced. “How about you just lock me up in a cell for a few days and let me skip the lecture from my dad?”
Derek’s mouth remained serious, but the corners of his eyes were crinkled with laughter. “Not an option, sorry.”
The walk to the Sheriff’s office was short, but it was filled with so many commiserating glances and sympathetic looks as to make it feel twice as long. Or maybe it was that he was dragging his feet dramatically. Still, even Deputy Hale 3, who was leaning against the door frame in the signature pose of the common tattle-tale, patted him on the shoulder and told him, “Buck up, Stilinski--you can’t help it that you were dropped on your head as a baby.”
Stiles tried to scowl, but found himself sniggering instead, especially when a voice from within the office snapped, “Hale!” and she scurried off, flapping her fingers in something like a wave.
Stiles took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Okay, so he didn’t actually get arrested that time, but it probably would have been less painful if he had.
To make matters worse, when he finally left the station, he caught a glimpse of Derek surreptitiously sniffing the uniform jacket Stiles had returned to him. Ugh, Stiles had probably been a sweaty and gross mess last night, and Derek was a werewolf, of course he could smell it even though Stiles hadn’t been able to. Talk about embarrassing. Stiles knew he should have taken it to a dry cleaner, even if it would have taken forever to get it back to Derek.
The upshot of the situation--no one asked to go through his phone, upon which he now had copies of all the crime scene photos. So at least there was that.
--
After all that extracurricular activity, though, Stiles had to spend time doing some actual paid labor. He’d been promised a job as a translator and archivist at the Beacon Hills Cultural Center for the Supernatural Community--the largest of its kind in the country--before he’d even graduated from Berkeley, and though the hours he spent physically present at the CCSC were more or less up to him, he’d already received some project information with deadlines attached, and he didn’t want to fall behind on his first official work week.
It wasn’t until around 9pm that he was shaken out of his translation of a rare Bestiary by a text message from Scott.
Scotty McScott 21:03
sry im late dude i just got out of surgery u still in?
Oh yeah. Stiles tapped out a reply and cleaned up his work station. By the time he made it to the front door to lock up, Scott was already there, waiting for him.
Stiles scowled at him. “Dude, what the hell? Did you run here?”
“Yeah, but it’s cool.”
“Scott, seriously?” hissed Stiles, “You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember?”
“It’s fine, Stiles--no one saw me. Where do you want to eat?”
They ate at the diner, of course, just like they always did.
Scott spent the first part of their dinner chattering away about his day at the vet clinic, preventing Stiles from bringing up the suspicions he’d developed the night before. This turned out to be lucky, as the Deputy Hales sauntered into the diner not long after Stiles and Scott had ordered their drinks.
“Stilinski,” smirked Deputy Hale 3 dangerously. “I see you’ve recovered from earlier.” She seemed angry about something, which was weird; where they’d left off earlier, she’d been snarky and a little nasty, but her teasing had still felt friendly.
“...I guess?” Stiles replied, uneasy.
“You don’t mind if we join you, do you Stilinski?” she continued sweetly. “It seems like all the other tables are already taken.”
Stiles looked around at the half-empty diner, eyebrows raised.
“Cora,” growled Derek warningly.
“Oh, come on, Derek--we’re all friends here, aren’t we?” When she smiled, a tiny hint of fang poked at her lower lip.
Stiles glanced at Deputy Hale 1, who shrugged, amused. Your choice, her expression seemed to say.
Stiles sighed, defeated. “Scotty, meet our new dinner companions, Deputy Hale 1, Derek, and Deputy Hale 3.”
Scott waved at them good-naturedly. “Is there a reason only Derek has a name?” he asked, grinning.
“Yes,” answered Stiles. “Deputies, this is Scott McCall, my life-long best friend slash might-as-well-be-my-brother.”
Deputy Hale 3 perked up a bit at that. “Brother?” Her eyes flickered to Derek conspicuously. “So this isn’t a date?”
Scott and Stiles made identical horrified faces, though they were used to that question by now. “Don’t be gross,” Stiles told her primly. “Scott is just not boyfriend material.”
Scott tried to feign offense through his laughter. “Hey, who was it who talked you down at 4am this morning?”
“Derek,” Stiles replied promptly, pointing to the man unnecessarily. “He also loaned me his uniform jacket and offered me a hot beverage.”
Both of Scott’s eyebrows shot up, and he regarded Derek with a thoughtful smile. “Is that why you get a name?”
Derek dismissed that with an easy wave of his hand, but his ears were bright red. “I get a name because I told him what it was.”
“Oh, please,” scoffed Deputy Hale 3. “He knows all our names already.”
“Yeah,” Stiles interjected, “but not from you guys, and it feels weird to just start calling people by their first names when we’ve only been introduced in a professional setting.”
Scott and the Hales stared at Stiles doubtfully.
“I mean,” he continued, “I did go to grade school with you,” he jabbed a finger at Deputy Hale 3, “but I’m kind of of the opinion that we should just pretend that anything I said or did before the age of 18 just didn’t happen. Those were bad years.”
They rolled their eyes as one, even Scott, and Deputy Hale 1 reached across the table to offer him her hand. “Call me Laura,” she said as he shook her hand, bemused.
Deputy Hale 3 sighed resignedly and slung her arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “And I guess you can call me Cora. I can be your might-as-well-be-sister.”
Stiles laughed as something warm and happy spread through him. “Sure thing.”
From across the table, Derek smiled at him, ears pink. Stiles smiled back, feeling a little pink himself.
--
Stiles squinted at the photo in his hand. Then he tried tilting his head to one side. No luck.
He sighed, leaning back in his desk chair and rubbing his forehead. Despite his careful analysis of the photos from the crime scene, he couldn’t find any evidence that the body had been tampered with. To all appearances, even to his expert eye, the attack had been the work of a mountain lion.
What was he missing? He needed more information.
His phone buzzed with an incoming message--another project update from the CCSC. Time for work.
Translating handwritten, decaying texts from Archaic Latin into English was sometimes like solving a puzzle. Stiles found the process engrossing and addictive, and that was to say nothing of the subject matter, which was fascinating in its own right. Going to work felt like taking a break--not just from his informal investigation, but also from the mundanities of his daily life--in a way that he’d once associated with movie marathons and Call of Duty.
Without a pre-arranged reminder like he’d received from Scott the night before, there was nothing to pull Stiles from his work stupor until he finished the manuscript he’d been translating. He looked up and blinked at the sight of the room swimming around him.
02:31:07 read the digital clock on his computer. Crap.
He managed to stumble out of the building twenty minutes later, yawning as he locked up. No point in trying for dinner, he decided. Sleep first, huge meal later.
Stiles headed for his jeep, mentally cataloging the contents of his fridge and how he could turn them into an eight-course breakfast. He absently noted the puddle when he stepped into it, but didn’t really think anything of it until he tripped on something big lying in the deserted parking lot. He cursed, trying to catch his footing, then scowled down at the object he’d stumbled upon, trying to force his tired eyes to focus in the spare lighting. As his vision cleared, his stomach clenched. He screamed.
Then he threw up.
--
Derek found him in the station, wet-cheeked and shaking. Derek wasn’t in his uniform, and Stiles wondered absently why he was there if he wasn’t on duty.
Derek passed him a steaming mug and sat down next to him in the seat only recently vacated by the Sheriff.
“Thanks,” whispered Stiles, curling a little further in on himself. Derek must have noticed, because in the next moment, Stiles felt a jacket wrap around his shoulders, this one made of black leather of the bad-boy variety. Despite everything, that was almost enough to make Stiles smile. Definitely his favorite Hale. “I’ll try not to smell this one up.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asked quietly, ignoring Stiles’ inane attempt at small-talk.
Stiles looked over at him, seeing for the first time how the casual clothes gentled his appearance and softened his edges, even as the thin henley and tight jeans outlined his powerful muscles. Derek’s chin was covered in dark shadow, and his eyes were strained with concern.
“No,” Stiles said finally. “Or maybe yes. I don’t know.”
He searched Derek’s expression, but it was empty of any sign of mockery. Stiles took a deep breath to steady himself. “So I must reek of vomit; I’m sure you can guess what happened there. And I--I waded through the blood, oh my god, and I tripped on the body, and it was so dark, and I was so tired, I didn’t realize anything was wrong at first, and when I did, god.” Stiles had to stop to swallow the rising bile.
Derek’s hand moved to rub circles over Stiles’ lower back. “What were you doing out so late?” There was nothing accusatory in his tone.
“I got caught up at work and was only just heading home--yeah, I know,” Stiles sighed, catching Derek’s expression, “my dad already reamed me out for that. I just didn’t realize it’d gotten so late, you know?”
“Give me your cell phone.”
“What? Why?” Stiles was already retrieving the device from his pocket and pressing it into Derek’s hands even as he asked the question. He took a sip of his drink--some kind of herbal tea, as it turned out--while watching Derek call himself on Stiles’ phone, saving his own number to Stiles’ contact list in the process.
“From now on, I’m going to call you every evening at 6pm, and if I’m not satisfied that you’re heading out the door, I’m going to come over there and drag you out myself, even if I have to carry you.”
Stiles flushed, wondering if Derek knew that his words sounded less like a threat and more like an incentive. “Not 6,” he protested weakly, “that’s way too early. I’ll have barely even started anything.”
“Eight, then,” Derek countered, eyes intense as they stared into Stiles’. “This is important, Stiles. The Sheriff will be enforcing a 9pm curfew, anyway.”
“Fine.” Stiles looked away, gripping his cooling mug of tea more tightly. “So, uh, what’s the verdict on this one? Another mountain lion?”
“Probably the same one,” Derek replied. “Laura said it smelled the same, anyway.”
“So...it’s definitely a cougar? Absolutely positively for sure?”
Derek frowned at him. “It’s not exactly an easy scent to fake.” His nose wrinkled in memory, and Stiles struggled not to find the expression adorable. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing, it’s just...it seems kind of weird, that’s all. Do they normally come this far into a city?”
Derek’s lips twitched. “I wouldn’t exactly call this a city.” He shrugged. “No, not usually, but it happens.”
Derek’s hand stilled on Stiles’ back, and he looked up to see his father approaching them. “Come on, kid,” his dad said gently, “I’ll give you a ride home. We’ll pick up your jeep tomorrow, okay?” As Stiles nodded in agreement and slowly stood, the Sheriff’s eyes shifted to Derek. “Hale,” he acknowledged, eyebrows raised.
“Sir,” Derek returned calmly before turning back to Stiles. “I’ll be calling you tomorrow night. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.” Stiles hesitated. “Derek,” he began, feeling himself turn red. “You can call me about other things, too. Or text me. Not just as part of your alarm clock duty, I mean.” Stiles grabbed his father’s arm and tugged him away before his embarrassment could reach fatal levels.
Behind him, he heard a quiet, “okay,” and when he looked back, Derek was smiling.
--
Derek Hale 11:21am
Watch out for Cora.
“Helpful,” Stiles muttered, watching as Deputy Cora Hale made a beeline toward him, smirk firmly in place.
The Sheriff shot him an amused look. “I’ll be in my office. You sure you don’t want me to drop you off at the CCSC to pick up your jeep?”
“Nah, I’m hungry, and I was hoping Derek would take pity on me and take me out to lunch during his break.”
The two of them looked over at Derek, who was sitting at his desk going over some files, ears bright red. When Derek chanced a glance in their direction, Stiles put on his most pathetic, pleading expression. Derek’s ears somehow turned even darker, and he quickly looked down again, attempting--and failing--to scowl.
“Good luck with that,” said the Sheriff dryly. “If you inexplicably find yourself stranded at the station, heartbroken and starving, just remember: I offered, you said no. Door closed.”
“Gee, thanks, Dad,” whined Stiles as the Sheriff walked away. “Really feeling the love, here!” He turned to Cora. “Alright, what do you want?”
“Oh, nothing that need keep you from your romantic luncheon, Stilinski. I just have a few ideas on how to catch our murderous mountain lion.”
Stiles’ head shut up, his attention fully engaged. “What, seriously? How?” He hadn’t missed her use of the word ‘murderous’; murder was something people did, not animals. Did the Hales know more than they were letting on?
“Yeah, see, it hit me when I was rudely awakened in the middle of the night and dragged along to a crime scene four hours before I was due in to work anyway: why don’t we just get you to wander around the edge of town between the hours of 2 and 4 am and follow you? We’ll surely catch something. After all, you’ve already discovered 100% of the bodies, haven’t you?”
“Cora,” growled Derek, tone warning. Stiles hadn’t even heard him come up. “It’s not funny. Drop it.”
“Wait, do you think he’s after me?” Stiles felt a cold fear slide through him. What would a rogue omega want with him?
Both Cora and Derek were giving him incredulous looks. “Stiles,” said Derek carefully, “it’s a mountain lion. It’s not targeting anyone in particular.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” How could they be sticking to the cover story at a time like this?
Derek and Cora exchanged bemused glances. “I’ll tell you what.” Derek smiled at Stiles, meeting his eyes shyly. “I’ll stick close to you, just in case. I’ll drop you off at the CCSC after lunch, and I’ll pick you up after work. 8 o’clock, right?”
Stiles brightened up considerably. “Sure, that sounds great. Does this mean we’re having dinner and lunch together today? My, my, you do move quickly, Mr. Hale.”
Derek flushed, and Cora burst out laughing. “I’m having dinner with my sisters,” he managed. “But--” he looked across the room to meet Laura’s eyes, then turned to Cora, who tilted her head very slightly to the side. “If you want, you’re welcome to join us.” He was staring at Stiles with such a nervous expression that Stiles almost melted.
“Sounds fun,” he said, clearing his throat. “Are you ready for lunch, then?”
Derek smiled. “I’m ready.”
“Great! Then Cora and--” he waved vaguely in the direction of the long-distance eavesdropper, “--Laura, I’ll see you some time after 8.” He tugged at Derek’s arm. “Shall we?”
--
Scotty McScott 12:57pm
omg i heard the news ru ok?
“You’re still wearing my jacket,” Derek commented as he pulled into the CCSC parking lot next to the jeep. Stiles was a little surprised he hadn’t mentioned it earlier--but then, they hadn’t had time for much conversation around all the blushing and the shy glances that had dominated their lunch date.
Stiles shot Derek a winning smile. “Yep! It’s warm and comfortable and stylish. Sorry, Derek, but you might never get it back.”
Derek looked absurdly pleased at Stiles’ high-handed declaration. “That’s fine,” he shrugged. “It…” He paused to clear his throat. “It looks good on you,” he finished quickly, ears turning their habitual red.
Stiles laughed. “Thanks, but it looks better on you, I promise. I’m just teasing, you know. I’m not actually on a mission here to steal the clothes off your back.”
“It’s fine,” said Derek more firmly. “I--like that you’re wearing it.”
“Great.” Stiles fiddled with the jacket sleeves. “I, uh, I should probably head in. Thanks for the ride. And lunch.”
“It was no problem. I had a great time.”
As Stiles grabbed his bag and opened the car door, he turned to Derek and said impishly, “What, no kiss?”
He suddenly found himself being tugged back into the car, a hand cupping the back of his head and pulling him in for a very long, very thorough meeting of mouths.
“Oh,” gasped Stiles when Derek finally moved back. He licked his lips, hoping they weren’t as swollen as he suspected they were. His coworkers would never let him hear the end of it.
Derek shot him a rather smug grin as he released him. “I’ll see you tonight, Stiles,” he promised.
“Yeah,” Stiles stumbled as he exited the car and almost got caught in the door. He flushed, glancing back, but Derek was still smiling at him fondly. “Tonight.”
--
Work was fine until the Center closed for the day, and Stiles’ few co-workers began filtering out the door on their way home.
Sitting alone in the huge building, watching the sky darken and the shadows cast by the artificial light grow longer and longer, Stiles maybe got a little bit scared.
Just a little bit, mind.
The tiny, minuscule, barely noticeable flicker of fear he may or may not have felt was exacerbated by the subject material of the text he was currently archiving, an Ancient Hunters’ manual containing a detailed account of the means by which various supernatural creatures dismembered their human victims.
Ugh. Too soon, seriously.
Stiles was ready and eager to be gone by the time 8 o’clock rolled around, but he was also unwilling to exit the building by himself, so he was instead reduced to sitting, jacket on, clutching his phone in anticipation of a text announcing Derek’s arrival. Centuries later, it finally came:
Derek Hale 20:03
Stay inside.
Huh. Stiles stared at his phone for a long moment. That was…not at all comforting.
Everything okay? He typed back, fingers shaking.
There was a clatter somewhere on the far side of the building. Stiles swallowed.
Derek Hale 20:05
Don’t know. Checking.
Seriously? Derek really needed a better bedside manner.
There was the soft pat of footsteps far down the hall. Definitely not a mountain lion, unless they were wearing shoes these days.
Tell me that’s you I’m hearing.
Stiles held his breath, his heartbeat seeming to echo in the stillness of the room.
Derek Hale 20:06
No. Where are you?
The door behind him opened with a squeal. Stiles turned slowly in his chair, terror thumping through him.
Derek Hale 20:06
Stiles?
“Stiles?”
“Oh, shit, fuck, Scott, you scared the crap out of me, holy shit.”
Stiles was possibly crying, but if he was, it was fine. Scott was his bro; he wouldn’t judge.
“I was pretty freaked out, too, dude. You didn’t respond to my message earlier, and I didn’t know what had gone down with the attack last night--”
“Shit, sorry, I had this lunch date with Derek--shit, Derek--hold on, Scott--” Stiles scrambled for his phone. “It’s...fine...just...Scott…” he muttered as he typed. “We’re...in...the...south...wing...study.”
Scott froze. “Wait, is Derek...here?”
“Yeah, he came to pick me up, since the last attack happened just outside in the parking lot. I’ve sort of been a wreck about it.”
“Derek Hale is here?” Scot asked again, urgently.
Stiles froze, relief finally giving way to suspicion. “...Yes? Why?”
“I...possibly was so overcome with worry today that I may have forgotten to take my potion?” Scott tried.
Stiles choked on air. “You--what--”
“...And I maybe ran here from the clinic?”
“Oh my god, Scott, what the hell were you--”
There was a roar, and then Stiles was being shoved back with Derek crouched between him and Scott, snarling and still in his deputy uniform.
And, of course, in the next moment Scott was snarling back, eyes glowing gold.
Ugh.
“Derek,” Stiles snapped, grabbing Derek's arm. “You met Scott the other day, remember? In the diner?”
Derek's eyes flickered from Scott to Stiles and back to Scott. “He's a werewolf.”
“Yeah, so? You are, too, so don't go throwing stones here. Come on, you know Scott's safe, so cut the growling.”
“What I know,” Derek snapped, teeth flashing, “is that there were no registered werewolves in Beacon Hills until my sisters and I came back. What I know is that your might-as-well-be-brother is an unregistered omega and therefore a danger to everyone around him. What I know is that when I met him in the diner, he didn't smell even slightly like a werewolf. Now that I'm thinking about it, he didn't smell like anything. Do you want to explain any of this to me, Stiles?”
Stiles clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the betrayed expression in Derek's eyes. He was not going to feel guilty about this, damn it.
“What I know,” came a new voice, “is that we all need to calm down.” Stiles looked to see Laura and Cora leaning in the doorway, regarding the scene with serious eyes. When neither Derek nor Scott made any move to stand down, Laura's eyes flashed red. “Now.” Stiles watched as Derek and Scott's bodies relaxed from their fighting stances seemingly against their will. “Why don't we all head down to the lobby?” Laura suggested mildly. “We'll be able to sit down, grab some snacks from the vending machines, and you two,” her eyes snapped between Scott and Stiles, “can explain very slowly and in great detail exactly what is going on here.”
No one raised any objections--but then, Stiles wasn't so sure anyone was capable of arguing against Laura's red eyes.
--
So Scott had been bitten six or so years previously by a rogue alpha who’d been raging through California. He’d bitten two other people in Beacon Hills alone, but both of his other victims had died from the bite.
This was all happening around the same time that the Sins of the Father movement was getting off the ground--there were protests all over the place screaming that people bitten by violent werewolves inherited all the evil or crazy or whatever in the bite, and--
“We’re familiar with that particular political movement, Stiles.”
--the laws governing werewolves were even stricter due to the rising popularity of the movement’s mindset.
“Even so, he wouldn’t have been arrested just for being the victim of a forced bite, not even back then.”
The officials kept a close eye on all these new wolves, ostensibly for their own protection, but almost all the werewolves who registered as having been newly bitten by a violent offender? They ended up serving life in prison, usually for ridiculously minor control offenses, ones that could have been easily avoided if they’d just been assigned a mentor--
“You made this observation, but you still chose to leave Scott illegally unregistered rather than attempt to find him a mentor?”
--Which Scott and Stiles would have looked for, too, of course, except the very first night after Scott was bitten, he’s slept-walked into the preserve. When he found his way back, well, he was covered in blood--deer, mostly, and some rabbit, but that would have been enough evidence of a violent temperament to send him to prison for life, so they just...forgot to register Scott--
“He only did this one time?”
--especially when it kept on happening, night after night.
“I don’t remember seeing reports on this. Surely someone noticed all the dead wildlife.”
Stiles had disguised the mauled carcasses as mountain lion attacks. There’d been no werewolf deputies back then, so there’d been no reason for the authorities to doubt the physical evidence he’d left behind. Still, Scott and Stiles knew that just because there hadn’t been any werewolves to sniff Scott out at the time, that didn’t mean there wouldn’t ever be. The local vet helped Stiles design a potion that would mask Scott’s scent and hide him from other werewolves, just in case someone came looking. Scott eventually got himself under control, and now--
“Now, I have to decide what to do with the two of you,” Laura sighed, shaking her head.
“If it helps, I have him fully house-trained,” Stiles tried. The werewolves all shot him dirty looks.
Laura drummed her fingers on the plastic armrest of her chair, frowning at him. “You’re not afraid,” she mused.
“No?”
“It never occurred to you that he might hurt you?”
“Not really. I mean, yeah, I guess he might by accident or something, but he’s still Scott, even if he’s suddenly a little hairier and fangier than he was.”
Derek was staring at him with an intense look in his eyes, and Stiles shifted uncomfortably.
“Well, I’m not willing to let the status quo lie,” Laura stated decisively. “But I don’t know how to get you registered without making things extremely difficult for all of us. I’m going to have to think on this for a while. Scott, I’ll need your number, and you will take mine,” she informed him, tone leaving no room for arguments.
Scott nodded jerkily and reached into his pocket hurriedly to grab his phone, but when he pulled it out, something else fell out with it.
“Is that an...inhaler?” Cora eyed him uncertainly. “You do realize that werewolves don’t need those, right?”
Scott shrugged, handing Laura his phone and pocketing the inhaler. “Yeah, but no one’s supposed to know I’m a werewolf, remember? I used to have really bad asthma, so I pretend I still do.”
There was a long pause as the other werewolves seemed to process this.
“...How bad?” asked Laura finally.
“What?”
“How bad was the asthma?”
“Oh, really bad. I had to be hospitalized a few times. My mom was always terrified for me.” Scott looked around at the three carefully blank faces before him. “...Am I missing something here?”
“Maybe,” Laura replied. “I’m going to call my mom and Uncle Peter and get some updated legal information. If what I learn is good, I may have a solution for you, Scott.”
As they watched Laura walk away, Stiles frowned. “Your mom...wait, is she still an alpha?” At Derek and Cora’s nod, Stiles continued, “Then how…?”
“Laura killed a rogue alpha in the line of duty last year, defending a church full of orphaned kittens or whatever--”
“Cora.”
“And she inherited that alpha’s power. When things got a little awkward between her and mom, Laura chose to come back here to our old territory to begin her reign of terror--”
“Cora.”
“And Derek and I decided to follow. With any luck, she’s about to gain one new beta and have a full-sized pack.”
At Stiles and Scott’s blank looks, Cora rolled her eyes. “You, McCall.”
“How…?”
“Alphas have the legal right to bite willing humans who are terminally ill or injured. And asthma attacks can be fatal.” She gave him a slightly sour look. “Guess this means you’re about to be my might-as-well-be-brother, too.”
Scott let out a whoop and leapt onto Cora and Derek both, glomping them, while Stiles stood by and laughed at their horrified expressions.
--
“So, Scott, how does it feel to be a werewolf?” asked the Sheriff, leaning against the Stilinski front door. “You holding up okay?”
Stiles sniggered, grunting when both Scott and Cora elbowed him from opposite sides.
“Oh, you know,” replied Scott uneasily. “It feels...different?”
Stiles burst out laughing. The Sheriff frowned at him disapprovingly.
“It’s okay, though,” Scott choked out.
“I’m glad to hear it. We were worried about you. Good thing our Alpha Hale was on hand.” He nodded to Laura, who simply smiled back.
“Thank you.” Scott bit his lip, clearly touched. “Everyone’s been a lot of help.”
The Sheriff patted him on the shoulder and wandered back inside the house with a wave to the group crowded outside his door.
Stiles turned to Scott and the Hales, who had taken to dropping him off at home after dinner at the diner. “So, how do you feel, Scott?” Stiles gasped dramatically and snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait, you already said! You feel so differe--holy shit, what the fuck is that?”
Everyone wheeled around to face the street, searching for whatever Stiles had seen in the dark.
“Oh, hey,” said Scott brightly. “It’s the mountain lion!”
Cora took off after their feline foe, while Laura went to her squad car to call it in.
“I can’t believe it,” grumbled Stiles. “It really was a mountain lion? No way.”
“What did you think it was?” asked Derek.
Scott grinned. “Stiles thought it was a rogue omega disguising its kills as mountain lion attacks.”
“Scott,” whined Stiles while Derek stared at them incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be chasing it, too?” he asked Derek grouchily.
Derek’s lips twitched. “Cora’s got it well in hand, and Laura’s going to help her, anyway,” he replied. “You can go with them, too, if you want,” Derek told Scott.
“Well,” said Stiles breezily, “I hate to leave you outdoors when there’s a wild animal roaming the streets. Do you want to come inside? Not you, Scotty--you’re on your own.”
Scott rolled his eyes at him, already turning away to follow Cora.
“My boss is in there,” Derek replied reproachfully.
“I meant to talk, not to--he’s my dad, never mind your boss, oh my god, I wouldn’t--not until I have my own apartment, anyway, not while he’s home.”
“You know,” mused Derek. “I do have an apartment, and both of my roommates appear to be busy with work at the moment…”
There was a delicate pause.
Stiles turned around and opened his front door. “Dad, I’m staying at Derek’s tonight!”
“Use protection!” came the response from inside.
Stiles closed the door again and looked up at Derek. “Shall we?” he asked cheerfully.
When Laura and Cora got home, they made a big deal of sniffing the air and making grossed-out faces, but they still smiled at him. “Hey Stilinski,” announced Cora, “You need a new familial catch-phrase. ‘Might-as-well-be-brother-in-law’ is just ridiculous.”
Stiles saluted her lazily from the couch, where he was snuggled in against Derek. “I’ll work on that.”
--END--
Characters/Pairing: Sterek, Stiles, Derek, Laura, Cora, Scott, Sheriff Stilinski
Rating: T
Word Count: 6,627
Synopsis: The first time Stiles was arrested, it was all a misunderstanding, really.
The first time Stiles was arrested, it was all a misunderstanding, really. He'd honestly just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. This was a statement he gave freely, shouting it at the top of his lungs as he struggled wildly--and uselessly--in the grip of King Kong, who was currently masquerading as one of Beacon Hills' deputies.
“If you'll just come this way, Miss Darrow, we can drive you over to the station and get this all sorted out,” said Deputy Hale 1, smiling patiently at him. She was Stiles' favorite of the three, and not just because of her thorough knowledge of classic films. Deputy Hale 2, known in other circles as the Eighth Wonder of the World, seemed to spend all his time rolling his eyes aggressively, while Deputy Hale 3 was more of the smirking and the handcuff-fondling and the muttering “resisting arrest, I see” sort of variety. Deputy Hale 3 was definitely the freakiest, though Stiles figured he couldn't really blame her for the power high--he vaguely remembered having attended elementary school with her before her whole family had packed it up and moved a few hours north, and everyone who'd known him as a kid seemed to have some sort of unresolved vendetta against him. Harris, for example, had once been in charge of a Summer Science Shindig for second graders, a three-month event that had left both Stiles and Harris traumatized.
Anyway, the facts, as Stiles was eventually able to explain, were as follows:
He was driving back from Berkeley, still riding high on the successful completion of his Bachelor's degree--as valedictorian; take that, Lydia--when he thought he saw something on the side of the road. It was difficult to make out what it was in the dark, but it was large and blocking half the lane, so he pulled over to call it in. As he stopped the jeep, though, the illumination of his headlights allowed him to get a better look at the object, and he--
“Fainted,” breathed Deputy Hale 3, delighted. With the revelation of this new, wonderful blackmail material, she lost all semblance of professional composure, if indeed she'd ever possessed any. “You seriously fainted. Oh my god, Stilinski--”
“Excuse me, it was an extremely gruesome scene! Blood and guts and gore, just--everywhere, and her eyes were just staring blankly at me, I can't even.” Stiles shivered, and Deputy Hale 2 took a break from his eye-rolling to shrug out of his uniform jacket and wrap it around Stiles' shoulders.
“Do you need something to drink?” he asked. “We have coffee, tea, hot chocolate, water...” Deputy Hale 2 had a smooth, pleasant voice when he wasn't growling orders, Stiles noticed--though he'd admittedly rather enjoyed the growling, too.
Stiles shook his head mutely, feeling warm and flustered and a little confused. His King Kong analogy was failing him. He also might need to reevaluate his list of Hale favorites, which was embarrassing.
Deputy Hale 1 chose that moment to reenter the interrogation room, still wearing her calm smile. “Thank you for giving us your statement, Mr. Stilinski,” she told him, nodding at the other two deputies, who both stood in one movement. “We appreciate your cooperation. You're free to go.”
“That's it? What about the body? Who did that?” Stiles frowned at Deputy Hale 1, suddenly realizing that her smile was harder to read than a poker face.
Deputy Hale 3 grabbed Stiles by the elbow and dragged him toward the door, which Deputy Hale 2 was holding open.
“We're still continuing our investigation,” answered Deputy Hale 1 as Stiles was shoved out of the room. “But preliminary autopsy reports suggest that she may have been attacked by a mountain lion.”
“A mountain lion?” repeated Stiles, stunned, as the door closed in his face. “A...mountain lion?”
--
Okay, don't get him wrong, here, Stiles knew attacks by mountain lions happened, and he knew they were gruesome and horrible when they did. He knew this in great detail, in fact, due to all the truly extensive research he'd done six years before when he'd been in desperate need to explain away a series of mauled bodies. He knew what mountain lion attacks looked like, and he knew exactly how to make something not committed by a mountain lion look as though it had been.
“Scotty,” Stiles whispered into his phone, cautious even from the relative safety of his old bedroom in his dad's house.
“...iles?” There was some indistinct muttering, and then a clatter. “Oh fu--what time is it?”
“Oh, come on, it's barely four.”
“...In the morning?”
Stiles sighed. “Yes, Scott. In the morning.”
“Why would you do this to me?”
“Scott, there's been a mountain lion attack.”
“Wait, what? Is everyone alright?” Scott sounded much more awake.
“A woman died. I don't know who.” Stiles allowed Scott a moment to process this, then asked hesitantly, “Scotty...do you think it really is a mountain lion?”
Stiles could hear the slow out-take of Scott's breath through the phone. “What are you implying, Stiles?” His voice sounded stiff and cold.
Okay, that had sounded bad. “I mean...you don't think there might be another unregistered, uh, individual of the lupine persuasion wandering around Beacon Hills, do you? Would you be able to tell?”
Stiles could hear Scott relax. “I don't know...yeah, I think I would. I mean, I knew right away when the Hales came back.”
Stiles bit his lip, nodding thoughtfully. “And you haven't noticed anything?”
“Not a thing.”
“Okay. But you'll be careful anyway, right?”
“I will. I take that gross crap you and Deaton made me every day. No one'll be able to scent me.”
“Good. I'll see you tomorrow?”
“You'll see me today, ugh. Go to sleep, Stiles.”
“Yeah, yeah...”
So maybe he was just being paranoid. After all, the Hales would have known right away if the attacker had been another werewolf...
Unless it had been using the same potion as Scott to stay under the radar. Unless they had known, and were covering for it like Stiles had covered for Scott.
But no, Stiles and Deaton had invented that potion themselves, and Scott had attacked deer and rabbits and stuff, not—not people. There was no way the Hales would cover up something like that.
Would they?
Stiles glanced at his desk, where Deputy Hale 2's uniform jacket was lying carefully folded.
Ugh. The last thing he needed right now was a case of the warm and fuzzies over a suspected accomplice in a murder.
...A murder that had probably never happened. A murder that was probably actually the tragic death of a woman at the hands of a wild animal. A murder that was probably being blown out of proportion by Stiles' guilt over well-intentioned deeds long past.
Stiles sighed. This, he decided, was a mystery best solved in the daylight.
--
The second time Stiles was arrested, it was slightly less innocent. He’d returned to the station the following day, bearing lunch for his dad--to keep him distracted--and Deputy Hale 2’s uniform jacket--as an excuse to get close and personal with the deputy’s desk drawers. He was just helping himself to the crime scene photos from the night before when a gruff voice demanded, “What are you doing?”
Stiles jumped, but managed to suppress his instinctive squeal. Mostly. “Deputy Hale 2! What a surprise to see you--at your place of employment.”
“My name is Derek,” the deputy replied, unimpressed. “And I believe I asked you a question.”
“I know your name,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes before fortuitously remembering that he had a carefully constructed excuse. “I was just returning your jacket! Thank you for loaning it to me last night, by the way. I was pretty shaken up.”
Derek the Second Deputy Hale’s eyes softened slightly, but he didn’t forget to nod pointedly at the photos spread across his desk. “And these?”
“I, uh, well…I just, uh--”
The door to the Sheriff’s office banged open. “Stiles. Office. Now.” The Sheriff did not sound pleased.
Stiles winced. “How about you just lock me up in a cell for a few days and let me skip the lecture from my dad?”
Derek’s mouth remained serious, but the corners of his eyes were crinkled with laughter. “Not an option, sorry.”
The walk to the Sheriff’s office was short, but it was filled with so many commiserating glances and sympathetic looks as to make it feel twice as long. Or maybe it was that he was dragging his feet dramatically. Still, even Deputy Hale 3, who was leaning against the door frame in the signature pose of the common tattle-tale, patted him on the shoulder and told him, “Buck up, Stilinski--you can’t help it that you were dropped on your head as a baby.”
Stiles tried to scowl, but found himself sniggering instead, especially when a voice from within the office snapped, “Hale!” and she scurried off, flapping her fingers in something like a wave.
Stiles took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Okay, so he didn’t actually get arrested that time, but it probably would have been less painful if he had.
To make matters worse, when he finally left the station, he caught a glimpse of Derek surreptitiously sniffing the uniform jacket Stiles had returned to him. Ugh, Stiles had probably been a sweaty and gross mess last night, and Derek was a werewolf, of course he could smell it even though Stiles hadn’t been able to. Talk about embarrassing. Stiles knew he should have taken it to a dry cleaner, even if it would have taken forever to get it back to Derek.
The upshot of the situation--no one asked to go through his phone, upon which he now had copies of all the crime scene photos. So at least there was that.
--
After all that extracurricular activity, though, Stiles had to spend time doing some actual paid labor. He’d been promised a job as a translator and archivist at the Beacon Hills Cultural Center for the Supernatural Community--the largest of its kind in the country--before he’d even graduated from Berkeley, and though the hours he spent physically present at the CCSC were more or less up to him, he’d already received some project information with deadlines attached, and he didn’t want to fall behind on his first official work week.
It wasn’t until around 9pm that he was shaken out of his translation of a rare Bestiary by a text message from Scott.
Scotty McScott 21:03
sry im late dude i just got out of surgery u still in?
Oh yeah. Stiles tapped out a reply and cleaned up his work station. By the time he made it to the front door to lock up, Scott was already there, waiting for him.
Stiles scowled at him. “Dude, what the hell? Did you run here?”
“Yeah, but it’s cool.”
“Scott, seriously?” hissed Stiles, “You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember?”
“It’s fine, Stiles--no one saw me. Where do you want to eat?”
They ate at the diner, of course, just like they always did.
Scott spent the first part of their dinner chattering away about his day at the vet clinic, preventing Stiles from bringing up the suspicions he’d developed the night before. This turned out to be lucky, as the Deputy Hales sauntered into the diner not long after Stiles and Scott had ordered their drinks.
“Stilinski,” smirked Deputy Hale 3 dangerously. “I see you’ve recovered from earlier.” She seemed angry about something, which was weird; where they’d left off earlier, she’d been snarky and a little nasty, but her teasing had still felt friendly.
“...I guess?” Stiles replied, uneasy.
“You don’t mind if we join you, do you Stilinski?” she continued sweetly. “It seems like all the other tables are already taken.”
Stiles looked around at the half-empty diner, eyebrows raised.
“Cora,” growled Derek warningly.
“Oh, come on, Derek--we’re all friends here, aren’t we?” When she smiled, a tiny hint of fang poked at her lower lip.
Stiles glanced at Deputy Hale 1, who shrugged, amused. Your choice, her expression seemed to say.
Stiles sighed, defeated. “Scotty, meet our new dinner companions, Deputy Hale 1, Derek, and Deputy Hale 3.”
Scott waved at them good-naturedly. “Is there a reason only Derek has a name?” he asked, grinning.
“Yes,” answered Stiles. “Deputies, this is Scott McCall, my life-long best friend slash might-as-well-be-my-brother.”
Deputy Hale 3 perked up a bit at that. “Brother?” Her eyes flickered to Derek conspicuously. “So this isn’t a date?”
Scott and Stiles made identical horrified faces, though they were used to that question by now. “Don’t be gross,” Stiles told her primly. “Scott is just not boyfriend material.”
Scott tried to feign offense through his laughter. “Hey, who was it who talked you down at 4am this morning?”
“Derek,” Stiles replied promptly, pointing to the man unnecessarily. “He also loaned me his uniform jacket and offered me a hot beverage.”
Both of Scott’s eyebrows shot up, and he regarded Derek with a thoughtful smile. “Is that why you get a name?”
Derek dismissed that with an easy wave of his hand, but his ears were bright red. “I get a name because I told him what it was.”
“Oh, please,” scoffed Deputy Hale 3. “He knows all our names already.”
“Yeah,” Stiles interjected, “but not from you guys, and it feels weird to just start calling people by their first names when we’ve only been introduced in a professional setting.”
Scott and the Hales stared at Stiles doubtfully.
“I mean,” he continued, “I did go to grade school with you,” he jabbed a finger at Deputy Hale 3, “but I’m kind of of the opinion that we should just pretend that anything I said or did before the age of 18 just didn’t happen. Those were bad years.”
They rolled their eyes as one, even Scott, and Deputy Hale 1 reached across the table to offer him her hand. “Call me Laura,” she said as he shook her hand, bemused.
Deputy Hale 3 sighed resignedly and slung her arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “And I guess you can call me Cora. I can be your might-as-well-be-sister.”
Stiles laughed as something warm and happy spread through him. “Sure thing.”
From across the table, Derek smiled at him, ears pink. Stiles smiled back, feeling a little pink himself.
--
Stiles squinted at the photo in his hand. Then he tried tilting his head to one side. No luck.
He sighed, leaning back in his desk chair and rubbing his forehead. Despite his careful analysis of the photos from the crime scene, he couldn’t find any evidence that the body had been tampered with. To all appearances, even to his expert eye, the attack had been the work of a mountain lion.
What was he missing? He needed more information.
His phone buzzed with an incoming message--another project update from the CCSC. Time for work.
Translating handwritten, decaying texts from Archaic Latin into English was sometimes like solving a puzzle. Stiles found the process engrossing and addictive, and that was to say nothing of the subject matter, which was fascinating in its own right. Going to work felt like taking a break--not just from his informal investigation, but also from the mundanities of his daily life--in a way that he’d once associated with movie marathons and Call of Duty.
Without a pre-arranged reminder like he’d received from Scott the night before, there was nothing to pull Stiles from his work stupor until he finished the manuscript he’d been translating. He looked up and blinked at the sight of the room swimming around him.
02:31:07 read the digital clock on his computer. Crap.
He managed to stumble out of the building twenty minutes later, yawning as he locked up. No point in trying for dinner, he decided. Sleep first, huge meal later.
Stiles headed for his jeep, mentally cataloging the contents of his fridge and how he could turn them into an eight-course breakfast. He absently noted the puddle when he stepped into it, but didn’t really think anything of it until he tripped on something big lying in the deserted parking lot. He cursed, trying to catch his footing, then scowled down at the object he’d stumbled upon, trying to force his tired eyes to focus in the spare lighting. As his vision cleared, his stomach clenched. He screamed.
Then he threw up.
--
Derek found him in the station, wet-cheeked and shaking. Derek wasn’t in his uniform, and Stiles wondered absently why he was there if he wasn’t on duty.
Derek passed him a steaming mug and sat down next to him in the seat only recently vacated by the Sheriff.
“Thanks,” whispered Stiles, curling a little further in on himself. Derek must have noticed, because in the next moment, Stiles felt a jacket wrap around his shoulders, this one made of black leather of the bad-boy variety. Despite everything, that was almost enough to make Stiles smile. Definitely his favorite Hale. “I’ll try not to smell this one up.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asked quietly, ignoring Stiles’ inane attempt at small-talk.
Stiles looked over at him, seeing for the first time how the casual clothes gentled his appearance and softened his edges, even as the thin henley and tight jeans outlined his powerful muscles. Derek’s chin was covered in dark shadow, and his eyes were strained with concern.
“No,” Stiles said finally. “Or maybe yes. I don’t know.”
He searched Derek’s expression, but it was empty of any sign of mockery. Stiles took a deep breath to steady himself. “So I must reek of vomit; I’m sure you can guess what happened there. And I--I waded through the blood, oh my god, and I tripped on the body, and it was so dark, and I was so tired, I didn’t realize anything was wrong at first, and when I did, god.” Stiles had to stop to swallow the rising bile.
Derek’s hand moved to rub circles over Stiles’ lower back. “What were you doing out so late?” There was nothing accusatory in his tone.
“I got caught up at work and was only just heading home--yeah, I know,” Stiles sighed, catching Derek’s expression, “my dad already reamed me out for that. I just didn’t realize it’d gotten so late, you know?”
“Give me your cell phone.”
“What? Why?” Stiles was already retrieving the device from his pocket and pressing it into Derek’s hands even as he asked the question. He took a sip of his drink--some kind of herbal tea, as it turned out--while watching Derek call himself on Stiles’ phone, saving his own number to Stiles’ contact list in the process.
“From now on, I’m going to call you every evening at 6pm, and if I’m not satisfied that you’re heading out the door, I’m going to come over there and drag you out myself, even if I have to carry you.”
Stiles flushed, wondering if Derek knew that his words sounded less like a threat and more like an incentive. “Not 6,” he protested weakly, “that’s way too early. I’ll have barely even started anything.”
“Eight, then,” Derek countered, eyes intense as they stared into Stiles’. “This is important, Stiles. The Sheriff will be enforcing a 9pm curfew, anyway.”
“Fine.” Stiles looked away, gripping his cooling mug of tea more tightly. “So, uh, what’s the verdict on this one? Another mountain lion?”
“Probably the same one,” Derek replied. “Laura said it smelled the same, anyway.”
“So...it’s definitely a cougar? Absolutely positively for sure?”
Derek frowned at him. “It’s not exactly an easy scent to fake.” His nose wrinkled in memory, and Stiles struggled not to find the expression adorable. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing, it’s just...it seems kind of weird, that’s all. Do they normally come this far into a city?”
Derek’s lips twitched. “I wouldn’t exactly call this a city.” He shrugged. “No, not usually, but it happens.”
Derek’s hand stilled on Stiles’ back, and he looked up to see his father approaching them. “Come on, kid,” his dad said gently, “I’ll give you a ride home. We’ll pick up your jeep tomorrow, okay?” As Stiles nodded in agreement and slowly stood, the Sheriff’s eyes shifted to Derek. “Hale,” he acknowledged, eyebrows raised.
“Sir,” Derek returned calmly before turning back to Stiles. “I’ll be calling you tomorrow night. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.” Stiles hesitated. “Derek,” he began, feeling himself turn red. “You can call me about other things, too. Or text me. Not just as part of your alarm clock duty, I mean.” Stiles grabbed his father’s arm and tugged him away before his embarrassment could reach fatal levels.
Behind him, he heard a quiet, “okay,” and when he looked back, Derek was smiling.
--
Derek Hale 11:21am
Watch out for Cora.
“Helpful,” Stiles muttered, watching as Deputy Cora Hale made a beeline toward him, smirk firmly in place.
The Sheriff shot him an amused look. “I’ll be in my office. You sure you don’t want me to drop you off at the CCSC to pick up your jeep?”
“Nah, I’m hungry, and I was hoping Derek would take pity on me and take me out to lunch during his break.”
The two of them looked over at Derek, who was sitting at his desk going over some files, ears bright red. When Derek chanced a glance in their direction, Stiles put on his most pathetic, pleading expression. Derek’s ears somehow turned even darker, and he quickly looked down again, attempting--and failing--to scowl.
“Good luck with that,” said the Sheriff dryly. “If you inexplicably find yourself stranded at the station, heartbroken and starving, just remember: I offered, you said no. Door closed.”
“Gee, thanks, Dad,” whined Stiles as the Sheriff walked away. “Really feeling the love, here!” He turned to Cora. “Alright, what do you want?”
“Oh, nothing that need keep you from your romantic luncheon, Stilinski. I just have a few ideas on how to catch our murderous mountain lion.”
Stiles’ head shut up, his attention fully engaged. “What, seriously? How?” He hadn’t missed her use of the word ‘murderous’; murder was something people did, not animals. Did the Hales know more than they were letting on?
“Yeah, see, it hit me when I was rudely awakened in the middle of the night and dragged along to a crime scene four hours before I was due in to work anyway: why don’t we just get you to wander around the edge of town between the hours of 2 and 4 am and follow you? We’ll surely catch something. After all, you’ve already discovered 100% of the bodies, haven’t you?”
“Cora,” growled Derek, tone warning. Stiles hadn’t even heard him come up. “It’s not funny. Drop it.”
“Wait, do you think he’s after me?” Stiles felt a cold fear slide through him. What would a rogue omega want with him?
Both Cora and Derek were giving him incredulous looks. “Stiles,” said Derek carefully, “it’s a mountain lion. It’s not targeting anyone in particular.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” How could they be sticking to the cover story at a time like this?
Derek and Cora exchanged bemused glances. “I’ll tell you what.” Derek smiled at Stiles, meeting his eyes shyly. “I’ll stick close to you, just in case. I’ll drop you off at the CCSC after lunch, and I’ll pick you up after work. 8 o’clock, right?”
Stiles brightened up considerably. “Sure, that sounds great. Does this mean we’re having dinner and lunch together today? My, my, you do move quickly, Mr. Hale.”
Derek flushed, and Cora burst out laughing. “I’m having dinner with my sisters,” he managed. “But--” he looked across the room to meet Laura’s eyes, then turned to Cora, who tilted her head very slightly to the side. “If you want, you’re welcome to join us.” He was staring at Stiles with such a nervous expression that Stiles almost melted.
“Sounds fun,” he said, clearing his throat. “Are you ready for lunch, then?”
Derek smiled. “I’m ready.”
“Great! Then Cora and--” he waved vaguely in the direction of the long-distance eavesdropper, “--Laura, I’ll see you some time after 8.” He tugged at Derek’s arm. “Shall we?”
--
Scotty McScott 12:57pm
omg i heard the news ru ok?
“You’re still wearing my jacket,” Derek commented as he pulled into the CCSC parking lot next to the jeep. Stiles was a little surprised he hadn’t mentioned it earlier--but then, they hadn’t had time for much conversation around all the blushing and the shy glances that had dominated their lunch date.
Stiles shot Derek a winning smile. “Yep! It’s warm and comfortable and stylish. Sorry, Derek, but you might never get it back.”
Derek looked absurdly pleased at Stiles’ high-handed declaration. “That’s fine,” he shrugged. “It…” He paused to clear his throat. “It looks good on you,” he finished quickly, ears turning their habitual red.
Stiles laughed. “Thanks, but it looks better on you, I promise. I’m just teasing, you know. I’m not actually on a mission here to steal the clothes off your back.”
“It’s fine,” said Derek more firmly. “I--like that you’re wearing it.”
“Great.” Stiles fiddled with the jacket sleeves. “I, uh, I should probably head in. Thanks for the ride. And lunch.”
“It was no problem. I had a great time.”
As Stiles grabbed his bag and opened the car door, he turned to Derek and said impishly, “What, no kiss?”
He suddenly found himself being tugged back into the car, a hand cupping the back of his head and pulling him in for a very long, very thorough meeting of mouths.
“Oh,” gasped Stiles when Derek finally moved back. He licked his lips, hoping they weren’t as swollen as he suspected they were. His coworkers would never let him hear the end of it.
Derek shot him a rather smug grin as he released him. “I’ll see you tonight, Stiles,” he promised.
“Yeah,” Stiles stumbled as he exited the car and almost got caught in the door. He flushed, glancing back, but Derek was still smiling at him fondly. “Tonight.”
--
Work was fine until the Center closed for the day, and Stiles’ few co-workers began filtering out the door on their way home.
Sitting alone in the huge building, watching the sky darken and the shadows cast by the artificial light grow longer and longer, Stiles maybe got a little bit scared.
Just a little bit, mind.
The tiny, minuscule, barely noticeable flicker of fear he may or may not have felt was exacerbated by the subject material of the text he was currently archiving, an Ancient Hunters’ manual containing a detailed account of the means by which various supernatural creatures dismembered their human victims.
Ugh. Too soon, seriously.
Stiles was ready and eager to be gone by the time 8 o’clock rolled around, but he was also unwilling to exit the building by himself, so he was instead reduced to sitting, jacket on, clutching his phone in anticipation of a text announcing Derek’s arrival. Centuries later, it finally came:
Derek Hale 20:03
Stay inside.
Huh. Stiles stared at his phone for a long moment. That was…not at all comforting.
Everything okay? He typed back, fingers shaking.
There was a clatter somewhere on the far side of the building. Stiles swallowed.
Derek Hale 20:05
Don’t know. Checking.
Seriously? Derek really needed a better bedside manner.
There was the soft pat of footsteps far down the hall. Definitely not a mountain lion, unless they were wearing shoes these days.
Tell me that’s you I’m hearing.
Stiles held his breath, his heartbeat seeming to echo in the stillness of the room.
Derek Hale 20:06
No. Where are you?
The door behind him opened with a squeal. Stiles turned slowly in his chair, terror thumping through him.
Derek Hale 20:06
Stiles?
“Stiles?”
“Oh, shit, fuck, Scott, you scared the crap out of me, holy shit.”
Stiles was possibly crying, but if he was, it was fine. Scott was his bro; he wouldn’t judge.
“I was pretty freaked out, too, dude. You didn’t respond to my message earlier, and I didn’t know what had gone down with the attack last night--”
“Shit, sorry, I had this lunch date with Derek--shit, Derek--hold on, Scott--” Stiles scrambled for his phone. “It’s...fine...just...Scott…” he muttered as he typed. “We’re...in...the...south...wing...study.”
Scott froze. “Wait, is Derek...here?”
“Yeah, he came to pick me up, since the last attack happened just outside in the parking lot. I’ve sort of been a wreck about it.”
“Derek Hale is here?” Scot asked again, urgently.
Stiles froze, relief finally giving way to suspicion. “...Yes? Why?”
“I...possibly was so overcome with worry today that I may have forgotten to take my potion?” Scott tried.
Stiles choked on air. “You--what--”
“...And I maybe ran here from the clinic?”
“Oh my god, Scott, what the hell were you--”
There was a roar, and then Stiles was being shoved back with Derek crouched between him and Scott, snarling and still in his deputy uniform.
And, of course, in the next moment Scott was snarling back, eyes glowing gold.
Ugh.
“Derek,” Stiles snapped, grabbing Derek's arm. “You met Scott the other day, remember? In the diner?”
Derek's eyes flickered from Scott to Stiles and back to Scott. “He's a werewolf.”
“Yeah, so? You are, too, so don't go throwing stones here. Come on, you know Scott's safe, so cut the growling.”
“What I know,” Derek snapped, teeth flashing, “is that there were no registered werewolves in Beacon Hills until my sisters and I came back. What I know is that your might-as-well-be-brother is an unregistered omega and therefore a danger to everyone around him. What I know is that when I met him in the diner, he didn't smell even slightly like a werewolf. Now that I'm thinking about it, he didn't smell like anything. Do you want to explain any of this to me, Stiles?”
Stiles clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the betrayed expression in Derek's eyes. He was not going to feel guilty about this, damn it.
“What I know,” came a new voice, “is that we all need to calm down.” Stiles looked to see Laura and Cora leaning in the doorway, regarding the scene with serious eyes. When neither Derek nor Scott made any move to stand down, Laura's eyes flashed red. “Now.” Stiles watched as Derek and Scott's bodies relaxed from their fighting stances seemingly against their will. “Why don't we all head down to the lobby?” Laura suggested mildly. “We'll be able to sit down, grab some snacks from the vending machines, and you two,” her eyes snapped between Scott and Stiles, “can explain very slowly and in great detail exactly what is going on here.”
No one raised any objections--but then, Stiles wasn't so sure anyone was capable of arguing against Laura's red eyes.
--
So Scott had been bitten six or so years previously by a rogue alpha who’d been raging through California. He’d bitten two other people in Beacon Hills alone, but both of his other victims had died from the bite.
This was all happening around the same time that the Sins of the Father movement was getting off the ground--there were protests all over the place screaming that people bitten by violent werewolves inherited all the evil or crazy or whatever in the bite, and--
“We’re familiar with that particular political movement, Stiles.”
--the laws governing werewolves were even stricter due to the rising popularity of the movement’s mindset.
“Even so, he wouldn’t have been arrested just for being the victim of a forced bite, not even back then.”
The officials kept a close eye on all these new wolves, ostensibly for their own protection, but almost all the werewolves who registered as having been newly bitten by a violent offender? They ended up serving life in prison, usually for ridiculously minor control offenses, ones that could have been easily avoided if they’d just been assigned a mentor--
“You made this observation, but you still chose to leave Scott illegally unregistered rather than attempt to find him a mentor?”
--Which Scott and Stiles would have looked for, too, of course, except the very first night after Scott was bitten, he’s slept-walked into the preserve. When he found his way back, well, he was covered in blood--deer, mostly, and some rabbit, but that would have been enough evidence of a violent temperament to send him to prison for life, so they just...forgot to register Scott--
“He only did this one time?”
--especially when it kept on happening, night after night.
“I don’t remember seeing reports on this. Surely someone noticed all the dead wildlife.”
Stiles had disguised the mauled carcasses as mountain lion attacks. There’d been no werewolf deputies back then, so there’d been no reason for the authorities to doubt the physical evidence he’d left behind. Still, Scott and Stiles knew that just because there hadn’t been any werewolves to sniff Scott out at the time, that didn’t mean there wouldn’t ever be. The local vet helped Stiles design a potion that would mask Scott’s scent and hide him from other werewolves, just in case someone came looking. Scott eventually got himself under control, and now--
“Now, I have to decide what to do with the two of you,” Laura sighed, shaking her head.
“If it helps, I have him fully house-trained,” Stiles tried. The werewolves all shot him dirty looks.
Laura drummed her fingers on the plastic armrest of her chair, frowning at him. “You’re not afraid,” she mused.
“No?”
“It never occurred to you that he might hurt you?”
“Not really. I mean, yeah, I guess he might by accident or something, but he’s still Scott, even if he’s suddenly a little hairier and fangier than he was.”
Derek was staring at him with an intense look in his eyes, and Stiles shifted uncomfortably.
“Well, I’m not willing to let the status quo lie,” Laura stated decisively. “But I don’t know how to get you registered without making things extremely difficult for all of us. I’m going to have to think on this for a while. Scott, I’ll need your number, and you will take mine,” she informed him, tone leaving no room for arguments.
Scott nodded jerkily and reached into his pocket hurriedly to grab his phone, but when he pulled it out, something else fell out with it.
“Is that an...inhaler?” Cora eyed him uncertainly. “You do realize that werewolves don’t need those, right?”
Scott shrugged, handing Laura his phone and pocketing the inhaler. “Yeah, but no one’s supposed to know I’m a werewolf, remember? I used to have really bad asthma, so I pretend I still do.”
There was a long pause as the other werewolves seemed to process this.
“...How bad?” asked Laura finally.
“What?”
“How bad was the asthma?”
“Oh, really bad. I had to be hospitalized a few times. My mom was always terrified for me.” Scott looked around at the three carefully blank faces before him. “...Am I missing something here?”
“Maybe,” Laura replied. “I’m going to call my mom and Uncle Peter and get some updated legal information. If what I learn is good, I may have a solution for you, Scott.”
As they watched Laura walk away, Stiles frowned. “Your mom...wait, is she still an alpha?” At Derek and Cora’s nod, Stiles continued, “Then how…?”
“Laura killed a rogue alpha in the line of duty last year, defending a church full of orphaned kittens or whatever--”
“Cora.”
“And she inherited that alpha’s power. When things got a little awkward between her and mom, Laura chose to come back here to our old territory to begin her reign of terror--”
“Cora.”
“And Derek and I decided to follow. With any luck, she’s about to gain one new beta and have a full-sized pack.”
At Stiles and Scott’s blank looks, Cora rolled her eyes. “You, McCall.”
“How…?”
“Alphas have the legal right to bite willing humans who are terminally ill or injured. And asthma attacks can be fatal.” She gave him a slightly sour look. “Guess this means you’re about to be my might-as-well-be-brother, too.”
Scott let out a whoop and leapt onto Cora and Derek both, glomping them, while Stiles stood by and laughed at their horrified expressions.
--
“So, Scott, how does it feel to be a werewolf?” asked the Sheriff, leaning against the Stilinski front door. “You holding up okay?”
Stiles sniggered, grunting when both Scott and Cora elbowed him from opposite sides.
“Oh, you know,” replied Scott uneasily. “It feels...different?”
Stiles burst out laughing. The Sheriff frowned at him disapprovingly.
“It’s okay, though,” Scott choked out.
“I’m glad to hear it. We were worried about you. Good thing our Alpha Hale was on hand.” He nodded to Laura, who simply smiled back.
“Thank you.” Scott bit his lip, clearly touched. “Everyone’s been a lot of help.”
The Sheriff patted him on the shoulder and wandered back inside the house with a wave to the group crowded outside his door.
Stiles turned to Scott and the Hales, who had taken to dropping him off at home after dinner at the diner. “So, how do you feel, Scott?” Stiles gasped dramatically and snapped his fingers. “Oh, wait, you already said! You feel so differe--holy shit, what the fuck is that?”
Everyone wheeled around to face the street, searching for whatever Stiles had seen in the dark.
“Oh, hey,” said Scott brightly. “It’s the mountain lion!”
Cora took off after their feline foe, while Laura went to her squad car to call it in.
“I can’t believe it,” grumbled Stiles. “It really was a mountain lion? No way.”
“What did you think it was?” asked Derek.
Scott grinned. “Stiles thought it was a rogue omega disguising its kills as mountain lion attacks.”
“Scott,” whined Stiles while Derek stared at them incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be chasing it, too?” he asked Derek grouchily.
Derek’s lips twitched. “Cora’s got it well in hand, and Laura’s going to help her, anyway,” he replied. “You can go with them, too, if you want,” Derek told Scott.
“Well,” said Stiles breezily, “I hate to leave you outdoors when there’s a wild animal roaming the streets. Do you want to come inside? Not you, Scotty--you’re on your own.”
Scott rolled his eyes at him, already turning away to follow Cora.
“My boss is in there,” Derek replied reproachfully.
“I meant to talk, not to--he’s my dad, never mind your boss, oh my god, I wouldn’t--not until I have my own apartment, anyway, not while he’s home.”
“You know,” mused Derek. “I do have an apartment, and both of my roommates appear to be busy with work at the moment…”
There was a delicate pause.
Stiles turned around and opened his front door. “Dad, I’m staying at Derek’s tonight!”
“Use protection!” came the response from inside.
Stiles closed the door again and looked up at Derek. “Shall we?” he asked cheerfully.
When Laura and Cora got home, they made a big deal of sniffing the air and making grossed-out faces, but they still smiled at him. “Hey Stilinski,” announced Cora, “You need a new familial catch-phrase. ‘Might-as-well-be-brother-in-law’ is just ridiculous.”
Stiles saluted her lazily from the couch, where he was snuggled in against Derek. “I’ll work on that.”
--END--