Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Five hours.

Five hours of pained silence, passive aggressive sighs and avoided eye-contact. Five hours of withheld comments, of bitten tongues. Five hours where the most either of them had said to each other was ‘pull over, need to pee’.

Honestly, he'd never thought he had ever felt so relieved to see the Beacon Hills welcome sign...

If the ride into town was any sort of indication of what was in store, it was destined to be a trying few weeks.

God give him strength. 

He desperately wished to engage in conversation, to talk it all out in the time they had cooped up in the car, while neither of them could run away from it.

Though, he suspected he would be ultimately ignored and thus he decided to keep the silence in hopes of retaining the peace. Silence was often better in some cases...

The entire forest outside the window could have been alight with a fiery inferno and the sullen boy occupying the passenger seat probably wouldn’t have even bat an eyelid – his phone proving to be a far more interesting point of focus.

Regardless of the teen’s petulant mood, the Sheriff was overjoyed to see his son returning to his home town. Four months time would make it eight years since the kid had left. And while the Sheriff and Stiles had tried to make a habit of going down there for Christmas each year, it had been harder to keep that promise in recent years – the supernatural rarely took a break.

Though truth be told, Stiles had dug his heels in last time they’d had a chance to make the trip, simply claiming he was ‘busy’ with no further explanation. That had been almost two years ago. And being the soul breadwinner and phone bill recipient, he knew that the boys hadn’t contacted in that time either. Not unless they were Skyping or emailing, which seemed unlikely.

Something bitter had grown between the brothers over the years. It must have started small because the Sheriff had only ever realised after the fact, when it was too late to throw his paternal power around and demand they reconcile – force them to apologise and hug it out inside an oversized t-shirt. He hadn’t even noticed anything was wrong until Stiles refused to acknowledge his brother one Christmas three years back – a tradition that had carried on until present day.

God, what does that say about you when your children – who were meant to love one another – couldn’t even stand to be in the same room? What would Claudia say if she could see her boys now…?

It hurt to think she would have been disappointed in him, but he knew she must be. He had promised her that he would keep them together, keep them safe. Protect them. But he’d broken that promise. And then some, he added mentally, biting his lip as he spared a moment to take his eyes from the road and glance at his brooding son, his youngest.

Better late then never, he’d decided, gripping the wheel with renewed determination. This was his final chance, he knew this. The boys would been eighteen soon, adults, running off in completely different directions with no hope of stopping them. This was his last chance to undo all those years and make it right.

Eight years after the fact, he was going to fix it even if it killed him. 

The High School cafeteria at lunch time was always a chaotic buzz of starving teenagers bustling their way through the sea of tables, all exploding with the chatter they’d been forced to hold during class.  

“You may wanna slow down a little,” Stiles suggested, watching his girlfriend with a mix of awe and confusion as she ploughed through her lunch with healthy vengeance. “Y’know, choking hazards, indigestion, heart burn and all that… no? All good,” he mumbled to himself, feeling as though he was the only one listening to the words anyway, Malia clearly wasn’t.

“I hate waiting for lunch,” she grumbled after a moment, taking a large bite of the apple in her hand. “Why can’t I just eat when I’m hungry? It’s stupid…” she sighed dramatically. It had been hard trying to get the girl to adjust to the silly idiosyncrasies of high school – asking to go to bathroom, not talking back to teachers, waiting for lunch. And though they had made rather a great deal of progress since her first weeks at the school, some things were taking a little bit of extra time to get used to . “It’s there, I’m hungry, waiting is stupid,” she concluded spying a priced box of juice on Stiles’ tray, quickly swiping it up.

“He- hey, no, mine,” Stiles scolded her playfully with a smirk as he took back his juice, “and don’t even think about eating my pudding cup,” he shot her a impish glare, guarding the dessert with his arm.

“I didn’t have pudding cups in the woods,” she whined, pouting a little.

“Yeah, if they did I’d probably be moving out there – no, sure… I didn’t want that anyway…” he rambled off muttering to himself, rolling his eyes as he lost the last half of his sandwich.

“Good,” Malia nodded, blinking unfazed as she took another bite of his sandwich.

“That was sarcasm – we talked about this," he quipped.

Pausing for a moment in thought, Malia studied his expression carefully as she formulated her answer. “People say the opposite of what they mean… and you can tell because they don’t sound like they mean it?” she concluded thoughtfully, before adding, “but it’s not lying, even though they’re not saying what they feel.”

“You are getting much better at this,” he nodded, a touch impressed, a warm feeling rose within as he felt a proud smirk grace his lips. "You are gonna ace Summer School," he told her confidently.  

“Sarcasm?” she paused, watching his face intently.

“No,” Stiles’ smile fell into a pout as he let out a small whine, “I was being honest,” he blinked earnestly.  

“Oh, it’s hard to tell, you lie and use sarcasm too much,” she brushed off. 

“What? I don’t – “ Stiles defended himself slightly but was ultimately cut off by a tray slamming down on that table before them, causing Stiles to flinch a little in surprise.

"There’s a body been found out by the lake,” Scott interrupted, sounding a little out of breath. 

Malia groaned with heavy sigh, ducking her head down apathetically. 

“Ignore her, she’s hungry," Stiles chimed in with a forced smile, piling the rest of food from his tray onto his girlfriend’s – who accepted it without a word, her focus solely upon the pudding cup in front of her. However he kept his curly fries – rare as it was for a cafeteria to perfect the art of spirally potato goodness, he was definitely not sharing those, not with anyone…

“So… what’s the damage?” he turned back to Scott, curiously. “We talking our usual run of the mill werewolves? Assassins? Vengeful lizards? Something new? Hit me.”

“Oh uh, dunno, that’s all I got, couldn’t hear much else,” Scott shook his head, offering an apologetic look as he took as seat across the bench in the crowded cafeteria, taking his apple and crunching into it casually, completely ruining his overly dramatic entrance.

“That’s all you got? You come racing in here with bupkis, getting me all excited just to – wait, who were you eavesdropping on?” Stiles asked, distracted by a thought, his mind churning overtime, “my dad’s out of town and – oh did you manage to over hear anything last night?” his thoughts jumped tracks once more, completely forgoing his interest in the dead body as the sudden thought struck him.

“Um…” Scott paused, mouth open, juice from his apple dripping from the corner of his lip, eyes slightly squinted – confused. 

“Are they dating…?” Stiles prompted, gesturing for his frozen friend to continue, watching Scott’s  expression careful in the hopes he could read the information from his features.

Melissa and the Sheriff had been flittering about one other for the past few months and God only knows how long before that. Naturally it had been Stiles to pick up on the change in behaviour – flirtatious jokes across the dinner table, lingering looks, small smiles. But the final straw had occurred when Stiles had caught his father whistling – whistling. So they had set their plan in motion to discover if their suspicions were indeed correct. However, step one of said plan – having Scott eavesdrop when the Sheriff came around – did not seem to been going as intended...

“I don’t know?” Scott winced slightly, biting his lip a little as his left eye twitched.

“Speak with conviction Scotty, don’t make everything a question,” Stiles retorted quickly, not missing a beat, snapping his fingers to keep the other boy on point. “So… yes? Or no, gimme facts, I need some questions answered – I wonder which house we’d live in…?” he pondered aloud, his mouth running without a filter, “yours in bigger, yeah, and now that Isaac’s in France… yes? He's in France right? I have not idea  - but, anyway, I kinda wanna keep my room, everything has a spot, you know?”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Scott frowned, a quiet discomfort rising in his pinched brows, though Stiles ignored it, “if it was something serious, they would tell us.”

“Uh, no, they wouldn’t,” Stiles scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head. When had their parents ever told them anything? Like ever?

“What’s going on?” Lydia asked as she and Kira walked up to the table, sliding their trays along the bench effortlessly.

“My pops, his mom,” he pointed to himself then Scott, before bringing his hands together in a vague gesture of romantic entanglement, “what do you think?”

“Yes, obviously,” Lydia nodded sharply, taking her seat with the grace of a royal ballerina.

“Aww that’s so cute!” Kira cooed, biting her bottom lip in her excitement as she sat next to Scott – hands entangling instantly as though without thought. “Are they going to get married?” she smiled, looking at Scott dreamily, romantic thoughts clear in her eyes.   

“You know that would make us like legal brothers right?” Scott seemed to blanch slightly at Stiles’ question, looking a little pained, his fists clenched with barely restrained tension, looking as though he would rather be anywhere but here. “You okay there buddy?” Stiles furrowed his brow a little, watching Scott’s nervous twitching. 

“Oh, uh… huh? Sorry, I, uh – gotta go, bye.” Scott offered hurriedly, gifting Kira with a chased kiss before rushing off like a thousand berserkers were hot on his trail, leaving his lunch tray completely abandoned at the table.

“What’s with him?” Lydia pursed her lips a little, flickering a curious glance at Stiles, seeking answers. 

And wasn’t that just the thing. What was with Scott? He’s been all sunshine and rainbows at the fact that some unfortunate Jane/John doe had been found at the lake – which totally reminded him to find out more about that – but their parents’ potential get together had him freaking out, what’s with that..?

“He’s hiding something…” Stiles muttered his conclusion slowly, sharpening his eyes slightly as he watched Scott rush out of the cafeteria like a bat out of hell. A phantom pain blossoming in his chest at the thought that Scott wasn’t telling him something – after everything they’d been through. Why would he do that? 

“His heartbeat was off,” Malia offered, concern clear in her tone as he sent Stiles a look. 

“When?” Stiles licked the corner of his lips, something they were talking about had clearly reminded Scott of a secret he was keeping. But what? Scott McCall could not keep a secret to save his life – well okay, history had taught him that yes Scott could keep a secret (like the ass that he was) but not lately. “Like what exactly did I say that made him freak out?” he questioned Malia intently. 

“I think, maybe when you guys mentioned weddings?” Malia frowned in thought. 

“Oh,” Kira glanced down at the table, looking guilty, “I didn’t even think…”

“His Dad’s not completely out of the picture Stiles,” Lydia told him delicately, titling her head in an apologetic manner. 

“Yeah, but come on,” Stiles scoffed, waving off her point with a careless hand, “my dad totally wins on that front, his dad left, you don’t just get a second chance if you're the one to walk out.”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but seemingly had nothing to offer as she promptly closed her mouth and gave an odd expression, as though she wanted to say something but was advising herself not to.

“What?” Stiles accused with a frustrated sigh, he knew Lydia Martin was not usually to hold back.

“Just…” she began slowly, formulating her response delicately, “stay out it, no matter your opinion, okay?” she offered diplomatically.  

“But – I…” Stiles began, though his argument lost moment, thus ending with a petulant exhale of defeat. “Ugh, fine.”

And though he had verbally agreed to drop the subject, his mind had made no such promise and continued to reel over the current predicament. It just didn’t make any sense. Scott had been excited by the idea of their parents getting together. That was the whole point of him using his super sonic hearing to eavesdrop while the Sheriff was around at the McCall house the previous evening.

Maybe it was something else…?

But what would Melissa and his dad be talking about that Scott didn’t want him to know about…? Why would he keep that a secret?

“Do you want to meet your brother at school?” the Sheriff looked over at his son, trying one last time to break the silence and tension that had been building for the past few hours. The drive from Fresno had dragged out into an immeasurable pace, with seconds ticking by agonisingly slow.

Worry had begun to rub against his chest as he contemplated – not for the first time – if he were doing the right thing, bringing Stuart into all of this. It had been just his luck that a body had washed up on the lake in the early hours of the morning – Parrish had clued him in on the Sheriff’s drive down, but so far all the information he’d been able to attain was that it was a body of a woman. Every bone in his body was praying for it not to be something supernatural, though he knew statistically it was damn sure likely. He’d called in a few favours before picking up Stuart, praying that they would pay off and make the next few weeks as supernatural free as possible. He just needed Stiles to keep out of it just enough to keep Stuart away from it too. The thought of one of his boys out mucking around with the things that go bump in the night was terrifying enough, but both of them?

He’d probably never sleep again…

“No,” Stuart drawled sullenly as he starred down at his phone, giving no second thought to the question asked as they drove through the near empty street.

It was relatively characteristic of the quiet town, however over recent years it wasn’t hard to notice that there were fewer people walking the streets, fewer kids on the playgrounds in the late afternoons, property values were plummeting as an increase of families moving out. And though while there was a small number of people moving into the area – the odds that these new residents were of the supernatural variety had sky rocketed.  

“You sure? He gets out in a half hour or so, we could go pick him up,” the Sheriff offered, a faint trace of optimism in his voice, a memory of school pick-ups of years gone by overwhelming him. "Maybe we could swing by Gracie's diner like we used to when you were kids...?"

“Doesn’t he have a car?” Stuart retorted with a withering stare, raising his eyebrows just enough to show his complete discontent with the entire conversation.

“Right, yeah, you’re right…” the Sheriff nodded slowly as he pulled up to the stoplights, tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as his mind reeled for a follow-up topic of conversation – something, anything.

A small glance across at his son saw Stuart flick his gaze towards a guy standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the lights to change. The man smiled and waved at the Sheriff and his son, and the Sheriff returned this kind gesture. However, with a shrewd expression, Stuart flipped the man off, watching with a barely contained glee and a rather satisfactory smirk as the man gaped a little, surprised and shocked by the teen’s actions.

"What the hell are you doing?" the Sheriff berated his son’s rude gesture, unsure what thought process the kid had gone through to arrive at that conclusion.

"Greeting the locals," Stuart shot back with a slow drawl, "gotta say I love what you've done with the place, truly. Very Twin Peaks, beautiful,” he added with a tone drenched in bitter sarcasm. 

“You weren’t even born when that show was on, kid,” the Sheriff muttered, tapping his fingers absently as he waited for the lights, his patience flittering with each passing moment.

“Wonders of the internet,” Stuart widened his eyes a little, his expression one of mocked amazement.

"You know, I'm not liking all this attitude you've got going on," the Sheriff warned, nervously tittering towards his parental rights, anxious not to push too far.

"Not really your call…” Stuart muttered pointedly, his eyes sharp for a moment before they trailed back to the small screen in his hands, thumbs working overtime as they typed something unseen.

“I’m your father -” he tried, his frustration urging him on.

“Yeah?" Stuart scoffed, cutting off his father mid-sentence, "let me know how that works out for you.” 

With the lights turning green, the Sheriff pushed the accelerator down with slow ease, setting the vehicle into a moderate speed, his knuckles white against the steering wheel and he tried to work out his frustrations on the rubber.

"Kid, listen, I - " the Sheriff deflated, his anger collapsing as his tone weakened.

"I'm good with silence, thanks," Stuart cut through sharply, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he focused his attention back to the small illuminated screen in his hands. 

“Right…” he nodded curtly, hurt, focusing his attention back on the road, rather than on the ache rising within.

“Dude are you actively ignoring me?” Stiles whispered harshly across the tables – over Stacy Peterson, who was obviously eavesdropping, even though she was determinately staring at the board – to where Scott had chosen to sit. 

“The seat was taken,” Scott muttered back, turning his head slightly, looking at Stiles through the corner of his eye.

No it wasn’t, Stiles wanted to say. He’d walked into the classroom just in time to see Scott duck into the seat next to Stacy Peterson – classic Scotty McCall avoidance move.

“Why did you run off before?” Stiles shot him a interrogative stare, not giving up.

“Needed to pee,” Scott shrugged, not looking up from his paper, doodling something that Stiles couldn’t see – most probably love hearts with KY+SM, though hopefully not after the stern talking to that Stiles had given him about how Kira’s initials could be taken the wrong way, especially in a high school full of immature boys (Also he was now really glad that Scott’s crush on Beth Daniels in sixth grade hadn’t been a long term thing otherwise there would be a lot of BD+SM in love hearts all over BHHS).

“That’s weak, dude,” Stiles scoffed, he didn’t need werewolf senses to see that his best friend was blatantly lying to him. “Bush-league.”

“Mr Stilinski, do I have to remind you of the zero chatter policy I maintain in this classroom?” a stern voice dragged Stiles’ attention to the front of the class as he suddenly realised that he was in class.

“No, I got it,” he nodded reluctantly, fingers tapping against his knee as he glanced back at Scott, impatiently. The knowledge that Scott was deliberately hiding something was practically eating away at him. In Beacon Hills, secrets could mean anything from ‘I don’t want to tell you ‘cause it may hurt your feelings’ to ‘someone you love is about to die’. Not really a comforting thought.

“Excellent, so you wouldn’t mind explaining what dramatic techniques Ibsen uses in this scene?” Mr Warner proposed with smug arrogance as he crossed his arms with a small tilt of his egotistic head. 

“Uh…” Stiles let his mouth hang open wide as he struggled to come up with an answer. Why did this even matter while there was a potential supernatural Apocalypse occurring?  Aw crap... What did Ibsen write again?

Damn it. 

“In which play?” he attempted, squinting a little. 

“Perhaps if you closed your mouth once in a while, you might actually learn something,” Mr Warner scorned with an air of self-importance, clearly relishing the titter of chuckles his so called ‘sass’ had warranted throughout the classroom. “You might even hear the correct essay question, unlike past instances…” 

Not true, Stiles forced himself not to roll his eyes at the teacher. He’d totally heard the essay question, he’d just written a more compelling argument for a different one, arguably a better one.

Elated with his dressing down of a seventeen year old, Warner turned back to the board, hopefully to ignore Stiles for the remainder of the class. Which he did, thankfully. Only this left time for Stiles to mull over that fact that Scott was still ignoring him, actively.

The moment school was over he was going to find out what ever his best friend thought he had to hide from him – no matter what.

"Uh, did you move?" Stuart sent the Sheriff at cold glare as he looked around the car park.

He’d been unsure of their destination for the past few minutes, though not having set foot in the town for eight years it was hard to tell whether or not he had just been remembering it wrong. Though when his father had brought the vehicle to a halt under a large sign that read : ‘Beacon Hills High – Home of the Cyclones!’ – he suspected the Sheriff to be hiding ulterior motives.

"We're not going home," the Sheriff revealed calmly, however it was a cold calmness, the kind that genuinely came when people were past anger – Stuart knew it well, he recognised with ease.

"What? Why?" Stuart questioned slowly, studying the Sheriff’s features with silent fury.

"You're going to spend the afternoon with your brother," the Sheriff’s voice was slow and stern, making his requests sound like unwavering demands.

"Why?" Stuart tried again, refusing to budge.

"Because I have work to do, Stuart," the Sheriff sighed wearily, scrubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “My deputy asked me to stop by and look over some – “

"What a shocker…" Stuart whispered harshly under his breath, though his tone was deliberately loud enough so that the Sheriff heard each word clearly. “Fine, whatever,” he sniffed defensively, pushing the door open, collecting his backpack with a harsh grab before begrudgingly stepping out of the police vehicle, slamming the door shut in a display of pent up aggression.

“I’ll meet you boys at home,” the Sheriff called out through the passenger side window before winding it up.

“You’re an asshole!” Stu shouted to the Sheriff’s car as the tires squeaked on the asphalt of the High School parking lot. He knew the car was too far away to be heard, but it was satisfying to say it nonetheless.

“Seriously…?” he sighed, turning around to glare at the school. Had his life been different he probably would have attended the school before him. Had he stuck around to grow up in this stagnant country town. Had he stayed with his father and brother. Had his mother never –

Scuffing his battered black Chucks along the gravel he tightened his stare, shrugging his backpack higher. What was he meant to do now? School wasn’t out for another ten minutes. Was he supposed to lurk in the high school car park like a complete creep? Tugging at the hem of his dark beanie he groaned in frustration and decided to try and find a bench or something. 

Luckily, not a minute later, a flash of sky blue in the parking lot had him facing down a familiar looking vehicle – one he had not though of in years. Though on closer inspection, it was a little different to how he had remembered it. Several of its exterior features had clearly been replaced and the many dents and scratches told an interesting tale of Stiles’ driving abilities – did the idiot drive blindfolded or something? The thing looked like it was barely held together.

Trailing his finger along a long, deep scratch along the side almost made him shiver – fucking hell did Stiles hit a cougar?

He’d have to ask him later…

Luckily he knew for a fact that Stiles’ piece-o-crap jeep had no alarm on it, though – as it turned out – it was locked, so perhaps his brother had some sort of awareness. Lazily, Stuart tossed his bag down beside the front wheel as he pushed himself up onto of the hood with practiced ease, the action was almost achingly familiar as the metal groaned and creaked under his weight. Mom had loved this stupid thing. She'd always taken them out during the summer break. He and Stiles would lie on the hood, the engine still warm beneath them, as they'd look up at the stars…

However, the engine, like the memory, had long grown cold. Back then he had thought that one day this old thing would be his, that he’d take a girl out to the reserve, show her the stars - 

“Aren’t you meant to be in class?” a gruff voice alerted his attention, violently snapping him from his melancholy, though Stuart made no effort to acknowledge the man that approached. Stranger danger and all – geez he wasn’t an idiot…

Clearly the guy was talking to him - there wasn't anyone else in this vacant parking lot - but that did not mean he was going to get an answer. Instead, Stuart chose to expertly fish his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, thumbs tapping in the passcode automatically as he flicked his way through the local news – Beacon Hill’s Chronicle, oh how original. Well, it would amuse him for the time being at least… enough to block out this random stranger.

“It’s like eighty degrees out and you’re wearing a beanie?” the guy tried, his tone prompted a joke but Stuart wasn’t sure, he didn’t really care. The guy would soon get bored and walk away – hopefully.

Technology was a good wall, it showed everyone that you were already far too busy socialising with a thousand other people more important than them. It was like a glowing neon sign to the modern world that no he didn't want to talk and no he would not be engaging in any sort of conversation with them… he only wished he had thought to take his headphones out of his backpack before tossing it on the ground…

"And why are you wearing glasses?" the guy wondered aloud and from the slight chuckled and the sound of his voice, Stuart could tell the guy was smirking – like an ass. Seriously, did he think he was being funny? Make fun of the kid with glasses? Like he didn’t get enough of that in junior high…

God, clearly some people didn't understand the unwritten rules of the phone.

But evidently the guy was going to keep standing there until he got an answer, so Stuart acquiesced begrudgingly.

"Because any moment now Metropolis is gonna need my help and I can't have anyone knowing I'm really Superman…" he muttered back with an exaggerated eye roll, because was this guy serious?

But more importantly was this entire town serious, because Jesus Christ a lot of people had been turning up dead lately. Not one but two different occurrences of serial homicides, a massacre at the hospital, muggings gone wrong, not to mention all the animal attacks that occurred (which was probably what left those gashes in the side door of the jeep) and now apparently according to the morning news, someone had been found in the lake – ugh gross. Awesome job there Sheriff... guess who was not getting his vote in next year’s elections – not that he was planning on sticking around that long, because Holy Jesus H. Christ that sounded like a fate worse than death. 

“I thought you were Batman?” the strange guy tried to joke once again, though he sounded a like he was challenging Stuart a little, like this was some game he was trying to set up between them – God what a crazy-ass douche.

But hell no was Stuart going to play ‘witty banter’ with the random stranger. He was just going to ignore it, ignore him until the guy got bored and moved on. 

"The bell hasn't even gone yet, shouldn’t you still be in class?" the man insisted, his tone was a lot less friendly now, somehow his joking arrogant tone had completely vanished in the past minute. Fan-fucking-tastic, the guy was probably from the truancy office or something, making sure all the good little boys and girls were sitting at their desks listening to whatever bullshit their teacher had deemed worthy that day – though in all likelihood most teachers had probably just stuck a video on by now. 

"I don’t go here,” Stuart retorted, completely uninterested in anything this guy had to say at the moment. Jesus, he’d only been in this miserable death trap of a town for an hour and already he was seriously regretting allowing his Grandparents to talk him into this.

"Yeah, nice try, go back to class,” the guy said, his voice more forceful, more authoritative than it had been. He also sounded a little jaded, like something about Stuart had personally offended him suddenly.

That finally caused Stuart look up from his screen at the tall, angry looking man beside his brother’s jeep. He was tall, built like a brick shit house and looked like he could punch through a solid 2X4 with his pinkie, not to mention his heavy five o’clock shadow – no, more like seven or even eight o’clock shadow – and his piercing eyes that seemed about a second away from setting something aflame. 

Huh, Stuart thought absently, so apparently the truancy office employed Abercrombie and Fitch models now… good to know… at least Beacon Hills was doing something right…

"Do I know you?" Stuart asked, not really caring about the answer, there weren't many people in this town he cared about, or cared to remember. Though he did look slightly familiar, but he couldn’t quiet place where – clearly not worth remembering. However, the intensity of the guy's glare prompted Stuart to take a quick wander through Beacon Hill’s most wanted list to see if the creepy stalker was on it.

“Stop screwing around,” the man growled – literally growled – causing Stuart to scuttle a little way up on the hood away from the guy, dropping his phone in surprise, because what the hell? 

"Look, I'm sure you get a real buzz out of your job, but seriously, even if I did go here, there's like two minutes 'til the bell, the fuck is your problem?" Stuart snapped, hands raised as he struggled to maintain his balance whilst attempting to get as far away from the terrifying man as a possible. 

"What are you even talking about?" the guy was getting angry – Stuart could tell, frustration was clear on the man’s face and if Stuart knew one thing it was that guys with muscles that big tended to take their frustrations out on physical objects – namely people like him.

"You tell me, you're the crazy fucker that accosted me!" he blurted out, half yelp, half yell.

“Stiles,” the man growled, and that finally made a whole lot of sense. So the crazy dude had somehow decided that he was his little brother, which was kinda weird - last time he'd seen his brother the guy had buzzed his hair within an inch of its life.

“Oh.." Stuart laughed dryly in realisation, he really could have some fun with this. It would be like old times, back when he and Stiles had insisted on dressing alike just to mess with people. Though he'd never really been old enough to fully appreciate the mischief he could've caused with Stiles – the years of mistaken identity gone to waste due to their patchy relationship. However, something about the crazed murderous look this guy had going on told him now wasn't really the best time to start that up again...

"Look, man, you’ve seriously got your wires crossed man,” he licked the corner of his lip nervously, flicking his gaze quickly at the school as he heard the shrill of the bell, "oh look, school's over, you'll get 'em tomorrow, won't you," he shot the guy a snide smirk, even though he could practically feel his heart trying to punch its way out of his chest.

"What's wrong with you?" the man's eyes sharpened, looking almost concerned as he looked down at Stuart's chest then back up.

"The fuck's wrong with you?" Stuart shot back just as quickly, his bravado depleting by the second, as the slight tremor in his voice gave way.

“Where’s Scott?” the man ordered forcefully.

“As in McCall?” Stuart frowned, utterly bewildered where this line of interrogation was going. Why the hell did this guy need to know where Scott was?

"I'm taking you to Deaton," the man announced, moving closer once again resulting in a jack-rabbit effect upon Stuart’s heart. 

"Who?" His brows pinched together in confusion as he gave the guy an odd look.

"Come on," the man insisted, taking hold of Stuart’s arm, pulling him off the bonnet with alarming ease – the guy was freaking strong. 

"Whoa! Hey, get the fuck off of me," Stuart struggled to get out of the man’s grip, his heart pounding as he now realised the danger of the situation. The guy was at least twice his size, ridiculously strong and clearly furious at Stiles for some reason.  ‘Thanks for that, bro…’ he thought bitterly, desperate to get the hell away from the guy crowding his personal space. The guy’s grip wasn’t exactly bruising, but it was firm, Stuart knew the only way out was maybe a swift kick to the man’s groin – though something about the guy made Stuart wonder if that would even hurt him. The dude had some sort of terminator vibe about him that made Stuart wonder if he was a robot…

"Look buddy, I know the Sheriff,” Stuart threatened weakly, jaw tight as he struggled in vain. He hated using that as his ‘get out of jail free card’ – though it was nice to have a literal get out of jail free card… “The whole freaking County knows my face – I’ll scream kidnap and rape before you can even breathe!”

“Stiles…” the guy frowned, looking weird wounded by Stuart’s actions.

“I’m not Stiles!” he finally announced, exhaled loudly, desperately.

“That’s not funny,” the man snapped with terse fury, holding Stuart firm as he berated him.

“Yeah it is, it’s a fucking riot,”  Stuart scoffed, his fear and panic turning into half-cocked snide backlashes aimed at his attacker – he’d never really learnt to shut his mouth when a-holes got up in his space.

Something cold and terrifying took hold of the man before him, looking as though he had suddenly come to some horrifying conclusion. “You…” the man’s voice was utterly murderous as he loomed over Stuart, his piercing blue eyes glaring down at him – wait blue? They weren’t blue a minute ago, were they? Crap were the guy’s teeth always that sharp?

Suddenly a thought struck him – he was going to die. He was going to – 

“Stuart?” an oddly familiar voice suddenly called out like a beacon of bright hope in a dark alley, "Holy Crap! Derek, let go of him!"

“What?” the guy backed off immediately, stepping aside as one Scott McCall burst through like Stuart’s own personal knight in shining armour. 

"Scotty? Scotty McCall? Oh thank God," Stuart breathed loudly in relief, his limbs shaking slightly, tingling with an over abundance of adrenaline as he accepted the warm, solid hug from the other boy.

"Man, you got big, I mean fuck, what the hell are you on?" Stuart exclaimed slowly through ragged breathes, securing his beanie firmly before pushing up his glasses.

"It's call puberty, dick," Scott smirked a little, playfully, and holy crap, confidence was now rolling off that kid in waves. What in the world had happened to the little snotty faced mop of hair that trailed after Stiles, surgically attached to his inhaler?

“What the hell is going on?” the A&F model growled again as his wide eyes shot from McCall back towards Stuart.

"Derek, it's fine, this is Stuart, he's Stiles' little brother," Scott stepped between Stuart and his attacker, physically shielding the smaller boy as he spoke to the crazy guy in a calm, placid tone.

"Litt- we're the same age," Stuart scoffed as he rolled his eyes, though his snark was half-hearted at best, the panic from moments before had not even been close to wearing off.

"What?" the guy - Derek, apparently - gaped with a wide eyed expression, his eyebrows skyrocketing as he directed a look of disbelief at Stuart.

“I told you! Oh God, I thought he was going to kill me…” Stuart breathed out, leaning over, one hand on his knee, the other over his chest, his breath hitching a little, all sense of bravo had fled with Scott’s rescue – let Scotty McCall deal with the big bad angry psycho (which was an option he never though he’d ever consider…).

“Are you okay?” Scott placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, causing Stuart to flinch a little – it was weird having someone touching him.

“Yeah, m’fine,” he shrugged off the other boy’s hand, trying to brush off Scott’s touch casually.

All around there are hundred of kids filtering through the sea of cars, blissfully unaware of the brutal attack Scott had just thwarted. Completely unaware of the raging psycho just hanging about in the parking lot of a high school… Jesus Christ, where the hell was neighbourhood watch so he could report this fucker?

"Stu?" a voice calls out and he already knows it's Stiles and that his brother is equally surprised and confused by his presence. Yeah Sheriff, great idea, surprise your brother by randomly turning up at his school… 

“Miss me?” Stuart let out breathily as gave his brother a small smile, seeing no real other option.

It had been so long since he and Stiles had seen each other. He hadn’t thought much would’ve changed in three years, but clearly it really had. Gone were the buzz-cut and the rosy cheeks. Gone were the awkward limbs and the baby face. Strangely enough, Stiles looked like he had an odd sense of hardness that he definitely didn’t have all those years ago. He looked tired and for the first time in their lives, Stiles actually looked like the eldest of the two.

"What the - Derek? Stu - I - What are you -" Stiles seemed to struggle to find the words to articulate his confusion.  

“What the hell is this?” Derek, the A&F model, directed a furious gaze towards Stiles, making the latter recoil a little as the larger man advanced on Stiles. 

“Hey, back off okay?” Scott got in between them, quick to push Derek back, seemingly exchanging a stream of defensive mutterings with the large angry man.

"What - I – what the hell are you doing here?" Stiles spluttered as his attention turned back to his brother, completely overwhelmed by the surprise.

Well, that’s… pretty much the response he expected, Stuart thought bitterly as he send a guarded glare at his brother. Three years of absence couldn’t be undone with a simple ‘white-flag’ smile. Of course Stiles was still angry at him, of course hadn’t forgiven him. But then again Stuart hadn’t forgiven Stiles’ either – not completely.

"Fuck you, that's why, now get in the car," Stuart sighed, worn out by his near-assault, wishing they could skip the awkward apologies and go back to the way they had been before. "The Sheriff’s being a complete ass and I have no idea how to walk from here… it’s South right?"

It was a lame lie. Googlemaps was his best friend in any question of direction, but he hoped the small attempt as humour might ease his brother’s obvious fluster.

"I - uh, yeah…" Stiles nodded his head compliantly, looking a little in shock as he shuffled forward, awkwardly shifting the straps of his backpack.

Seeing his brother before him, made something twist, something ache for something he hadn’t had in such a long time.

"C'mere," Stuart groaned as he yanked on Stiles’ backpack straps, pulling his brother in for a hug. He didn’t mind making the first step – one of them had to – be the bigger man and all that, this was his brother. Though it was a little sad at how long it had taken for him to see that. What he had almost lost. God, he may have never had this opportunity…

"You're an asshole for not telling me, you know," he murmured into Stiles’ shoulder, relishing the moment, though he didn’t appreciate the audience. Derek – if that even was his real name – had decided to stick around, like a creep. Seriously, if the guy didn’t work at the school, why was he hanging around Scott and Stiles? He looked old, like way too old to be kicking it with a bunch of seniors…Was he a drug dealer? He certainly looked like a drug dealer…

“Huh?” Stiles pulled back from the hug a little as he stared at his brother with an odd expression.

“So you’re okay?” Stuart starred up at his brother, realising that the elder boy now clearly had a inch on him – how that happened, he had no idea. He didn’t really want to be having this conversation now, but he needed to hear Stiles say it. Damn their stupid fight. He needed to know that his brother was alright.

“Yeah, I’m fine…” Stiles frowned, looking confused, his mouth opened slightly as though wanted to ask something but he couldn’t quite find the words.

The words were a breathe of cooling fresh air, a calming release of tension that Stuart hadn’t realised he’d been carrying until this moment. His brother was alright. He was alive, healthy, not slowly deteriorating in a hospital bed…

Which only left one last thing to do.

Crap.

Stuart bit his bottom lip as he studied his brother’s expression. This really wasn’t where he’d pictured their reconciliation, but beggars couldn’t really be choosers in this case. He needed to suck it up, take it on the chin and deal with it. He needed his brother back. God, did he need his brother back in his life.

“Look, I’m sorry okay?” he allowed the words to escape before he had any comprehension of them, erupting out of his mouth like a volcano three years in the making.

“Stu…” Stiles avoided his brother’s gaze, choosing instead to gift a nervous glance at Scott and that dick-face ‘Derek’.

“I - I was a stupid kid,” he tried to argue. This was definitely not the way he’d planned it in his head. He was far much more eloquent when he’d practiced this. “I never meant to hurt you, Stiles, I was an idiot, and I just… uh, can we just stop this?” 

There.

Olive branch firmly extended.

Ish…

The next move was completely in Stiles’ court.

“Stuart, I – ” Stiles winced, looking guilty, as though he couldn’t find the words, but was quickly interrupted.

"Stiles?" a feminine voice called out to his brother, snapping Stiles from his turmoil of confused thoughts and over to the beautiful girl walking their way.

“Is that Lydia Martin…?" Stuart cocked his head to one side in a curious fashion as he saw the familiar strawberry blonde walk up to the group.

God, puberty had done right by that one. Not that she was by any means an unattractive nine year old - or whatever his nine-year-old self (and his brother’s for that matter) had perceived as unattractive. “She knows your name, man,” Stuart drawled slowly, proudly, raising his eyebrows a little, impressed. Clearly Stiles’ new look was doing a world of good for him if Lydia Martin was acknowledging his existence. Now that was a story Stiles was going to have to tell him later

"Oh my God…" The strawberry blonde stood frozen as she locked eyes with Stuart, her mouth hung open as her eyes widened, paling a little, looking a touch surprised, but mostly she just looked terrified.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” Stiles flailed about a little, rushing over to scoop Lydia into his arms, reassuring her softly, gently – hang on. Was Stiles with Lydia Martin? Stuart’s mind reeled at the possibility, how the hell had that happened? Something big had clearly gone down over the last few years…

“This is Stuart, he’s my brother, we’re twins. Surprise?” Stiles offered meekly, giving her jazz hands and everything, looking as though he was waiting for her to punch him in the face – hard. 

Stuart stood stunned by the exchange, Lydia's expression had not been one he had expected. On the one hand, he hadn't really expected an expression to begin with, seeing as how she actively ignored both Stilinskis throughout their entire Elementary school experience. However, on the other hand, her shocked expression was a little more overwhelming then what he'd imagined. Because Lydia Martin's face was not the shocked gasp of seeing someone they hadn't seen in a while… No, hers was one of seeing someone she hadn't even known existed.

And the crazy thing was, everyone - bar his brother and little Scotty McCall (who he really had to stop calling him that in his head - because Holy Fuck the kid was practically fighting weight) - was wearing that same expression.

It took less than a second to work out why…

"Seriously? Wow…"Stuart laughed bitterly, anger blossoming in his chest with each passing moment, like a sharp blade cutting through his chest. "No one knows who I am, do they?" he shot back at Stiles with a sharp glare. The rich hot stab on anger drove deep into his gut as his clenched his teeth to relieve some of the tension in his chest. Did Stiles seriously hate him that much? Did he despise him so greatly that he hadn't even told any of his friends that he had a brother? Just erased him out of everyone’s lives?

Betrayal was a poisonous blade, killing off any hope Stuart once had of making up – the final nail in that coffin.

“Stu…” Stiles whined, looking a touched pained, though clearly this had more to do with Stuart being here, messing up Stiles’ perfect little gang.

“No,” Stuart shot him down instantly, shaking his head as he snarled, “don’t even try…”

“You don’t – “ Stiles tried again, but was cut of quickly.

“You’re such a petty asshole, you know that?” Stuart snapped, his mood plummeting as the anger boiled up within in.

"Look – just… just get in the car, Stu," Stiles sighed, running his hand through his hair as he took a glance around at the growing group of confused and angry Beacon Hills residents. Somehow in the last few minutes another kid – a short blonde standing by Scott – had arrived, looking tense as though prepared for a fight, seemingly only held back by Scott’s heaving hand on his shoulder. Great, Stuart rolled his eyes, more assholes to deal with.

"Stiles, explain.” Derek – who had apparently found his words again – barked at Stiles, furious.

Good, Stuart thought bitterly, point your anger and homicidal tendencies in a useful direction.

“Please, can I just  - ” Stiles began, looking panicked as he glanced around at his circle of friends.

"Yeah, Stiles, what the actual fuck?” Stuart let the furry of sharp words fly from his mouth, not caring about the crowd of on-lookers suddenly gathered in the parking lot.

“Get in the car,” Stiles murmured tersely, like a furious parent in a crowded shopping centre, wishing to yell but knowing he couldn’t. His brother placed a light hand on Stuart’s shoulder, moving him toward the car, but Stiles’ touch just seem to spur his anger further. 

“Don’t fucking order me around,” Stuart spat, pushing Stiles away with more force than necessary, causing his brother to trip over his own feet. He probably would have landed hard on the asphalt had Scott’s quick reflexes not caught him.

A childish part of Stuart wanted to kick out at his brother on the ground, though – as if sensing this desire – a heavy palm was splayed upon his chest and Stuart found himself once more looking up at the angry Titan looming over him. Derek’s jaw was clenched tight with caged fury that made Stuart want to run. His anger was shifting into fear at such a rapid pace that he just wanted to curl into a ball and cry and the mix of emotions flooding his system. This is why he hated people.

“Derek,” Stiles called out, giving Scott a small nod of silent communication as he stepped towards the scary Adonis between him and Stuart. However Derek stood frozen for a moment, his furious gaze not moving from Stuart. 

“Please,” Stiles pleaded, looking desperate and guilty all at once, pushing Scott away to prove that he could stand by himself, “just leave him, Derek.”

Apparently those were the magic words to call off the Hulk because with that Derek backed off, exchanging a silent conversation with Stiles. But Stuart couldn’t care less about whatever looks his brother shared with some crazed homicidal psychopath.

He’d tried. He done his fucking part. He’d even fucking apologised.

What the hell had Stiles done?

Nothing, that’s what he’d done. Fuck all. Just sit back and watch Beacon Hills forget that the Sherriff had two sons. Clearly Scott had filled Stiles’ brother quota and didn’t have room for another – and that was fine, he’d accepted that a long time ago. But this…

This was cold. 

“Man, screw this town,” Stuart spat as he grabbed his bag from the side of the car, wrenching open the door violently, heaving himself into the high car before slamming the door shut.

Though the sound was muffled through glass and metal, Stuart could still hear the outside conversation clearly. 

“I’ll explain later, okay?” Stiles scratched his eyebrow awkwardly, glancing around at the group nervously. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen… not like this anyway.”

There his brother was apologising for Stuart’s very existence. Wow, did he sure miss Beacon Hills… 

After an awkward exchange of concerned – and in some cases angry glances – Stiles quickly threw open the driver’s side and pulled himself into the jeep, slamming the door as he collapsed into the seat.

“Always have to be the centre of attention don’t you?” Stiles muttered bitterly, twisting the key with unnecessary force to relieve his frustrations.

“Just drive the fucking car,” Stuart spat, barely holding back the furious anger building in his chest.

Goddammit, he was getting the next flight to Fresno.

Even if he had to sell a kidney...

Chapter Text

The screech of tires and the groan of the engine shatter the stunned silence of those left in the empty parking lot.

Within seconds of the jeep's exit, Derek rounded on Scott with a fiery expression – anger did not accurately cover the ex-Alpha’s currently state of being, it was more along the lines of violent blind fury.

“So you’re back then…?” Scott gave the larger man a tight smile, though it came off more as a wince.

"Start talking," Derek growled, teeth grinding as the tips of his canines began to descend slowly.

"Stuart and Stiles are twins," Scott offered quickly, glancing around the group to gage their reactions. Lydia still looked slightly in shock, a silent anger boiling beneath.

"Yeah, I got that, thanks," Derek shot back facetiously. 

"So Stiles is an identical twin?" Liam cocked his head to one side, looking utterly confused by the idea – regardless of what he’d just witnessed. Scott’s young beta had walked out halfway into the argument, but wisely, Liam had taken Scott's request to keep quiet and stay on the fringes until the Stilinski brothers had left. “Seriously?”

"Triplet actually," Scott said with a deadpanned stare.

"What?!" Derek balked, eyes wide. 

"Nah, I'm messing with you…" Scott gave a lopsided smirk at his attempt to lighten the situation, though he instantly realised it had not been appreciated. "I mean you guys had no idea? Seriously?" he looked around the group taking in their vague expressions curiously.  

"There are photos of him all over Stiles' house…" Scott told them with a shrug. It wasn’t like it was a secret or anything. The evidence was there if any of them had cared to look. Though thinking back, had any of them actually been to Stiles’ place? Lydia had… though probably not Derek, or Liam for that matter… huh. So maybe not as straight forward as he had thought… 

"And we were just suppose to assume they were pictures of Stiles' estranged identical brother?" Derek’s words were clipped, short, furious, reminding Scott of the man he had been when they’d first met.

"They're pretty easy to tell apart," Scott scoffed a little in disbelief. Honestly he had always been able to tell them apart, it was one of the things Stiles had liked about Scott in the preschool playground.

“They’re identical twins,” Derek growled, frustration was never a good look on the elder man.

“Yeah, but, not completely,” Scott defended, “Stuart’s a couple inches shorter and got a little freckle on his ear and he wears glasses – that one’s pretty obvious. Also his hair’s actually a little shorter, which is funny ‘cause he used to have the longer hair…” he trailed off awkwardly as he realised the rest of the group weren’t really finding it that funny.

“Why wouldn’t he tell any of us about this?” Lydia breathed, frustration clear, her brows pinching together as she tried to come to grips with what had just happened.

"Stuart went to Elementary school with us," Scott shot at Lydia, accusation clear within his tone. Lydia should have remembered Stuart just as Scott had. Frankly he was a little annoyed that Lydia was pinning all of the blame on Stiles. "He and Jackson were actually pretty close before he left."

"Jackson and I didn't start dating 'til freshman year…" Lydia offered quietly, teeth scraping her bottom lip anxiously as she thought. 

"…And you didn’t start acknowledging Stiles’ existence ‘til Junior year,” Scott finished, sounding more bitter than he had intended.

"But why did he leave?" Liam wondered aloud, looking up to Scott cautiously. The Alpha could tell the younger boy was curious, but Scott still felt it wasn’t really his place to tell them what he knew – which wasn’t a lot.

"I don't really know the whole of it, my mom wouldn't tell me, we were pretty young," Scott shrugged a little. It was true, she hadn’t. No one had really told him anything for a long time an he still didn’t really know everything. It just seemed like one day Stuart was there and the next day he wasn’t. "But it happened right after their mom died… though I don’t think Stu had been happy for a long time before that..."

"Yes, but why wouldn't he tell us? Why wouldn’t you tell us?" Derek growled, his frustrations getting the better of his mood.

"You didn't tell us about Cora," Scott shot back immediately, his mouth retorting before he’d even really thought about the words.

"Because I thought she was dead," Derek snarled, his expression fuming at the allegations.

"Oh yeah,” Scott winced a little, oops… “Look, Stiles doesn’t really like to talk about his brother, they had a fight ‘couple years back, don’t think they’ve spoken since…” he let his sentence hang in the air for a moment. 

“Until the kid randomly shows up,” Derek grunted, shaking his head. 

“Wasn’t really that random,” Scott muttered to himself, though to a crowd of werewolves it was practically announcing it on a megaphone. 

“Scott.” Derek’s tone resonated with sharp warning. The glare that matched was one not to be messed with, causing Scott to duck his head meekly.  

“I overheard mom and Stiles’ dad talking the other night, they mentioned Stuart so I kinda, you know…” he revealed reluctantly.

“Eavesdropped on your mother’s private conversation?” Derek accused.

“Yeah, well I was doing that anyway,” Scott waved off casually, unfazed, before continuing, “but they were talking about the fact that Stiles’ grandparents wanted Stuart to spent his summer here, they wanted the two of them to fix things between them, you know?” 

“So why was Stiles so surprised?” Lydia asked slowly, cautious in her questioning.

“Uh, I don’t think his dad got ‘round to telling him…” Scott winced a little, knowing the heated argument that the Sheriff was in for once he got home. Scott not telling Stiles was one thing, his Dad not saying anything… yeah Stiles was bound to be pissed.

“Oh…” Lydia concluded quietly.

“Yeah,” Scott shot her a pained look, knowing that this was going to be hard on Stiles far more than on any of them. There was a reason Stiles didn’t talk about Stuart, that he freely called Scott his brother, while enthusiastically ignored his biological sibling.

“Hey guys,” Kira beamed happily as she practically skipped over to Scott side, “Derek, you’re back!”

Derek offered nothing in ways of friendly acknowledgement, choosing instead to walk off into the emptying packing lot without another word.

Blinking owlishly, Kira looked around the group confused, “I missed something didn’t I…?”

This was not how he’d expected his last week of Junior year to go – and given his history for expecting the worst, that was saying a lot. Sure, he had expected werewolves, demons, vampires, the four horsemen of the fucking Apocalypse. But nothing had given him any indication that he’d be walking out of class that day to find his estranged little brother having it out with Derek flipping Hale – who also apparently just seemed to appear out of thin air…. He would have to find out what the hell that was all about, because that was definitely not a coincidence. Body in lake + Derek Hale = definite trouble for one Stiles Stilinski. Trouble that didn’t need to be added to by his brother showing up.

Unfortunately, Stuart was something he had to deal with first.

"Love how you've told all your friends about me," Stuart cut through the silence of the car with a snide tone, "I mean, I'm touched, really, I just knew my little brother missed me so much that he would tell his friends he had a freaking brother."

"I'm older," Stiles muttered, his knuckles blanched white with tension as he gripped the wheel tight, his tongue darting nervously to his lips as he watched the cars in front of him. They were not having this argument in the car, not while he was driving, not while Stiles couldn’t block a nasty right hook if it was thrown his way.

"Yeah? Not emotionally as it turns out," Stuart glowered, his voice sharp and cutting, clearly the absence between them had only caused the younger twin’s bitterness to grow.

"Pot, kettle," Stiles grumbled under his breath, desperate to look anywhere other than at his brother. An itching feeling was working it’s way through his chest, increasingly applying pressure to his lungs as the guilt began to weigh heavily. It was true he hadn’t spared a thought to Stuart in a long time – Supernatural crises and fearing for his life and the lives of his father and friends, kinda had priority than his awkward relationship with his sullen little brother. He’d been so angry at Stuart for so long, he hadn’t really thought about how his brother had dealt with their time apart…

"Look, it's not like it was on purpose, or anything, it just didn't come up," Stiles offered quietly, knowing it wouldn’t help, but felt he needed to say it anyway.

However, this turned out to be the wrong thing to say.

"Nice, bro, way to make a guy feel loved by his own fucking family," Stuart growled out, slamming his foot into the dashboard.

“Don’t kick my car,” Stiles scolded immediately, snapping like a rubber band at the abuse bestowed upon his baby. His patience was wearing thin with Stuart, the dick practiced passive aggression like it was a religion.

“Oh, so it’s yours is it?” Stuart spat bitterly.

“Yeah, you’re damn right it is,” Stiles retorted with a sharp, protective tone, feeling the anger rise up within his chest, unable to stop the words leaving his mouth. Why wouldn’t he have sole claim over the jeep? Stuart had been the one to leave – Stiles had been the one who stayed. Stiles stayed by their grieving father. Stuart forfeited his Beacon Hills life, giving up the right over each and every thing he’d left behind – their mother’s things, the jeep, their father, everything. Family doesn’t walk out on family. That was a fact.

“Go fuck yourself,” came the charming retort from his younger sibling. Wow, big city boy learning all the big words…

"What the hell are you even doing back here?" Stiles blurted out, failing to keep his anger in check. Stuart always knew the right buttons to push to ensure nuclear meltdown. “What happened to ‘never setting foot in this hell hole again’?”

"Wow, you're really showering me with affection there, don't hurt yourself," Stuart barked, his voice venomous and pained, like a wounded animal backed into a corner. "How are you? I'm fantastic - by the way - last few years have been a fucking picnic…” Stuart muttered seemingly to himself in a act dripping with passive aggression. 

"You left," Stiles told him, tapping his fingers on the wheel, tapping his fingers on the wheel, desperate to calm the anxiety clawing it’s way up his chest.

"Yeah, well I'm back,” there words were said without emotion, a statement, nothing else.

Silence.

Stiles couldn’t stand the silence. It gnawed at him, made him anxious.  

"How long?" Stiles asked quietly, testing the waters carefully as he spared a glance over to his brother.

"Don't know,” Stuart shrugged with a overly dramatic eye roll, pulling out his phone.

“Wonderful,” Stiles uttered through clenched teeth, focusing on the road ahead with a sharp glare.

God, how the hell was he going to make it through the Summer..?

The rest of the car ride was held in complete silence, though withstanding awkward silence wasn’t really a new thing for Stuart – he’d had plenty of practice: teachers, counsellors, therapists, his grandparents. Stone cold silence always proved to be the best way of avoiding everything he didn’t want to talk about. Though he could tell Stiles was having a harder time at it than he was. Stiles had always been the chatterbox of the two Stilinski boys – always one to fill every single moment, while Stuart chose to remain quiet. It was probably one of the first ways people had learnt to distinguish the two – ask a question and whoever spoke first was Stiles.

However, the silence they held now was not simply once of avoidance, or displeasure. The thunderous tension between the two came from a place of mutual fury for the other.  

Stuart had thought – far too optimistically, as it turned out – that their long awaited reunion was going to be a moment of understanding between them, one where they could forgive each other for their past actions, one where they could forget the petty feud they’d carried on for far too long. But apparently Stiles still held an unwavering anger that included literally cutting Stuart out of Beacon Hills. Apparently in Stiles’ mind if you left, you could never return, you’d signed yourself into exile – family or not. And that included wiping Stuart out of his life forever – the 'etch-a-sketch' method for dealing with unwanted relatives. So yeah, Stuart was angry. He was pissed and hurt.

Once they arrived in the familiar driveway, he made no effort to make further conversation. He was done. He had tried and Stiles had shoved it back in his face – so fuck him. He didn’t need him. Clearly Stiles didn’t want him as brother, so Stuart would concede.

They spent one painful moment at the door, insistently avoiding eye-contact, as Stiles fumbled with his keys in the lock. The Sheriff wasn’t home yet – surprise, surprise – for which Stuart was actually rather grateful. After the horrific events at the school, he just wanted to be alone, away from everyone and everything. So without a word he hitched his backpack up on his shoulder and headed towards the stairs.

His old room was at the far end of the corridor, furthest from the stairs. Though he had not walked down the corridor in nearly eight years, muscle memory somehow moved his feet with ease until he stood before the door. Someone had taken down the carved wooden sign on both his and Stiles’ rooms laying their claim on each respected room. They had bought them at a county fair when they were seven, some elderly carpenter was making them for the kids and their mom had thought it was time they had their own rooms. It had hung on his door for as long as he could remember, though now the door was bare.

The vacantness of the room within was the final straw as he felt his bag drop from his hand and a tickle in his nose, his vision watering as he finally understood the overwhelming loneliness that stood before him. Without Stiles there wasn’t anything for him here. His father didn’t want him – he’d made that quite clear.

Fuck, why couldn’t he have just stayed back in Fresno with that creepy paedophile down the road?  Surely that would’ve been better than staying in this hell…

A frustrated tear escaped from the corner of his eye as he allowed himself to fall down onto the bed. Scrubbing his eyes under his glasses angrily with his sleeve, he gazed around at his old room. It felt odd, like returning to the scene of some past crime, a shrine to a forgotten life. Scuffed carpet and peeling paint pulling long repressed memories to the surface. The room had been recently cleaned though nothing had been removed since he’d left; photos sat still in frames projecting frozen moments of happier times, a couple of action figures standing guard over his wardrobe, memorabilia of his nine year old self dutiful awaiting his return. However it was all just a further reminder that this was a place he was not welcome. 

A creak from down the hall pulled Stuart from his thoughts, curiosity getting the better of him as he peaked his head out of the door down the vacant corridor. Having not heard the sound of Stiles stomping up the stairs, he had assumed that his brother was still moping around on the lower floor. Though if he was still down there, what had made the noise?

Sighing with a dramatic loll of his head, Stuart abandoned his room in search of the shuffling sound, which led his right outside of his brother’s door.

“Hey,” a teenage girl smiled at him – looking roughly his age, maybe younger. The first thing that struck him was how pretty she was; rich chocolate brown eyes, mousey brown hair that looked a little touched by the sun. God, he was starting to think all the girls in Beacon Hills were super models – scrap that, practically everyone in this town was gorgeous, was it something in the water?

“Hi…” Stuart gave the girl a small nod of acknowledgement from the doorway, trying his best to act casual in front of the strange girl in his brother’s room. His thoughts flipped between calling for Stiles or dealing with this himself – before he realised that calling for Stiles meant dealing with Stiles… so he opted for the latter.

“Are you okay?” she wondered, stepping closer into his personal space. Though she was a very attractive girl – her beautiful brown eyes peering at him with genuine concern – there was something about her that set his nerves on edge (though that could’ve just been because she was a stranger lurking around his house). 

"Why do you smell wrong?" the girl accused him, sniffing the air for a moment before she stormed up to him, grabbing his shirt forcefully in order to take a long whiff.

"That's an odd sentence," he frowned, utterly stunned by the assault, squinting his eyes a little as he tried to figure out just what the hell the girl was doing in his brother's room and how she had gotten there in the first place and why the hell was she sniffing him?!

“Please stop,” he asked, he already been manhandled by one person today, he really didn’t want to make it a second – no matter how pretty she was. 

"Are you possessed again?" she asked, though Stuart ignored this comment completely as he was trying to figure out who this girl was and how she had got there. There was no sign anyone had been downstairs and judging from the dirt caked on her boots and trudged across the room to the bed, she definitely would’ve left a mark if she’d used the front door – or even the stairs. 

"Did you just climb through the window?" Stuart asked, following the direction of the boot tracks to the dirtied windowsill. God knows, how she would’ve managed that… It was a least a seven foot drop from Stiles’ room, without any lattice or support beams to aid her climb.

"Yeah," she nodded honestly, as though it was a completely normal everyday action.

"Right…" he bit his bottom lip thoughtfully, his mind struggling to find the words to cover what to say in this situation. What was he meant to do with that? He still didn’t know anything about this girl other than she thought it was normal to climb into his brother’s bedroom – did Stiles have a girlfriend? Seriously? How did Stiles get a girl like that?

Wait, wasn’t Stiles with Lydia? Hadn’t they been all touchy-feely at the school…? How in the Holy Hell did Stiles Stilinski have TWO gorgeous girls?!? 

"Can we have sex?" she asked him, earnest and honest in her approach.

"Uh, what?" Stuart’s brow went skyward as his mind stalled, feet immediately backing him into the frame of the door. Though the question answered his own plethora of questions, it didn’t quite compute in his mind.

"Before we study," the girl looked confused, as though she believed since she’d done the polite thing and ask he was supposed to respond accordingly. 

"Right…” the words left his mouth as the strange girl cornered him, “what?"

The Sheriff found himself in the awkward position of standing outside the front door of his own house – key in the lock –  wondering how he was going to get through the next few hours. The case was proving to be just the level of vague and odd that he’d unfortunately come to expect from Beacon Hills, while the jeep in the driveway meant that he had not one, but two teens to deal with – one furious at him for existing, the other most likely to be pissed he hadn’t known about their new house guest…

God, help him.

With a determined breath, he twisted the key in the lock, stepping over the threshold.

"Hey kiddo," the Sheriff forced a smile as he walked into the kitchen, placing a large box proclaiming ‘SHERIFF’S OFFICE – DO NOT REMOVE’ down upon the table. Having thought of the possible ways of going about this new arrangement, he had opted for the ‘steamroller’ – blasting through with a positive attitude until the others had no choice but to comply. Well he would attempt this at least. “So Melissa and Scott are coming round at seven, I’m thinking Chinese – don’t even get started on the MSG lecture, it’s a special occasion. Also Parrish is going to drop by in an hour or so…” the Sheriff frowned as he noticed Stiles’ hadn’t moved from his slumped position over the dining room table. With a flicker of a smirk, he attempted to test how much information was being processed, adding; “And I’m thinking about asking Scott for the bite – “

“You know that’s not funny,” Stiles murmured into the cave he had constructed with his arms, his voice muffled by the folds of fabric.

“Oh, good, you are listening,” the Sheriff smiled warmly as he took out a beer from the fridge, leaning against the archway between rooms as he popped the cap off into the sink effortlessly. “Wasn’t sure for a moment there.”

"You know what would've been nice to hear this morning?" Stiles raised his head up off the table a little, cocking his head to one side in order to see his father, " 'morning, coffee's in the pot, might be working late today - don't wait up, oh by the way your brother's back in town!" he hissed, eyes squinting with rich accusation, failing to conceal the anger and frustration broiling inside.

"Surprise…" the Sheriff winced, ducking his head slightly. So much for positive attitudes… Thank God he had thought to grab a beer, this was definitely a drink-in-hand conversation.

"You're lucky Scott was there, because I'm pretty sure Derek was about to turn Stuart into puppy chow and I’m positive Lydia was about to stab him with Kira’s katana."

“Lydia? Why would  - she knows Stuart, you all grew up together,” the Sheriff reasoned, leaning back against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the dull ache forming.

“Lydia barely knew me until a year ago…” Stiles muttered quietly, fingers drumming nervously as he sent his father a heavy glance. 

“Oh,” he nodded numbly. 

“Thank you werewolves…” Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked up at his father. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he accused wearily, sounding far older than his driver’s licence claimed.  “You know a little warning would’ve been nice…”

“I didn’t know where to start, kiddo,” the Sheriff sighed, tired of the mask he was attempting to project. There was only so much positivity you could fake before it fell flat. “It was a last minute thing, you’re grandparents offered and I jumped at it… You know I never wanted this to be a long term thing.”

“Yeah but why now?” Stiles asked, “we haven’t talked in years, he hasn’t been here in like eight, why the hell does he want back in all of a sudden?”

The Sheriff took a breath, quieting his voice a little in case Stuart was close. He leaned in a little as he told his son gently, “Stuart’s been having some problems in school, your grandmother thought it would be better for him to get away for a while…”

“Yeah that sounds like his usual coping mechanism,” Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes with a hooked snarl on his lips.

“That’s not fair,” the Sheriff said slowly, his eyebrows knitted together in concern, “just give him a chance, he’s your brother kiddo. Come on, you two were pretty much inseparable once.”

“Yeah – in the womb,” Stiles retorted with a blank expression.

“Don’t get smart with me,” the Sheriff chuckled softly, gesturing at his son with the beer in his hand. “Where is he by the way?”

“In his room, sulking. Ugh, this couldn’t’ve come a worst time,” Stiles’ collapsed down into his hands, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “Derek’s back which means something’s up, I mean, seriously? Not even a month without us and he – hang on…” Stiles paused mid-sentence, pulling back his hands, flicking his attention back to his father sharply, his eyes narrowing in pre-emptive interrogation. “You weren’t surprised that Derek was back, you didn’t even address it.”

“Is he back? Oh…” the Sheriff nodded dumbly, in an effort to look nonchalant before realising he wasn’t convincing anyone, “that wasn’t very convincing was it...”

“Not even a little – What’s the deal? It’s about the body they found in the lake right?” Stiles jumped at the fragment of information, desperate for more.

“You know I can’t talk about that,” the Sheriff offered in a similar tone to how he addressed the local press.

“Dad, we always talk about it,” Stiles whined, flailing his arms widely as he shot his father a desperate expression. “It’s our thing.”

“Not this time, kid,” he shook in head, shutting down completely on that line of interrogation.

“What? No, dad, we made a deal,” Stiles argued, “I’d fill you in, if you filled me in, communication in the key here,” he made a vague gesture between them as a visual aid.

“That deal was for supernatural cases only, I’m not bring my underage son to consult on murder cases or suicides.” 

“How can you be so sure it’s not something else?” Stiles was nothing if not determined.

“That’s why Derek’s in town,” the Sheriff revealed slowly, calmly.

“So you called Derek back?” Stiles clocked on quick, eyes transfixed on his father’s expressions, watching for any tells.

“We talk now and again,” the Sheriff explained with a small casual shrug. Being the Sheriff and father of one of the town’s Scooby-gang, it comforted him to keep in contact with those capable – and not in high school – of taking care of supernatural nasties that lurked in the shadows.

“Ugh, gross, are you guys like buddies?” Stiles sent his father a look of repulsion, “he playing Batman to your Commissioner? Do you, Derek and Mr Argent all sit ‘round have a little three way chat?”

“I’m really glad you didn’t decide to end that sentence early,” the Sheriff muttered into his beer bottle as he took another sip.

“Why can’t you be friends with Parrish? I like Parrish, he’s like a little puppy – an adorable fire-retardant puppy.”

“Parrish has been in this game less than I have, kiddo, and that’s not saying much. Chris is busy trying to track down Kate Argent, he’s close by but held up with some hunters a few counties over. I needed someone to clear this as quickly as possible and Derek happened to be close by,” he reasoned calmly.

“Chris? Derek? What’s with all these first names? What happened to ‘Argent’ and ‘Hale’? I liked that, completely formal, totally – “ 

“STILES!!!” the beckon is more annoyed than bloodcurdling.

Though is did sound urgent...

“Go see what that is, would you?” the Sheriff winced, nodding up to ceiling in gesture to the upstairs. 

“Chicken,” Stiles glared at his father as he begrudgingly pushed himself up from the table. 

“My hero,” his father gives him a smirk and a supportive clap on the shoulder as he subtly pushed Stiles towards the stairs.

 Dealing with his brother was pretty much at the top of his To–Don’t List for this afternoon. This feeling was cemented with each heavy foot against the stairs. Though as he reach the final stair, he realised that his door was open. 

His door to his room where his brother was currently under his girlfriend.

Oh crap, he'd completely forgotten that he'd arranged to help Malia study that afternoon - the chaos at the school had pretty much bulldozed any hope of a quiet afternoon with his girlfriend...

Speaking of which -  

“Ugh,” Stiles froze at the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame as he watches the situation before him with an odd expression. “Malia? Sweetie, could you get off my brother?”

“Brother?” Malia looked from Stiles to Stuart, cocking her head to one side in a curious fashion. “Cool,” she concluded with friendly smile towards the latter, as she extended her hand to help him up. Stuart actively ignored the gesture, pushing himself off the bed, a dark scowl directed toward them.

“Um, so uh, what do we say?” Stiles prompted the coyote with a hopeful smile, nodding to his brother.

“Sorry,” Malia told the younger Stilinski genuinely.

“Seriously?” Stuart shot Stiles a look, glancing at Malia for a moment before rolling his eyes.

“Malia, this is my brother, Stuart,” Stiles introduced the sullen teenager with an air of false formality, “Stu, this is my girlfriend, Malia.” 

“Stay away from me,” Stuart watched her cautiously, backing up towards the door, eyes sharp.

“Okay,” Malia agreed simply, unaffected by his brother’s sharp words.

Stuart gave a shrewd look before leaving promptly. A harsh slam of a door told them that Stuart had gone back to his room – the vibrations of which could be felt all the way down to Stiles’ room.

“I am so sorry,” Stiles groaned, turning to Malia, wrapping his arms around as he rested his forehead against her shoulder, “and I’m already sick of apologising for him…” he sighed wearily. 

“I like him,” she blinked thoughtfully.

“What?” Stiles paused for a moment, pulling back slightly as he gave Malia an odd look, trying to make sure he’d heard her correctly. "Nobody likes him, he's an asshole..."

“He says what he thinks.”

“No he doesn’t,” Stiles scoffed in disbelief. Stuart never said what he thought – that would require him to actually talk.

“He didn’t try to be nice to me just because he feels bad,” she told him. 

“Actually he’s a dick to pretty much everyone, and he doesn’t even know you,” Stiles countered quickly.

“Exactly, he doesn’t know that I killed most of my family, or that my birth father is a psychotic murderer who’s locked up for trying to murder my friend, or that my birth mother is some crazy assassin – “ 

“Objection, purely conjecture, she could be lovely for all we know,” Stiles offered with a small hopeful smile.

“It’s just nice having someone not know about things…” she sighed, wearily.

At this Stiles folded his argument, sharing a concerned look with her. “He was still a complete asshole to you.”

“At least he was honest,” she shrugged, directing a small nervous glance at Stiles.

“Aww crap…” Stiles ducked his head, as he felt the weight of her words, “look, it wasn’t like I was hiding it or anything I just –”

“You just didn't tell me, again," she uttered, hurt rich in her voice.

"Yeah..." he sighed, guilt whelming up as he remembered that their last fight had been because of him withholding information - to be fair that was to protect Malia from her psychotic nightmare of a father. But they had kinda agreed after their fight to be honest with each other - and he had, ish.  

"Stiles, I don't have much experience with this - " she began to say, but paused as she noticed the look on his face,  "okay, any experience in this, but I know you have to be able to be honest with me, that's how it works...  and I just - just... no more secrets, okay?” Malia brows pinched a little, as though nervous for his answer. 

“No more secrets,” he promised, wholeheartedly, gifting her an unwavering stare in hopes that she could see he meant it.

“Okay,” Malia accepted with a nod, “good.”  

“Come on,” Stiles shot her a smile, really wanting to move the conversation away from his dick of a brother, “you need to study if you’re gonna pass summer school and graduate with us, yes?” 

“Okay,” she acquiesced easily, “but no Math,” she argued stubbornly.

“Yeah, we’re definitely starting with Math…” he chuckled playfully. 

The next hour that followed in the Stilinski household was unprecedentedly peaceful.  Whether fortunate or unfortunate, it only meant that the Sheriff could finally begin the investigation at hand. Parrish had arrived shortly after the peace had begun, a large box of files.  

“Couple of joggers said their dog came across the body early this morning…” Parrish offered, laying the crime scene photos across the table. “Time of death is hard to gage due to how much time she was in the water, but we’re putting it between 1500 Wednesday afternoon and 0600 this morning, the joggers said they didn’t see or hear anything, so whatever did this was long gone by then…”

“God, she was young,” the Sheriff sighed wearily, staring down at the photos with a pinched expression.  

“Have you managed to find any leads on who she might be?” Parrish asked, sounding a little hopeful.

“Possible missing persons case from up North, she matches the descriptions, the family are heading down tomorrow morning. Can’t even imagine what they’re going through…”

The call had been by no means an easy one. Explaining to Daniel O’Connor that there was a high possibility his daughter was found dead was not really the way he’d intended of closing out his working day. The man had been reluctant in giving away any information, but had been a little more forthcoming after the Sheriff had given the girl’s description.   

“Well, hopefully they might be able to get some closure after we find who did this,” Parrish offered. 

“Or what…” the Sheriff let his comment hang in the air.

“You think…?”

“Honestly? I don’t know what to think anymore,” the Sheriff placed the photos back onto the table. He couldn’t really tell from the images if it looked supernatural or not – Hell he wasn’t even really sure if he’d notice it if he saw it. That’s what Derek was here to work out.

“Used to be a hell of a lot more easier just to believe a mountain lion had taken them all…” he let out a frustrated breath as he  surveyed the pictorial evidence before him.

“So we’re not bringing Stiles and Lydia in on this?”

“Not until I know for sure that it’s their type of thing,” he informed his deputy sternly, rubbing his tired eyes with the heel of his palm – over ten hours of driving only to come home to a grime murder and a feuding family… not exactly what he’d had in mind for his day.  

“You so sure it isn’t?” the Sheriff looked up at his deputy’s uncertain tone, only to see a thin file floating just above his nose, held out by Parrish.

“What am I looking at?” the Sheriff took the file, examining it curiously.

“Well I haven’t been sitting on my ass all day,” Parrish cracked a smirk as he nodded to the papers. “They’re all cold cases, similar occurrences to ours, most of them aren’t directly linked to the Beacon Hills County but they’re close by, mostly north of Modoc County.”

“Anything concrete?” the Sheriff asked as he skimmed the missing person’s report. 

“Nothing yet, but I just got started.”  

“Good work,” he nodded, impressed with the deputies efforts as he closely inspected the files in his hands.

As Parrish had explained earlier, most of the cases held similar traits to their own; bodies turning up in the town’s surrounding lakes and rivers, complete lack of physical evidence at the scene. However each victim was completely unrelated in their method of death; several drownings, one shot, one head contusion, one drunken minor, several accident involving children, all scattered over the entire county. Nothing that connected anything – other than the presence of a lake – to their current case. And that was just the Modoc County records, there was a whole other folder for the other surrounding county’s. God, they were in for a lot of paper work.

A creak on the stairs had the Sheriff’s nerves on edge – wondering if it was Stiles or Stuart. Though it turned out to be the former, making him relax a little. He didn’t particularly want to get into his umpteenth argument with Stuart, especially not in front of Parrish.  

“He-ey Parrish, my man, mi amigo, buddy,” Stiles smiled cheerily as he greeted the deputy, his fingers subtly reacting for the large stack of papers.

“You can’t take those files Stiles,” Parrish quipped with a deadpanned stare.

Good man, the Sheriff nodded silently. It was a nice feeling to have a deputy he could trust, who knew the right move without being told.

“Seriously? And I thought we were friends…” Stiles whined, pouting a little, “you were my favourite…”

“Files stay where I can see them,” the Sheriff muttered, not even bothering to look up from the photos Parrish had brought.

“This literally makes no sense, I can help, you know I can help,” Stiles argued.

“How about you help by going out and getting Chinese,” he offered, looking over the files in his hand at his sulking son – guess that makes two sulking sons, then.

“Wha…? Dad…”  Stiles balked, eyes twitching a little in irritation.

“Cash in my wallet, make sure you get enough for everyone, Parrish you staying?” he spared a casual glance at his deputy.

Parrish blinked owlishly, looking between the Sheriff and his son from a moment before uttering, “Sorry, rain check?”

Yeah, he couldn’t exactly blame the guy – dinner with three Stilinski’s was a little overwhelming for most people…

“Can do, Stiles?” the Sheriff accepted easily, turning his attentions back at his son, raising his eyebrows expectantly, nodding to the door.

“Yeah, I’m going, I’m going,” Stiles groaned, flicking out a couple of notes before reluctantly heading out the front door, slamming it a little for good measure.

“Get egg rolls!” he called out after his son.

God he was fucking thirsty.

He had heard a knock on the front door about half an hour ago and he hadn’t heard the person leave – which meant that there was a random person downstairs. Someone who would want to talk to him, someone who would want to know where he’s been for eight years. Ugh, no.

But that didn’t stop the fact that he was thirsty and that he knew for a fact that there was a case of Dr. Peppers in the fridge – the Sheriff had mentioned it a few times during their achingly long car trip from Fresno. A few meaning nine. Apparently knowing your son’s soda preference was a merited attribute for a parent and needed to be frequently touched upon.

He could just drink out of the sink. Frankly at this point he might even consider drinking out of the toilet. God he should’ve put a mini bar in his room. 

Maybe if they were in the living room, he could sneak down, grab a drink and be back up before anyone noticed. Yeah, that was probably the best plan…

So, with much resentment, he pushed himself off his bed, glaring at the ceiling as he tried to make his way down the stairs with as little noise as possible. Creaks in the wood were now his enemy but he continued forth with black-ops level silence.

Echoing out from the living room, he could hear the sheriff was muttering something about a case – time of death, a whole lot of other stuff that Stuart really couldn’t care less about.  Whatever, a few more steps and he was home free. 

Grasping the fridge door, he smirked as he spied his prize. Victory had never tasted so good as he cracked opened the can of stolen soda – sweet cherry victory.

“They’re just on the top shelf,” the Sheriff called out down from the front room, stilling Stuart’s entire body like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“Ten – four,” a man, an officer judging by the uniform – all pristinely ironed with sharp pressed seams. The guy looks ever bit the American hero, that is until the guy notices Stuart standing awkwardly at the fridge door, soda can in hand as they both froze, unsure where to go from there. 

“So… are you a stripper or a cop? I really can’t tell…” Stuart frowned with an odd look, leaning back on the fridge door slightly.

It was a joke, well mostly a joke, the guy did look about two point five seconds away from breaking out a boom box. But mostly he’d said it to piss the guy off, to piss his fa – the Sheriff off. 

Which worked a little too well, leaving the deputy standing in the doorway, completely shell-shocked.

Gifting the guy a satisfactory smirk, Stuart slipped his soda arrogantly, hoping that this would conclude any social interaction between he and the officer. 

However, the reaction he received was completely out of left field. The young uniformed officer’s eyes sharpened to a stiff glare, lip thinned, fingers poised over his holstered firearm like a White hat in an old Western.

"Uh…?" Stuart stared at the unfamiliar man, utterly at a loss for any words. His eyes going from the man’s stern glare to his weapon – was he going to shoot him? For a snarky comment and a stolen soda?

"Parrish," his father's tone is practically murderous, suddenly appearing in the doorway as though he knew his presence was required. "This is my son, Stuart,” he ground out every word so that the young officer got the message clearly – which apparently was ‘don’t try to pull your gun out on my seventeen year old kid’, probably something the guy should’ve learnt before he was issued a sidearm.

"I mentioned he'd be staying with me for the summer?" the Sheriff prompted, sparking the deputy into action.

"I, uh, sorry, God, I - he," the officer stumbled nervously over his apology. His gun had never actually left the man’s holster, but the intent was pretty fucking clear.

There was no way Stuart was just going to passively accept the forgiveness from the officer, because the guy had wanted to shoot him – he could see it in the guy’s eyes, his first thought was to reach for his weapon.

Why did everyone in this town look and him and immediately reach for their holy water and rosaries, declaring ‘the power of Christ compels you’? Had no one ever seen twins before, seriously?

But nevertheless, knowing that the officer – Parrish – was doing a decent impression of a kicked puppy, Stuart was starting to feel better about the situation he’d walked into.

“It’s uncanny, I know,” the Sheriff offered quietly with a small smirk, though Stuart still heard it.

“I uh, I should be going,” Parrish mumbled, gesturing to the door with a flurry of nervous energy, rushing off out of the room.

"Stand up officers you got there Sheriff," Stuart noted with resentful snark. Only the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department would think that employing trigger happy recruits was a good idea.

"I could do without the commentary, Stuart," the Sheriff sighed, rubbing his temples with tired frustration.

“I’m so sorry, again,” Parrish appeared in the doorway, a large box of files in his arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“It’s alright, Parrish,” the Sheriff sighed wearily.

Really? Stuart wanted to shout at the Sheriff, though a sharp glare seemed all he could muster in that moment. That was just fine? It was totally normal and acceptable behaviour to want to shoot some random seventeen year old?!

“Be doing him a favour,” Stuart muttered under his breath, sending a hostile glare across the room at the skittish deputy.  

“Stuart if you want to talk, talk, don’t just stand there muttering to yourself,” the Sheriff sighed through his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“Nothing,” Stuart sighed, regretting his decision to get a drink in the first place – he should’ve just drunk from the bathroom sink...

“See you tomorrow Parrish,” the Sheriff gave his deputy as stoic nod, “We can talk about those leads then.”

“I’ll just, uh, see myself out,” Parrish uttered quickly before ducking out of room, desperate for escape.

The kitchen was blanketed in awkward silence as they listening to Parrish close the door behind him. They held this silence until the young deputy had started up his car and driving off down the street.

Stuart stood, leaning against he fridge, fiddling with the ring of his can. There was no way he was going to apologise for any of this – it wasn’t his fault, none of it was.

“Melissa McCall and Scott are coming around for dinner in an hour, Stiles is just out getting some Chinese,” the Sheriff offered quietly in hopes to break the cold tension in the room.

“Awesome,” Stuart offered in a tone that declared anything but. “I’ll be in my – upstairs,” he stumbled over the words, confused as to whether he even had any ownership over the foreign space – it certainly looked as though no one had claimed it after he’d left, but then again Stuart knew better than to assume anything in this family.

Family, God that word mocked him. He was just their dirty little secret. The embarrassment they’d sent away in hopes the rest of the world would forget about him and they could go on with their perfect little lives.

“You’ll let me know if you need anything?” the Sheriff asked, his voice was quiet almost hesitant, though Stuart could tell his concern was empty. If he was really that concerned he wouldn’t have brushed off Parrish’s threat so lightly. 

A shrug was all Stuart could think of to respond to his father’s comment. A shrug was non-committal, a shrug gave nothing away, a shrug didn’t lead on to any further verbal interaction or prompt any other social exchanges. 

He could tell the Sheriff was just itching to say something and quiet frankly Stuart had filled his quota for incessant small talk for the day – and probably the year, but he knew that there would probably more to come over the next few weeks. So with nothing more to add to their touching family bonding moment, Stuart turned his back and made a beeline for the stairs.

The tension in the house had not settled by the time Melissa and Scott arrived. Enough Chinese takeaway to feed a large army had been spread out across the dinning table, where it was quickly being devoured by the small ravenous group – mostly Scott and Stiles.

There was a warm comfort in the company around him, making the Sheriff smile fondly at the small moment of peace that the food had brought. For so long it had just been he and Stiles, just the two of them. However this felt right, it felt like complete family. Though, it would only strike the Sheriff later that they hadn’t all been around a table in nearly eight years, since before Claudia got sick.

Stuart had fallen back into his sullen mood, the altercation with Parrish had put the teen on edge. And to be honest, the Sheriff couldn’t find himself being angry with his deputy all that much – the blame was definitely at his own feet for that one. When Parrish had been informed of the supernatural underbelly of Beacon Hills, he’d done just as the Sheriff had done – gone back through all the old cases to see what he had missed with untrained eyes. Unfortunately the Nogistune disaster had been at the top of that list, leading to a very long and very difficult conversation between the Sheriff and his deputy. That knowledge, plus the fact that the Sheriff had never quite got around to telling Parrish that his boys were identical twins, ultimately came to a head in his kitchen. Logical conclusions and all. Which led to one mortified deputy and one fuming teenager. Oh the joys of parenting…

Stuart had at least been cordial to Melissa and Scott as they entered. He even allowed Melissa to swoop him into an awkward hug – though the Sheriff wasn’t sure if Melissa would’ve taken no for an answer. Having been such a big part of Stiles’ life, it would have be difficult to not try and act that way with Stuart.

“Malia not in for dinner?” the Sheriff looked around expectantly. He had grown rather fond of his Malia’s presence around the house. It was nice to see Stiles so content after all of the trauma these past few years had brought. And though the two of them worried him a little, he’d found it was best not to ask about some things. They had proven themselves to be mature and responsible so he had to trust them to continue to make responsible decisions.

“Nah, she’s having dinner with her dad,” Stiles told his father casually, piling a mountain of mushu pork onto his plate. Though his son’s casual tone did nothing to ease the panicked expression that struck the Sheriff’s face. “As in Mr Tate,” Stiles added quickly as he noticed his father’s alarmed reaction.

“Oh good,” the Sheriff smiled with relief. Their lives had been perfectly Peter Hale free the past month and if he would make sure it stayed that way. Ever since the fiasco at La Iglesias, the lacking presence of most things supernatural had been a refreshing reprieve from their usual lives. It was as though they had been given the change to breathe again, to live again.  

Which they had been, living that is. Stiles was sleeping better. It had been weeks since his last nightmare – though the Sheriff wasn’t so naïve to think that a certain were coyote didn’t have something to do with that. He and Melissa had also have some time to think, to breathe, to talk. It was slow going at this stage, but still nice. His life was all starting to calm down for a change.

All except one of his sons, who was apparently far too interested with the world inside his phone.

"We don’t have phones at the table, Stuart," he reminded his son, trying to sound firm yet casual at the same time. It was strange to look his son across the table and not recognise the person he had grown to be.

“How are your grandparents? How did their flight go?” the Sheriff asked, trying to engage the teen in active conversation, not just shrugs and eye rolls.

“Good,” Stuart uttered back, keeping his eyes on the plate in front of him, his fork poking each piece of food with a dreary look of distain – like the food was boring him.

One word answers. The Sheriff sighed, rubbing the crick in his neck a touch more forcefully – Ladies and Gentlemen, his son, the conversationalist.

“Where’d they end up going?” Stiles piped in, leaning over the table with almost acrobatic grace in order to grab the lo mien container.

It had always amazing him how different his two sons were, though seeing them both together again after all these years, it really like yin and yang embodied.

“Fiji,” the Sheriff supplied easily, a simple easy answer that couldn’t offend any at the table, nor spark some seeded argument.

“Oh I’d love to go to Fiji one day,” Melissa sighed dreamily, clearly already lost in Mai Tai’s and warm sand.

“We’d have to rob a bank first,” the Sheriff laughed, catching her eye for a brief moment.

“We?” Stiles shot a shrewd look towards his father as though gearing up for a line of interrogative questioning.

Ah, crap. Somewhere in the last few moments he’d forgotten that the boys were all here. Scott and his bloody werewolfy powers, probably listening to his heart miss a couple of beats. A glance in the teen’s direction confirmed his suspicions – the kid was staring intently into his cup of soda, looking far too guilty. 

The past few weeks of supernatural reprieve had given the Sheriff the opportunity to look at the relationships in his life in a new light. One relationship in particular was the one with Melissa. They had become more than just the parents of manic delinquents they had been years previous. But the risk to verbally address these new found conclusions went far beyond that of a simple date between old friends. He had the boys - all three of them - to consider. The fact that he hadn't pursued a romantic relationship since Claudia and Melissa's last attempt at one had been with Peter Freakin' Hale - yeah that still irked him, even if the guy was locked up. 

Yeah, there was a lot to consider before he could talk to Melissa. And even more to think about before the boys were included.

But one thing was certain - no way they were going to start that conversation at the dinner table, at that very moment. 

Luckily Melissa came to their rescue. 

Unfortunately the rescue was not as much a save as he had hoped.

"So, ah, Stuart, do you think you might want to stay in Beacon Hills for your Senior Year? Graduate with Scott and your brother?" Melissa posed her question innocently enough, though the question itself weighed heavily upon the other occupants at the table. Scott shot his mother a tense look as though to silently tell her not to involve herself in the Stilinski’s family dramas, while both Stiles and the Sheriff held an expression that was both pained yet curious.

The only one seemingly not bothered by the question was Stuart himself, who continued to move the food around on his plate as though it were the most interesting thing in the entire room.

"Stuart, Melissa asked you a question," the Sheriff urged gently, desperate for information though nervous of what that would entail.

"Not sticking around,” Stuart finally looked up, glancing over at Melissa for a moment before he turned back to his food, “I start Stanford in the fall."

"What?" the Sheriff’s heart skipped a beat for a moment.  All thoughts seemed to slow as he blinked, a numb feeling spreading over his chest. How he always seemed to be the last one to know everything that was going on in his sons’ lives?

"What?" Stiles looked up, mouth agape, his fork clattering violently into his plate.

"Scholarship, Grandpa's already offered to pay any extras, so don't worry," he shrugged, staring down at the noodles on his plate. “You’re off the hook.”

"You're seventeen," the Sheriff stressed, brows pinched together as he stared across the table at his youngest.

"Really? Oh for a second there I'd forgotten…” Stuart mumbled his response down towards the plate.

Sarcasm, at least there was some Stilinski still in the kid. 

“You – you haven’t even done your Senior year,” the Sheriff stumbled over the words, his mind reeling over the new information he was attempting to process, “don’t you want to graduate with your friends?”

Stuart snorted a little at this, a touch cynical before informing them, “This was my senior year, graduated a few weeks ago.”

"Seriously?" Stiles whined a little, "how?"

Stuart offered nothing in terms of a verbal reply, instead he gave a small shrug before turning back to his task of moving food around his plate.

“I would have liked to be at your graduation, Stuart,” the Sheriff said slowly, a swirl of emotions making him nauseous. His son had graduated and he hadn’t been there… Stuart hadn't even given him the option, just denied him the right to be apart of a pivotal moment of his son's life.  

How much more of his youngest son’s life would he miss because the kid hated him?  

“Thought you’d be to busy with work,” the response was curt, unemotional and distant.

And God did it hurt. A sharp thin blade piercing through his ribs. He couldn't even find the words to express how disappointed he was at himself. How had it all gone so wrong? 

“So how long are you staying for?” Stiles cut through directly pulling Stuart’s focus away from his father, a fiery glare burning bright as his shoulders squared, as though readying himself for a fight. 

Scott nudged his friend’s side gently to try to keep Stiles’ anger in check. All at the table could see the bitter fight brewing beneath the surface between the twins.

“Until my sentence is up,” the scowl that accompanied was ice cold as Stuart turned his gaze upon his father. 

“Stuart…” the Sheriff sighed wearily, wishing he could say more but knowing that they were treading dangerously close to a fight. He didn’t want to do that. Not with his son. Not in front of Melissa. Not in front of Scott and Stiles. 

“Let’s just call this what it is shall we?” Stuart’s words were as cutting as ever, his slow poignant glances looking every bit as calculated, every bit as distant, every bit as hurtful. 

“Son, I know things – ”

“You know what?” Stuart muttered, scrapping his chair along the wooden floorboards as he pushed it back, “suddenly not hungry anymore.”

“Stu – “ the Sheriff tried to call out after his son, but he was already ascending the stairs, taken in quick, heavy strides.

The silence at the table was deafening. Across from them Stiles sat in bitter rage, stabbing his pork with a renewed vengeance as he shot glares up at the ceiling. Scott was just trying to look anywhere else but at the Sheriff, silently piling more food onto his plate. Under the table, Melissa’s fingers brushed against his arm, a quiet show of support and comfort.

“I’m sorry about him,” the Sheriff offered quietly, more to Melissa than the boys. It wasn’t fair on any of them to deal with it, but after a shift at the hospital, dealing with his wayward son was the last thing Melissa should have to put up with. “It’s been a long day, he’s… tired.”

“Don’t apologise,” Melissa shook her head softly, a supporting smile causing the Sheriff’s spirits to lift a little, “it’s going to take some time, you knew that.”

“He’s an asshole,” Stiles scoffed darkly, shoving an egg roll into his mouth.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff sent his son a tired look, though he find the energy to reprimand the teen any further.

“What?” Stiles frowned, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth, a furious glare darting across the room in the direction of the stairs, “he can’t talk to you like that.” 

“He’s just adjusting, okay, don’t let it worry you,” the Sheriff said diplomatically, knowing it was best to try and keep the peace. It wasn’t an ideal situation for any of them, but that’s family – you don’t get to choose just because it’s hard. “I’m starting to feel that teenage angst I read all those books about…” he shared small smile with Melissa.

The two of them had poured over countless books in preparation for their sons’ teenage years – though reality didn’t quite match up, they definitely hadn’t been told about what to do if you son was a werewolf or if your child started dating a were coyote, who’s biological father was a homicidal sociopathic werewolf…

“Hey, I give you loads of teenage angst,” Stiles pouted a little from across the table.

“Yeah, well that turned out to be werewolves and kanimas and all that other nonsense…” the Sheriff retorted.

“Yeah, but there was at least a couple of days of teenage angst,” Stiles argued.

“You did have to arrest us,” Scott offered, his expression pinched with the guilt of the memory.  

“And I nearly lost you your job…” Stiles reminding him with a slight wince.

“And that was all because you boys were trying to save an entire town, by yourselves, you weren’t just acting out…”

“Maybe he’s a werewolf,” Melissa offered facetiously, earning an unimpressed look from the Sheriff.  

“I would’ve smelt it,” Scott shook his head, dismissing his mother’s comment immediately.

“I was kidding,” she gaped at her son, her eyes wide. “How about you help me with the dishes.”

“It’s fine, Melissa, I’ll just –” the Sheriff tried to insist but was quickly cut off. 

“Sit there and relax, Scott and I have got this, right Scott?” she stressed, giving he son a knowing look as the two held a not-so-subtle silent conversation. 

“Huh – oh, yeah,” Scott gave his mother an exaggerated nod, pushing himself up from the table as he followed her into the kitchen with an armful of plates.

“Subtle as a hammer that kid,” the Sheriff chuckled fondly as he watched the werewolf scamper off.

“Does he really have to stay here all summer?” Stiles whined, alerting his father’s attention, “cause I really starting to rethink the whole ‘not letting Derek eat him’ thing, I can definitely see the benefits of that arrangement.”

“Don’t push him away so easily, Stiles,” the Sheriff sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in hopes to relieve some of the tension there. “He’s still your brother, no matter what issues Stuart has with me, I really want you two to try and reconcile.”

“Yeah like that’s gonna happen…” Stiles snorted.

“It would mean a lot to me, kiddo,” the Sheriff tried again, his voice softer as he added, “And I know it would’ve meant the world to your mother…”

“Low blow,” Stiles muttered sullenly, biting his lip a little as he looked up at his father.

“You pull that with that card, I sent it right back,” the Sheriff quipped with a heavy meaningful glance.

Before another word could be spoken, the sound of feet thundering down the stairs interrupted them. Stuart - ever the human tornado of angst - stormed through the hall in a flurry of passive aggression. 

“Stuart, where are you – “ the Sheriff called out, concerned. 

“OUT!” came the violent reply as the front door slammed shut. 

"Oh charming..." Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“Uh, Stiles?” Scott winced slightly, poking out his head from the kitchen, tilting it to one side  – the way he often did when he was hearing something others couldn’t. “I think he’s got your keys…”

“What?” Stiles patted down his pockets before hearing the aching familiar chug of his jeep’s ignition, “Asshole.”

“Fantastic…” the Sheriff exhaled a breath, preparing himself for his second – or more aptly third or fourth – argument with his son for the day. “Excuse me,” he apologised to the others, his gaze rising to the ceiling as he muttered a silent prayer under his breath before announcing; “I have a teenager to reprimand…”

The argument outside had been rather vocal. 

It was the type of argument that house wives would be chittering about at brunch the next day. The type that ended with slammed doors and bitter jabs that could never be fully taken back. The type that caused more issues than it solved.

Scott and Stiles had been quickly ushered upstairs by Melissa as the argument moved indoors, but from the slight periodical winces on Scott’s face, Stiles could see his friend was trying and failing to ignore the shit-storm raging below. 

“You knew didn’t you,” Stiles sighed, directing an accusing stare across the room, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear it.    

“I overheard them talking about it last night,” Scott revealed with a guilty expression, “your Grandma called him while he was at my house…” 

“And I didn’t get the memo, because…?” Stiles shot Scott a frustrated look, eyebrows high as he waited for the answer expectedly. 

“I didn’t know how you’d take it dude, I mean it’s a lot…” Scott offered meekly. 

“I know it’s a lot," Stiles shot back hotly, "thanks to you and my dad I had 0.2 seconds to process that before Stu and Derek had a punch up in the parking lot.”

“You saw that…?” Scott gaped a little.

“Ye-ah,” Stiles nodded, sharpened his gaze a little. 

“I think he thought…” Scott trailed off, knowing they both knew how it ended. 

“Probably,” Stiles sighed, rubbing the back of his head nervously, “you know, my dad called Derek back to town, to check out the body in the lake, see if something comes up,” he informed Scott.

“He thinks it’s our kinda something?”

“I’m sorry, do we not live in the same town?" Stiles shot him an incredulous look, "dude, I know it’s our kind of something, it's always our kind of something!”

“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you," Scott offered quietly after a moment, "but I swear I didn’t know he was gonna be at school.”

“Eh, what’s done is done,” Stiles shrugged, honestly finding himself unable to be angry at Scott for any of this. It was his Family crap, he would just have to suck it up.  “Now we’ll just have to deal with the fact that my dick of a brother is going to be lurking around...”  

“Guess we can’t have the summer we had last year,” Scott moped a little, though he sounded as though he had already accepted that things were never going to be the same as they had been that summer. 

“Yeah probably not,” Stiles nodded lazily, “probably for the best though…” he added with a knowing grin.

Scott cocked his head to one side, doing his best impression of a confused spaniel.

“So you don’t get any God awful tattoos,” Stiles smirked wickedly as he punched the two inked bars across his best friend’s bicep.

“Hey!”

After the final shots had been fired, Stuart made his quick retreat upstairs. A series of heavy footsteps and slammed doors on the higher level informed Melissa that the youngest Stilinski was shut up in his room and that World War III - Stilinski edition - was at a ceasefire, at least for the evening. 

“Thanks for doing the washing up Melissa,” she was almost startled as the tired voice strolled up behind her - though years of dealing with supernatural occurrences had made her a hard target to sneak up on.  

“Yeah loading the dishwasher with a couple of plates was real strain for me,” she smiled as she opened a beer and held it out for the Sheriff, who accepted it with a silent thanks. “How’s he doing?” Melissa dared to ask, nodding to the direction Stuart had fled in. 

"Angry," the Sheriff told her, "bitter, hurt, pissed off - God I don't even know..." he groaned, leaning back on the sink as he took a much needed sip from the bottle in his hand, closing his eyes for a moment, the stress of the day clear in his wrinkled brows. 

“I’ve missed so much,” he whispered, looking over at Melissa, revealing the watery glisten in his eyes. “He’s just still so angry, I just - I don’t know how to get him through to him.”

“He might be feeling a little lonely. He lost so much at such a young age, and with everything that happened after Claudia's death, I'm not sure he’s never really dealt with it…” Melissa said slowly, "Maybe all he needs is to know he's got someone in his corner." 

"I've been trying," he moaned, ducking his head down, "but he just keeps pushing me away."

"Maybe it's not just his dad he needs," she suggested softly, knowingly.

Melissa was not naïve or clueless to the fact that Stuart had always been a little bitter of the close brotherhood Stiles shared with her son. Scott and Stiles had a friendship that was pretty much unrivalled and while she couldn't find herself regretting the boys' tight kinship,  she did feel sorry that Stuart and Stiles didn't share a similar relationship.  

“Stiles can be stubborn,” the Sheriff told her, starring down at the bottle in his hands, peeling the sides of the label absently. 

“But he’s got a good heart,” Melissa countered sincerely, “he won’t turn Stuart away, just give them both some time.”

"I missed my kid's graduation..." he sniffed, allowing Melissa to see a stray tear to fall before he scrubbed it away with the back of his hand, "I can't believe he didn't even want me there... Where the hell do I go from that?" he asked, desperation clear. 

"Well, to start with, you stick by him, even if he doesn't want you to," she said, "you need to show him you're not going anywhere, no matter what, he'll come around eventually, you'll see."

The Sheriff glanced up at her, his doubt reading loud and clear. 

"Though," she him a stern expression, "I think you're brushing over the biggest news of night a little too casually..."

She let the silence hold for a moment as she let her words sink in. 

"Stuart got into Stanford," she whispered excitedly, beaming brightly. 

"Yeah," he gave her a watery smile, pride shining through despite pain, "my kid got a scholarship to Stanford." 

"Clever like his Old Man," Melissa nudged him gently, a elbow gazing his ribs.  

"No, that's all Claudia," he chuckled, "she had the book smarts..." he trailed off with a sad smile that quickly faded into a hollow, thousand yard stare. "God, he's never forgiven me for her death..." 

"He was just a very hurt little boy," Melissa offered a supportive hand upon his shoulder, a small gesture of comfort. "He had just lost his mother..." 

Claudia's passing had torn apart the Stilinskis, in a way that seemed unfair for an already grieving young family. The Sheriff had taken the death of his beloved wife hard. Stuart had been practically catatonic and Stiles - the poor little boy had run himself to exhaustion trying to keep everything from falling apart, wracked with panic attacks and night terrors. 

It had been a hard decision to allow Claudia's parents to step in. The original plan was for both boys to spend some time in Fresno, but Stiles refused to leave his father's side. So in the end the boys were separated at the cost of their relationship. Stiles chose his father. 

“I know that, but it just – ” the Sheriff sighed wearily, shaking his head.  “I cut my own son out, Melissa, I wasn’t there when he needed me, Christ, I wasn’t even there when Stiles needed me, what the hell kind of father am I?” 

“One who’s trying,” she told him firmly, earnestly. “You didn’t cast Stuart out, he wanted some time, you gave him that, and Stiles? – well no one can really predict werewolves,” she chuckled fondly, “I know I sure didn’t, I thought they were on meth.”

“You and me both,” he smiled weakly.

“I’m kinda glad I was wrong,” she admitted. 

“Yeah, I think I'd take werewolves over meth heads any day...” he agreed, "at least we know they're good kids."

"Crazy on a good day, but yeah, I think we did alright," Melissa smiled, meeting his gaze for a moment, disappearing in gentle blue pools, allowing herself the glimpse of 'what if...' before getting a hold of herself -

If ever there was a time, this wasn't it. 

"You should get some rest," she told him softly, preparing herself to make her exit. "Scott rode his bike, so kick him out whenever." 

"Might keep him around a while, that kid's a good buffer," the Sheriff shrugged, "also wouldn't mind having an Alpha werewolf to referee if those two try and go another round..." 

Melissa blinked a little, fair enough, "Just make sure he's home before midnight, technically he's still got one more day before break starts."

"Yes ma'am," he saluted her playfully with his beer bottle. 

"Goodnight Sheriff," she smirked, enjoying the quiet moment of peace in the feuding household. 

"Night Melissa." 

It wasn't much, but it was a start. There was still a long road ahead for the Stilinski men, there was a lot of healing that needed to happen if they were going to come out together. But in order for the healing to begin they needed to wade the storm, reopen and clean the old infected wounds, even if they hurt, even if it things got worse for a time. Only then they would be able to find their way back to each other. 

Chapter Text

The warm morning sun flickered on the water with a beauty that stood in direct contrast to the horrific events that had occurred there. Not that any ground in Beacon Hill held much innocence to the spill of blood nowadays. Each tree and rock seemed tarnished, blackened, twisted in someway by the power of unnatural forces. The disaster with the Darach had only paved the way for a much darker calibre of evil to dwell within. Streets he had once thought peaceful were now tainted with fear as though he had a reason to jump at every passing shadow, every flicker in his periphery.

Deep down he knew the fear didn't really come from all that he saw, but what he didn't.   

The knowledge of the supernatural came at a terrible cost - the realisation that everything he thought fiction could potentially eventuate in his own backyard. Kanimas, Darach, Banshee, Were-things – the list of potential predators was forever expanding with no hope of seeing what lay ahead. It was like being trapped in a cavernous void and knowing there was no light at the end but trudging through regardless...

How in God’s name was he meant to protect the town when he was still so unsure of all that was out there? 

As Sheriff he was used to seeing the worst in things, the worst in people, the worst in a situation, all feeding his honed paranoia.However this was different. 

It’s not exactly paranoia if the shadows are out to get you.

But, he had to keep those sort of thoughts to himself. He could never let on. Not to the boys, not to anyone. He had to hold it all together – he was the Sheriff. If his seventeen year old son - who was also trying to deal with finishing high school, getting into college, growing up – could make it through each day, how could he let it show how terrified he was...?

A dark shadow at the corner of his eye made his heart lurch, steeling himself as he turned to face the approaching spectre. 

Thankfully, however, he was met with a familiar face. 

“Ever thought of making a little noise?” the Sheriff muttered, catching his breath as he sent the younger man an annoyed glance, knowing full well Derek could hear his racing startled heartbeat. “Wearing a bell?”

Derek made no response, other than a raised brow of impatience – the one Derek tended to gift to Stiles. 

“Thanks for meeting me,” the Sheriff sighed, opting to give a nod towards the stoic werewolf cordially, hoping to move past the awkward pause between them. 

“You never thought of mentioning it?” Derek accused without further information, though the Sheriff was fully aware of the context – Stuart’s return had clearly created ripples all across town. 

“You used to see my son more that I did, silly of me to think he’d never said anything.”

“I thought the Nogistune was back,” Derek bit, a rich fury in his eyes, a flicker of electric blue, “do you know how close I was to - ?”

“I had thought we agreed to meet at the station,” the Sheriff cut him off with clenched teeth, frustration getting the better of his temper,  “there was no reason for you to be at the school yesterday –” 

“Are you seriously saying this is my fault?” Derek cut the Sheriff off with a sharp tone, teeth grit with the threat of fangs looming.

“I’m saying” the Sheriff stressed, breathing through his nose as he felt the anger burn through him, “I had a plan and you showing up in the middle of it wasn’t part of  – “ 

“I didn’t have to come at all, I’m here as a favour for you –”

“I know!” the Sheriff snapped, pausing momentarily as his anger surprised him. Derek wasn’t the one he was angry at, the blame was once again at his own doorstep and the younger man just happened to be the closest outlet. “I know,” he repeated with a weary sigh, his anger subsiding, it wasn’t fair to keep up the pretence any longer. “And I’m grateful, really, I’m just… frustrated,” the words fell out though a heavily sigh, as his shoulders sunk in defeat. 

There wasn't any use taking out his frustrations on Derek. Lord knows that kid had enough angst to deal with without the Stilinski family drama to add to it. “Do you think you can have a look around, see if there’s anything… unusual about it? If this is just a suicide I’d really like to get it all over a done with and allow the family to grieve.”

“You’ve spoken with the family?” Derek asked curtly, clearly stowing his angry for another time, but keeping enough to maintain an icy exterior.

“We’ve had a potential ID to the victim,” the Sheriff revealed, watching Derek move cautiously around the shore of the lake, squatting down to study something in the shallow waters. “Bridie O’Connor, twenty-three, went missing a few days ago. Modoc County sent through a picture this morning, there’s a resemblance, but the family wants to confirm.” 

“Irish?” Derek cocked his head back and raised a curious brow over at the Sheriff, casually grabbing a stick off the shore to fish something out of the water.

“Couldn’t tell you,” the Sheriff shrugged offhandedly, his attentions held captive by Derek's investigations, "they should be here tomorrow, I should know more then.” 

After a moment, Derek pulled the stick free from the murky waters, revealing a thin golden chain swinging from it.    

“Huh,” the Sheriff nodded, impressed as he stowed the necklace into a small plastic evidence bag. “Ever consider joining the department?” he asked the younger man. His tone was one of jest, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Derek would just be getting paid to do what he’s always done – save the town.

Though, perhaps after all these years the kid deserved a reason not to be shackled to the place that killed everyone he loved. A hiatus from near constant peril was certainly an upside to getting the hell out of dodge, if one had the luxury to do so.

“I’ll need to see the body,” Derek told him curtly, a professional bluntness to his tone as he pushed himself up to stand, seemingly ignoring the Sheriff’s comment. “She wasn’t killed here, my guess is she was dumped or she chose to go in. But…” he frowned, looking across the water’s edge as he pondered aloud, “why travel a hundred miles past county lines just to kill yourself…?”

“Yeah, that’s what’s niggling at me. I’m just not fully convinced it was a suicide…” the Sheriff coughed slightly, tightening his gaze to the younger man as he faced the inevitable. Though every inch of him wished this would be a simple cut and dry investigation, he knew that could never be so, not in this town anyway.

“You’re treating it as suspicious?” Derek looked over at the Sheriff. 

“Just between us? I am," he revealed quietly, hating the bitter jolt in his stomach that meant once again he would have to dance around his own department in order to bring down the true culprit.  “Listen, are you free to swing by the hospital later? Melissa’s giving us a window and Modoc’s going to be on our asses trying to get this over quickly.”

“Why me?” Derek asked earnestly, “Stiles and Scott are more than capable of dealing with this, they’ve been dealing with this - "

“Because they shouldn’t have to,” the Sheriff bit out a little louder than he’d intended, surprising both himself and Derek. Softening his voice a little, he continued, “they’re not even eighteen, Derek, they shouldn’t be responsible for every ill-happening that goes on in this God-forsaken town, especially if it wasn’t something supernatural..."  

“They’ve been in this for years now and with the Nemeton active, you can’t expect an easy quiet life in Beacon Hills,” Derek told him cautiously, “there’s no easy way out. Trust me, I’ve tried. It doesn’t work, it just comes back to bite you in the ass.”

“They’re just kids, Derek, they need a break – Stiles needs a break,” his voice cracked a little, thinking back the sleepless nights, the sound of his child’s scream piercing through the darkness. “He’s running himself into the ground and I don’t know how to stop him – I can’t stop him, but…” he paused, trying to figure out his words, “I was hoping that after the Benefactor was dealt with, after the whole nightmare in Mexico was done…” the Sheriff let his words hang in the air, alluding to the fact that they all needed a break from this crap. “I wanted to spare them this one, okay? God knows there’ll be something else just around the corner gunning for them...” 

Derek gave a small nod, making a vicious spike of guilt rise in the Sheriff’s chest. For while he was giving the teens a break, he had roped Derek back into this mess – when did Derek get a break?

“So I'm guessing you’re not going to tell Stuart about… everything?” Derek wondered curiously, interrupting the Sheriff’s guilt-ridden thoughts.

“No,” the Sheriff answered firmly, setting his jaw a little at the thought. God knows how Stiles stayed alive, Stuart wouldn’t last a day… especially not with his tendency to come across as a petulant little ass. Sass + Werewolf never ended well… “You know, if I had my way Stiles wouldn’t know about all this either.”

“Like that would stop him,” Derek smirked, looking a little fond for a moment before he brushed it aside. 

“Yeah, well, I’m hoping Stuart doesn’t share that with his brother, otherwise we’ll have two on our hands…” The Sheriff watched with great amusement as the idea hit the younger man like a tonne of bricks.

"Oh God..." Derek groaned meekly.

"So why did Stuart get a normal name?"

“Malia…” Lydia hissed with disapproving frown as she leaned across the cafeteria table.  

"Harsh, but fair," Stiles shot his girlfriend a playful wink. It was a fair question. He’d told Malia that Stiles wasn’t his real name, because that was probably obvious – no one would name a kid ‘Stiles Stilinski’. He hadn’t told her his actual name, because he had learnt that lesson the hard way when he’d revealed it to Scott… Nope, never again.

"Stuart's his middle name,” Stiles explained in an off-handed tone, stabbing his thin plastic straw into the juice box, feeling the annoyance and frustration with each missed blow.  

"And 'Stiles' is yours?" Kira wondered curiously, wrinkling her nose a little as though trying to figure out if ‘Stiles’ was an actual name to begin with.

"Mine's 'Genim'," Stiles cocked his right brow slightly, pausing for a second to let his reveal sink in a little.

"Ouch," the kitsune winced, looking a little guilty. 

"That about sums it up…" Stiles trailed off as he took another stab at the boxed juice in his hands. 

“So why’d he leave?” Malia frowned, pushing the question a touch more forcefully.

"Can we not talk about him?" he shot back, flicking his straw away petulantly – because fuck juiceboxes, stupid impossible-to-open bastards.

“Fine,” Lydia quipped waspishly, in a tone that told him it was anything but.

God, he was really not enjoying ‘Stiles Interrogation Day’.

"Talk about who?” Scott interrupted them as he dumped his bag down by their lunch table, “the dead body in the lake?”

“Oh yes!” Stiles scowl splits instantly into a wide grin, “Can we please talk about that?”

“Jordan said it was a suicide, it’s got nothing to do with us,” Lydia told them pointedly, brushing the entire thing off with causal grace. 

“Yet,” Stiles emphasises, “I give it a day before they find something that – who the hell is Jordan?” His head snapped sharply to Lydia mid-sentence, eye twitching a little with suspicion.

“Seriously Stiles?” Lydia’s expression was utterly impressed, it was a look saved for when Stiles said something completely stupid. 

Jordan… Jordan… bo bordan… damnit why did that name seem so familiar?

“Wait, Parrish?” Stiles realised after a moment of mentally searching for a match to the name. “Just call him ‘Parrish’ then, don’t confuse me.”

“Jordan said that there was no conclusive evidence to suggest something supernatural,” she added with a waspish tone, short and clipped – clearly using passive aggression to demonstrate how anger she was with him. 

“Oh and since Jordan said that we should just take his word then?” Stiles snorted. “He turned up pretty much last to this freak pony show, what the hell does he know?” he retorted peevishly, “and seriously, are you and Jordan having secret clandestine meetings behind my back too?” he accused, his frustration at the lack of information being passed his way turning on Lydia with a vengeance. First his father and Derek, now Lydia and Parrish. “Since when does everyone leave me out of these things?” he snapped, eyes twitching furiously like a bull in a pen. 

However, Lydia Martin was not one to be yelled at.

“One, who I meet up with in my free time is my business. Jordan has been nothing but helpful to us and in return I have been trying to help him with the fairly limited resources we have,” her clipped tones sharp as knives. “And two, how dare you accuse me of keeping secrets when your brother is waltzing around town like he owns the place, you of all people – “

“What did he say to you?” Stiles became a little on edge at the mention of Stuart. God, what had that asshole done now? 

“He didn’t say anything,” Lydia sighed wearily, brushing a stray hair away irritably, her own frustration made clear in her tone, “but God, Stiles, after everything, don’t you think we should’ve known that there are two of you running around?”

“Like you tell us everything in your life?” Stiles snapped bitterly, regretting it immediately as he saw the hurt look was across Lydia’s features, but he was too stubborn and too far into the argument to back down.

“He’s your brother, why wouldn’t you share something like that?” 

“Don’t make me the asshole here,” Stiles scoffed bitterly, “Stuart lived here for ten years, it’s not on me to keep an entire town updated on whether he exists or not.”

“But you never even mentioned him, not once did you think – “

“You know you invited me and Stu, to your seventh birthday?” Stiles snapped, sharp and fierce like a whip crack, “we were all in the same class – Mrs Wilson’s – you invited us and we went.”

“Oh like I’m suppose to –“ Lydia protested but was quickly cut off by again Stiles.

“You knew Stuart just the same as half this town, it’s not my fault if you didn’t think we were important enough to remember…” he growled in a low tone, locking eyes with Lydia for a moment before pushing himself up from the table, scooping his backpack up in one smooth movement and storming out from the cafeteria. In the heat of the moment he didn't hear Scott and Malia call out after him, nor did he see the concerned glance Kira sent his way, the burning fury tunnelling his vision completely until he was standing in the middle of the deserted hallway.

Alone.  

It took all of two seconds for his anger to shatter into a thousand pieces, leaving him deflated and desperate in the empty hall.

Oh God why did he say that?

Why did he do that? 

To Lydia?

What the hell was wrong with him?

“Ugh…” he groaned, collapsing down against the side of the lockers, not caring in the slightest as he sat on the floor of the empty corridor.

It wasn’t Lydia’s fault his brother was an emotionally crippled dick who didn’t consider anyone else’s lives. And she definitely wasn’t the one he wanted to be hashing it out with. 

The guilt began to tug at his chest, making him feel a little sick. He hated making her upset, hated yelling at one of the only people who had always stuck by him.

But that still didn’t mean he was going to apologise, not yet anyway, maybe he’d give it another minute...

Actually maybe he should just - 

“Hey,” a familiar voice alerted his attention to the fact that he was no longer alone in the hallway. Usually the surprise of someone approaching would have had Stiles’ heckles up like no body’s business, but the familiarity in voice and presence had an opposite effect, calming him slightly as he starred hopelessly up at his best friend.

“Hell of an exit,” Scott offered quietly, slowly sliding his back down the lockers to join his best friend on the floor, tossing his bag beside them.

Unable to form an eloquent retort, Stiles simply moaned into his lap, the heels of his hands digging into his forehead.

“I’m such an asshole…” Stiles groaned, his complaints half muffled by his hands. 

“Dude, did you just yell at Lydia?”

“I didn’t mean to, I just – ugh, why she have to get all BFF with Jordan,” he spat the deputy’s name like a curse.

“I thought you liked Parrish?” Scott shot him an incredulous look, as though Stiles had just declared his complete and utter hatred of fuzzy ducklings.

“I do,” Stiles whined, lolling his head back in frustration, allowing it to bang the locker behind with a satisfying crash, “the guy’s adorable, I wanna keep him in a little box, feed him candy corn...” he mimicked the action a little before waving it off, huffing out a frustration breath.

“Are you … jealous?”

“Yes, of course I am,” Stiles growled, “which makes me the biggest asshole in the world…”

“Hey, you were in love with her for years, that doesn’t just go away, even when Kira and I got together I always…” Scott lets the sentence hang for a moment, heavy and cutting, silence weighing more than words ever could.

“I know buddy,” Stiles offered gently, biting his lip slightly as he felt the familiar weight of guilt shift heavily on his chest. Six months had past since that night, but it never really got any easier.

“So, uh, it’s weird right? Having your brother back?” Scott perked up a little, feeling the need to change the subject drastically.

“Super weird,” Stiles groaned, his back leaning heavily against the locker as he tilted his head back to rest against the hard metal, “it sounds awful, but I don’t even know him… how messed up is that? I don’t know my own brother… He’s like some freaky stranger living in my house.”

A freaking stranger that acted like a sullen, twisted little asshole. Walking around with a freaking beanie in June in California….

Maybe he should send Stuart to France, he and Isaac could start a club for weather-inappropriate attire and all-round douchebaggery.

“It’s a weird situation,” Scott hummed thoughtfully, eyebrows pinching sympathetically.

“Ye-ah,” Stiles shot back with a facetious expression. ‘Weird situation’ was practically their normal in Beacon Hills – this was a little more extreme than a ‘weird situation’.

“He’s a bit of an ass,” Scott offered with a small wince, which was a stretch for him, never really one to say anything bad about anyone.

“Tell me about it,” Stiles whined, “this morning he took all of the poptarts, ALL of them, Scotty! There were two boxes! I’m pretty sure he didn’t even eat them all…”

“So, uh, has your dad said anything more about the dead body?” he wondered, curiosity clearly getting the better of him. 

“Big o’ bagel,” Stiles sighed, “just keeps telling me to be a teenager – do my homework, see a movie, reconcile with my estranged dick of a brother…” 

“Well maybe we should,” Scott shrugged, “be teenagers that is. It’s the last day of school. Summer holidays, dude, why shouldn’t we take a break? Let the adults handle things this time…”

“Yeah, like that always turns out wonderfully…” he shot his best friend a dubious look.

“Maybe it will,” Scott said with an optimistic smile, “besides, what’s the w– “ his sentence was immediately cut off by Stiles’ hand pressed up against his mouth, muffling his words.

“Nu-uh, I refuse to let you curse us,” Stiles told him with a hard look, pointing at the Alpha sharply, “we have enough bad luck without – ugh, dude gross!” he recoiled violently as he felt something wet on the palm of his hand. “That’s fighting dirty!”

Scott shrugged with a beaming smile of victory, standing up abruptly, holding out his hand to help Stiles up.

With an impish grin, Stiles grabbed Scott’s hand with the wet one the other boy had licked. Scott rolled his eyes and pulled Stiles off the cold floor as the bell chimed to signal the end of lunch. 

“See you after class?” Scott beamed brightly, walking backwards in an effort to continue their conversation whilst also making his way to Bio.

“Yeah,” Stiles smiled with a husky chuckle, unable to resist Scott’s overwhelming optimism. 

“Just let them handle it,” Scott called, already halfway down the corridor with a stream of students bustling by on their way to class. 

“Sorry Scotty, not gonna happen,” Stiles muttered under his breath, picking up his bag, slinging it over one shoulder.

“I heard that!” Scott called back over the buzz of the bell, signalling the end of lunch.

“You were meant to!” Stiles yelled back with a smirk, adjusting his bag a little as he walked off towards his last class, scuffing his shoe along the linoleum floors. 

There was no way he was going to sit back and let his dad handle this.

Even though he was the Sheriff and was fully versed in the chaotic nightmare that was life in Beacon Hills… he still wanted to be the cop, the law. His dad was an officer through and through and found it near impossible to put that aside even when dealing with a cannibalistic wendigo or a coven of witches.

Stiles had watched his father’s ongoing turmoil as the Sheriff had had to blur the lines he believed so strongly in, as he was forced to work in shades of grey in his once black and white world.

Sure, he’d let totally Derek have a go at whatever was dragging people into the lake – especially now that the guy could go full Cujo. The guy was literally bulletproof. And if his dad saw fit to call Chris Argent or the Calaveras back to town, fine. He’d allow it. Let them deal some homicidal creature from the black lagoon.

But not his dad.  

There was no way he could to take the bench while he dad was in the fray.  

Cookie dough or peanut butter.

Ah, if there ever was a Sophie’s Choice, this was his.

Peanut butter offered the perfect nutty balance of smooth and crunchy goodness, while the cookie dough had the unbeatable combination of vanilla ice cream blended with little cookie dough presents. Maybe he should just get both – combine them and then he would have created the master of all ice cream flavours…

Oh, that’s why, he only had five dollars.

"Definitely the cookie dough," a voice appeared to his right, causing Stuart to whip his head up towards the stranger – who turned out to be absolutely gorgeous. Late twenties, maybe older, but whatever she was doing was totally working. She totally had a sexy cougar vibe that Stuart couldn’t help but appreciate. All loose curls and tight jeans. Effortlessly flawless…

And evidently waiting for an answer.

“Hel-lo,” his lip split into an awestruck dopey smile, a little shell-shocked, eyes completely overwhelmed by the possibility that a woman that gorgeous would even care about his choice in ice-cream.

"Trying a new look, there Stiles?" she cocked her eyebrow a little, inspecting him with rich curiosity.

Ah… right.

That’s why.

Stuart’s mood dropped visibly at the mention of his brother’s name. Of course. It was obvious. Smoking hot older women would totally be all over his brother… Stiles already had a beautiful girlfriend and also had like seven people in the wings waiting to take that spot, why not a sexy soccer mom on top of that?

"Sorry to disappoint,” Stuart gave the woman a bitter smile, pushing down the feeling of deep seeded jealousy for his brother, “I’m the other one, Stuart… Stiles’ brother? Apparently he didn’t pass on the memo.”

The woman frowned at him for a moment, as though trying to figure something out, before her lips split into wide smirk, eyes sparkling wickedly. 

"Oh you're serious," she laughed, studying him with a new found interest as though he was some inatriguing mystery.

"Unfortunately," Stuart cocked his eyebrow a little to show his frustration. He didn’t really need anyone else in his life wishing they were talking to Stiles rather than him. “Thanks for the tip, have a nice life,” he shrugged, lazily saluting the woman with the pint of ice cream.

“Slow down there handsome, we haven’t been introduced properly,” her reflexes were like a cheetah, long fingers snapping to his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks instantly. Her grip was firm and unwavering. Yet, as she stroked her thumb along the length of his collarbone, Stuart couldn’t find it in him to protest too much.

“If you already know my brother, why would you bother with me?” he wondered aloud, asking without any recollection of thinking before he spoke.

“Why not?” she countered, her playful confidence sparking a fire behind her eyes as she stepped a little closer in a predatorily manner.

“People don’t normally like the knockoff,” he quipped, his voice a little nervous as he realised how close the woman was getting, slowing cornering him in the frozen food section with no escape route.

“Well then it’s a good thing I don’t do normal…” she purred with a flicker of a smirk, eyes trailing down his chest as she bit her lip.

Oh God… Was she flirting?

With him?

When had his life decided to become the Twilight Zone?

“I – uh…” all the words in the English language – and several of the other languages he knew – seemed to disappear from his mind, leaving only inaudible, nonsensical babble on his lead tongue. 

“Don’t hurt yourself there,” the woman chuckled, patting the side of his cheek playfully as she smiled wide, brandishing perfect white teeth.

Oh my God, she was flirting with him.

Just when he thought he might get lucky in the freezer aisle, the woman froze a little as though remembering something, her eyes flickering to the side like she was cautious of someone walking toward them – though Stuart couldn’t see any else. The aisle was empty, it was just him and sexy cougar-lady.

“Call me,” she whispered breathily into his ear.

“Yeah…” he beamed, nodded obediently as he watched her slip between the aisles, not even thinking about the fact that she hadn’t actually given him a number or a name to go with the beautiful mysterious face. 

“Oh my God,” Stuart smirked to himself, his mind reeling from the last few minutes. 

Screw peanut butter, he almost snorted as he tossed the unwanted pint of ice-cream back into the freezer. Cookie dough was definitely his new favourite.

“Stuart?” a familiar voice violently snapped him from his thoughts.

“Mahealani?” Stuart blinked rapidly as though waking from a dream, flicking his gaze over to direction of the voice.

“I heard from Kira that you’re back,” Danny smiled warmly as he swept Stuart up into a friendly hug.

“Who?” Stuart frowned a little, pulling back from the hug as he tried to recall the name but came up blank.

“Scott’s girlfriend,” Danny clarified. It should have been obvious, really – of course Muscles McCall didn’t have any trouble getting girls. The two dorkiest kids in Beacon Hills were now the Kings of High School – funny how life worked out. “I guess you guys haven’t been introduced yet…” Danny muttered awkwardly, as though he felt guilty that Stuart didn’t know.

“Yeah,” Stuart muttered absently, introductions hadn’t really been a high priority for Stiles since Stuart had come back – avoidance was definitely number one on that list.

“It’s been a while,” Danny beamed widely and for the first time Stuart actually believed that someone was genuinely happy that he was back. “How long you back for?”

“Couple weeks? I think, not really sure, depends if I blow my brains out before that…” he quirked the side of his mouth in to a ghost of a smirk.

“Big night planned?” Danny chuckled nodded at the slowly melting pint of cookie dough ice-cream in his hand.

“Ice cream and avoiding my blood relations,” Stuart admitted honestly. In all likely he would gather as many supplies as possible and try to bunk down for the entire weekend. He knew the Sheriff would be busy with work – nothing new there – and there was no way he and Stiles were going to be hanging out anytime soon, so barricading himself within the only safe-zone in the house seemed like his only option. 

“Feel like going out instead? Last day of school, I was thinking of celebrating…” the taller boy offered, failing to conceal the excitement in his eyes.

“Uh, I’m not really…” Stuart shifted awkwardly, feeling a little self conscious, “I’ve never – “

“I didn’t ask that, I said do you want to?” Danny held his ground, a calming presence rather than forceful or pressuring.

Stuart’s entire high school experience hadn’t really prepared him for this moment, particularly the last few years. He’d been to parties sure, but he’d never really been invited, or even wanted there.

Looking down at his wrist he saw that somehow the mysterious woman had left her name and number. Inked in smudged black eyeliner were ten beautifully crafted digits and the name ‘Tessa’. 

He smiled at the name – finally there was someone who knew both Stilinski boys and didn’t instantly question why they weren’t identical in demeanour as well as looks. Finally there was someone actually wanting him over his brother.

A warm feeling rose in his chest as he thought of his encounter with Tessa. A nervousness that he’d never really had with anyone else before – most people tended to avoid him on principal. But she hadn’t. Danny hadn’t either. So why shouldn’t he want to spend time with the people who actually wanted him around?

Fuck it. He could raise a little hell before he hightailed out of this dead beat town. It wasn’t like his father or brother gave a damn about what he was doing.

“Yeah,” he shot Danny a wicked grin, "count me in."

“Okay we have ten minutes,” Melissa told them in hushed tones as they hurried down the corridor to the morgue, her eyes flickering around to make sure they were free from prying eyes.  

“Thanks, Melissa, I really owe you one for this,” the Sheriff offered sincerely, his voice was rough, already tired though he knew the day was far from over. 

“I’ll add it to my list,” she smirked knowingly at the Sheriff as she lead them through the heavy doors, ushering them over to a body lying prone on one of the metal tables, a thin white sheet draped over for modesty. 

Without another word, Melissa pulled back the sheet to reveal the young girl's face. Death had been unkind to what was once probably a beautiful young woman, leaving no trace of youthful glow.  

“I really wish I could stop seeing kids on these tables,” the Sheriff murmured grimly as he studied the young girl’s bloated features, the unnatural pallor of her skin.

“You and me both,” Melissa agreed with a heavy sigh.  

“Official cause of death?” Derek interrupted stoically, though the Sheriff could here the nervous tone in the other man's voice. Though Derek was no stranger to death, it clearly made him uncomfortable. 

“Asphyxiation," Melissa informed them clinically, "she died of a lack of oxygen in her lungs.”

“So she drowned,” Derek quirked an eyebrow over to the Sheriff. 

“I never thought I’d actually be happy to work a normal case,” the Sheriff let out a breath of sheer relief, which in itself was a horrifying thought that made him sick to his stomach - that the supernatural had become such an everyday occurrence that a young girl's suicide was actually a relief.   

“Not exactly,” Melissa sighed, flicking through the manila folder of notes the Coroner had left. “The amount water in her lungs isn’t conclusive with that of a drowning victim.”

“So she was dead before she went into the water?” Derek pondered aloud, seeking Melissa’s gaze for clarification.

“That would be my best guess,” Melissa agreed. 

“You getting anything from this?” the Sheriff waved a vague gesture at the body, giving Derek a concerned look.

“Sorry,” Derek shook his head solemnly, looking a touch guilty that he hadn’t been able to offer more help, “there doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, the water's damaged most of the evidence and there’s not really anything I can do once she’s dead, just looks like a normal dead body…”

“Were they able to come across anything that could have suggested this was a suicide?" the Sheriff wondered, hating the hopeful tone in his voice. It was selfish, but it would quell a lot of his anxieties. 

“The coroner believes she may have overdosed on something prior to going into the water, his running theory is she was an addict who didn't know her limits,” Melissa informed them, sounding sceptical of the coroner's ideas, “but toxicology hasn’t got back on that one yet, we won’t know for a few days yet.”

“We don’t have a few days,” the Sheriff muttered under his breath, a flicker of anxiety rising in his chest at the thought of the ticking count down looming over the case. “Modoc County Sheriff is already trying to take this case, they’ll be down within the next day or so. I can guarantee that if this girl is Bridie O’Connor, they’ll be trying to move on this asap.”

“Which would be fine, if it was a regular suicide,” she hummed. 

“Just give me proof that is was and I’ll happily hand it over,” the Sheriff told her honestly.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I can…” Melissa sighed, walking over to the metal bench to retrieve a small plastic evidence bag. “Coroner was able to retrieve this from her wrist,” she revealed, handing over the bag.

“Looks like a twine,” the Sheriff muttered curiously as he handed the small bag to Derek for closer inspection, with the hope that his keen senses would once again pay off. 

“It’s rope,” Derek frowned as he studied the small piece thoughtfully.

“This wasn’t suicide,” the Sheriff concluded grimly, staring down at the poor girl lying cold and dead on the table. It wouldn’t be long before her parents arrived to identify her – God he couldn’t even imaging how awful that must be.

“Not unless she tied herself up and jumped in…” Melissa quipped darkly, “thing is though,” she continued, pulling back the thin sheet to reveal Bridie’s wrist – a thin, expertly post-mortem slice carefully mended. “The thread was found inside her wrist, healed over completely.”

“So she was a werewolf,” the Sheriff tightened his gaze, raising a single brow at he looked over at Derek.

“Healing isn’t unique to only wolves,” Derek countered quickly, “Quite a few supernatural beings have the ability to heal themselves.”

“But she was something,” the Sheriff let out a sigh, meeting Derek's gaze with a heavy look, knowing the influx of supernatural trauma that was bound to follow.  

“Looks like,” Derek agreed grimly.  

“Crap…”

“Scott this is killing me, we should be doing something!” Stiles groaned, leaning his head back as he draped himself over Scott’s desk chair.

“How about sleeping for a week?” Scott moaned, lying back on his bed, eyes closed as he let out a blissful sigh of relief.    

“How about you be an Alpha and proactively protect your pack rather than just sit around waiting for another body to drop?” Stiles suggested bitterly, unable to stop the sharp words as they flew from his mouth like pointed daggers.

To his credit Scott didn’t rise to the bait, rather he simply opened his eyes, gifting his best friend with a hurt expression. 

Caught up in the wave of guilt washing his way, Stiles huffed out a frustrated breath of defeat,  realising just how cruel his words were. 

“Lydia didn’t scream Stiles,” Scott sat up a little, leaning on his elbows, as he offered a sympathetic glance across the room.  

“So?” Stiles shook off easily with a shrug, “that doesn’t mean – “ 

“If the death was supernatural, she would have screamed,” Scott reasoned, pushing himself up into a seated position as though he felt the conversation warranted it, “she didn’t scream.” 

“But what if it’s just some technicality,” Stiles shot back, “she didn’t scream for half of the Benefactor’s victims because the assassins were human, what if there’s someone out there attacking supernatural creatures and we miss it because we’re sitting around waiting for Lydia to scream?”

“And what if it’s not?" 

“Just –“ Stiles cut himself off with a growl, “let me have this one, please? Let’s just go to the lake, check out the scene of the crime, yeah? You can do your super smelling and I can get my detective on...?” he offered, attempting to make his idea sounds tempting. “How ‘bout it?” 

“You’re avoiding him, aren’t you,” Scott accused with a deadpanned stare, “that’s why you want us to look into the suicide.”

“Can you not try and psycho-analyse my motives, please? I am trying to do my duty as someone with knowledge okay? We have a responsibility to this town, people are being killed by something and it’s our job to figure it out before it happens again.”

“Just talk to him,” Scott sighed, ignored Stiles’ comments completely.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” he groaned petulantly, like a toddler refuting bedtime. “His goal in life is to ruin mine, so my plan is to avoid him – like the plague.” 

“But – “

“Just leave it, Scott.” Stiles ground out through clenched teeth. 

“Okay fine…” Scott backed off with passive aggressive tone, looking a little hurt by Stiles’ outburst.

“Please Scott, I need this,” Stiles begged, looking over at him with a pleading stare.

“And what if it’s just a suicide?” Scott reasoned quietly, his worry clear.

“Then… I give you full ‘I told you so’ rights for the next month,” Stiles sighed flippantly, there was no way he was wrong. He was never wrong – okay, correction, he was almost never wrong - ish…

“Make it a year.”

“Done.”

“Awesome,” Stiles beamed brightly, feeling a rush of calm as he focused his mind solely on the case at hand, “first we need to steal my dad’s phone…”

“What?”

In a forgotten old shoebox, covered with a thick layer of dust, thrust away into one of the highest cupboards in her room, held a collection of childhood memorabilia that only a mother would deem worth keeping: several poems from assorted elementary years, a wrinkled watercolour depicting an odd looking blob next to another old looking blob and about a decade’s worth of birthday cards ranging from close friends and family to estranged uncles and one even from their previous mailman.

It took nearly an hour to find what she had been looking for, but finally she came upon it near the bottom of the box. 

The envelope hadn’t even been opened – her mother had made her write thank you cards from a list of all the party attendants, but clearly hadn’t had the time to watch Lydia open all the presents. With eighteen seven year olds running around it was understandable. Still, she couldn’t help but feel guilty about all the lonely unopened envelopes that had gone unread for all these years.

The handwriting was clearly a woman’s, all poised curves and gentle arches. Lydia had seen the Sheriff’s handwriting a enough times over the years to know that he had not written the card. More than likely it had been Claudia Stilinski; a woman she knew only by name not by memory.

“Happy Birthday Lydia

Wishing you a wonderful 7^th Birthday 

STiLeS & Stuart

P. s. hOPe yoU liKe thE UNicOrN”

 A sad smile graced her lips as she thought of a seven-year old Stiles, bouncing off the walls, demanding to write on her card even though he could barely form the letters. Though his spelling was correct, his handwriting lacked the elegant legibility that his mother’s did. 

It would be another year before his self professed 'love' would develop but his dedication to her card was enough to make her smile fondly at the effort.

The high ping of an incoming text alerted her attention to the phone in her bag. She sighed as she read the name on the screen.

Stiles:

Sorry, I was a dick.

She rolled her eyes at the sentiment, practically hearing Stiles’ voice through the text. True, he had been a dick, and if he had done anything like this a few years ago, she would have committed social homicide, tearing him down so that he was nothing more than an object of ridicule for even the most awkward of freshmen.

But a lot had changed over the last few years. She had seen him at his worst, just as he had seen hers. She knew him on a more emotional level, been his anchor and practically pulled him back from edge on several occasions. 

She knew he was just lashing out, but that still didn't mean it was right. She was still hurt at the fact that Stiles never talked to her about Stuart, but she knew Stiles had a point. She had never asked. Over the years they had all been thrust together in their fight against the evil forces that plagued the town. They had never really had a reprieve from that, seemingly just one nightmare after another - they didn't really talk to one another anymore. Or had they ever? Group catch-ups tended to be for crises related talk and ever since Allison...  well, she didn't really have anyone to gossip with - Kira was far too nice to and Malia didn't understand the need to. 

So maybe she couldn't stay mad for the failure of communication, but that didn’t mean she was going to let him get off that easily. She’d let him stew a little, grovel a little - not enough to be cruel, just enough to make him think twice before firing all cannons in her direction without due cause.

Therefore, with a waspish smirk, she primly thumbed her response: 

I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to me. 

“Man, I haven’t been inside your house in a years,” Danny let out a low whistle as he walked around the room, causally inspecting the changes that had been made since his last visit.

“You’re not friends with Stiles?” Stuart frowned as he watched the other boy poke around his childhood home. Honestly he’d thought Danny would’ve known the place better than him. 

“We haven’t really talked in a while,” Danny shrugged a little, “didn’t really move in the same circles for a while and then, I didn’t really want to…”

“Wow, you must be the first person in this whole town not to,” Stuart laughed genuinely at his surprise.  “I’m expecting the marble bust any day now: Saint Stiles,” he announced bitterly with sarcastic flare, fingers twinkling as he shot Danny an exasperated look.  

“Not really an epithet I’d use…” Danny winced, looking a little awkward about it, before changing the subject, “So you going to get ready?”

“Fine, whatever, give me a moment,” Stuart smirked at Danny’s impatience, turning heel to head up the stairs.

“Don’t wear anything Stiles would,” Stuart heard Danny yell up after him.

Stuart chuckled to himself as he climb up to the second floor. Like he would wear anything that Stiles would. 

However that did give him the unfortunate dilemma of finding something appropriate to wear out at all. Honestly he had packed for solitary confinement, not high school parties - he was completely out of his depth...

His entire suitcase was upturned onto his bed and still he couldn't find anything to wear. How did he have so much unwearable clothes? Why did he even buy half of this stuff? 

"Jeans, that shirt," Danny interrupted his train of though as he strode into the room and picked up the clothes to hand to Stuart - when had he even got there? "Don't wear the beanie, we're not going to a hipster bar in Silver Lake..." 

"Huh," Stuart blinked, smirking a little at the corner of his mouth, "guess stereotypes aren't all bullshit..." 

"Shut up," Danny snorted playfully, making Stuart laugh, "go get dressed," he added, pushing the other boy towards the door. 

Stuart complied with little resistant as he was ushered into the bathroom down the hall, closing the door with a smile that quickly disappeared when he noted his reflection in the ajar medicine cabinet mirror. Without another thought he tossed the clothes on the floor and headed over to the sink.  

Staring at his reflection for a moment, he frowned in thought, biting his lip a little. He probably didn't need it, did he. He would fine. Things had been alright for a while, better, normal.  

Better than normal - if you didn't include all that crap with his family, if you just focused on the positives... 

"Do you mind if I get a glass of water?" he heard Danny asks from down the hall. 

"Sure, I think there's some filtered stuff in the fridge..." Stuart called back in response, feeling the hollow hum of the empty bathroom as it fell back into silence.   

Maybe he could be normal for once. Friends, parties, girls - well, women in Tessa's case.

Oh crap... that reminded him.

Pulling back his sleeve he saw the inky smudge that was once potentially an actually cell number, but now was just an incomprehensible mess of black. He could barely even make out that it was a number to begin with. 

Damn it.

His first chance with an amazingly gorgeous woman and he'd blown it... 

Well, it was a small town, maybe he'd run into her again...

Slamming the medicine cabinet shut with a new found determination, he quickly changed before heading down to meet up with Danny - the less time he had to spend in this old house the better. 

"Okay, I'm ready," he announced as he got to the bottom stair, crossing the room as he headed towards the kitchen.

However, a small collection of files spread across the dining room table caught his eye as he crossed the room, causing him to pause.  

The pictures were utterly grotesque; a young blonde woman blue and bloated, lying on the muddy bank of a lake, eyes glassy as they starred into the camera lens as though staring right at him.   

"Ugh, gross," he muttered in disgust as he picked up the photo, eyes scanning down to the similar ones spread out over the table, all showing various angles of the deceased girl. 

This is who they found in the lake yesterday morning, the one who had killed herself.

It felt disconcerting to stare down a photo of a dead girl, though oddly numb at the same time, surreal, like he could tell himself it wasn't real, that that girl was still alive somewhere and the photo had been done with make up - though the knot in his gut told a different story. This sort of death he'd only ever seen in his nightmares - twisted limbs, unblinking eyes, dark red blood - 

“Jesus, Stiles what did I tell you about – Stuart…” the Sheriff froze as did Stuart, both looking at the other unsure what to do next. "I - uh, just came home to get a few things..." the Sheriff continued, sounding far too out of place in his own house. 

"Okay," Stuart shrugged, tossing the photo down unceremoniously, glaring over the rims of his glasses as he shot the Sheriff a bored look - like he cared when the Sheriff was coming and going... 

“Hey Sheriff,” Danny interrupted the awkward moment with a bright friendly grin as he walked out from the kitchen, glass of water in his hand.

“Danny,” the Sheriff smiled, relaxing instantly at the familiar face, “it’s been a while.”

“Me and Stuart were just catching up,” Danny told him simply. Though the subtext was pretty clear : don't worry Sheriff, your son isn't a psychotic little bastard because he has friends, look! He can socialise... Gold stars all around.  

“I’m really glad,” the Sheriff nodded earnestly, a small grin gracing his lips as he looked over at Stuart, "you clean up nice kid..." he offered quietly, though Stuart chose to ignore it - he didn't really feel like having a 'father-son' bonding session right now -  it felt forced, awkward, like the Sheriff was just trying to make up his fatherly moments quota for the week. 

“I’m going to head over to Danny’s,” Stuart offered bluntly, not really asking, more like stating the facts, not bothering to look up from his close inspection of his shoes - should he have worn different shoes? 

“Alright, well let me know if you’re not going to be home, I’ll be at the station tonight,” the Sheriff coughed awkwardly, collecting the crime scene photos from the table. 

“I won’t be home.”

“He can stay at mine,” Danny cut in, clearly feeling awkward with the growing tension in the room.

“Okay then, have fun, be safe, I’ll see you boys tomorrow,” the Sheriff nodded, moving towards Stuart as though he were about to give him a hug, but Stuart stepped back, causing the Sheriff to realise his mistake and back away. 

“Thanks,” Danny waved politely as the Sheriff left the house in a flustered exit. Turning back to Stuart, Danny shot him an unimpressed look.

"What?" Stuart sighed.

"You know what," Danny retorted, making Stuart feel a little like he'd kicked a fawn, "now come on, we still need to drop by mine." 

“What does that even mean?” Stiles whined at his phone, alerting Scott’s attention as they sat in the jeep out the front of the Sheriff's station. 

The plan to get his dad's phone hadn't really come to much fruition - or any more than sitting in the jeep out the front of the Sheriff's station. Leaving the two to sit idling while they awaited some sort of opportunity to head into the station and swipe the phone while his dad wasn't watching.

Unfortunately, his dad wasn't presenting in the building at all - which left them sitting there losing at Temple Run while they waited for their time to strike.  

"Malia?" Scott wondered, leaning over to try and read the text over Stiles' shoulder. 

"Lydia," Stiles sighed wearily.  

"You said sorry right?" 

"Yup."

"You said it was your fault?"

"Yes."

"And what did she say?"

"That I would 'work out' how to make it up to her," air quoting the words as he shot Scott a desperate look. 

"Oh," Scott frowned, "what does that mean?"

"Exactly," Stiles stressed, their conversation coming back full circle as they were lulled into silence but a lack of answers, both starring out at the people walking by. 

"Right..." Scott nodded, clearly as confused as Stiles was, but the arrival of the Sheriff's cruiser prompted a change in conversation.  

 "You know the plan right?" Stiles murmured as they watched the Sheriff exit his car and walk into the police station, clearly distracted by the phone conversation he was holding as to not see the familiar bright blue jeep parked across the street. 

“So.. why don’t we just call Derek and see what he’s found…?” Scott reasoned as he turned his attention back to watching the building across the street. 

“Because,” Stiles sighed wearily, “Derek won’t answer my texts – ”

“He answered mine,” Scott shot back, casually presenting the illuminated screen which had several texts between the two from the past few hours. 

“Wha – ugh…" Stiles balked at the conversation that mostly consisted of 'hey', but still, "that dick…” he grumbled at the messages, all replied to dutifully - unlike Stiles' text which were blatantly ignored...

“Um.. okay, text him what he found,” Stiles offered in a matter-of-fact tone, utterly in disbelief that it could possibly that easy. 

After a few moments, Scott's phone pinged with a text alert. 

“Oh…”

“Lemme see,” Stiles demanded, prompting Scott to handed over his phone. 

DEREK HALE :  (as if Scott knew any other Derek's...) 

Stay out it Stiles.

“Well that’s just an invitation…” Stiles muttered petulantly, handing Scott back his phone. 

“So we’re back to stealing your dad’s phone…?” Scott wondered, a pinched expression revealing his discomfort with the plan.

"Yeah, let's go," Stiles announced, swinging opened the jeep's door. 

'There are no known packs from Modoc County, none that my family were aware of anyway,' Derek's tone was curt and rough, sounding tired, overdrawn. The poor kid had probably spent the entire afternoon pouring over his family's old records - or what ever was left over from the fire at least.  

"Thanks for double checking, couldn't be too careful," the Sheriff sighed as he sat down at his desk, surveying the chaos of the bullpen outside his office. "I just got off the phone with Modoc, their Sheriff will be here tomorrow afternoon, I may need you to take the lead on this while I babysit, make sure he doesn't go baiting bears, so to speak..." 

'I can't promise anything,' Derek murmured, the Sheriff could practically hear the doubt in his voice. 

"Let me know what you find," the Sheriff rubbed his forehead absently, feeling a small tension headache growing in the centre of his head. 

'Okay,' the respond was delayed, clearly other words were meant to be said in it's place, but Derek had decided against them.

"Thanks again for doing this for me," the Sheriff told him earnestly, hoping the younger man believed his words, "this... really isn't my area and I appreciate the help, I mean it."   

'I’m guessing you’re still not going to bring Scott and Stiles in on the case,'  Derek muttered, his disapproval clear. 

“We can handle it,” the Sheriff stressed, for the umpteenth time that day, unsure whether he was trying to convince Derek or himself. "Look, we tried that, okay?" he told him, "I didn't stop them during that entire Benefactor fiasco, even though there were several occasions where I should have. I'm not prepared to do that again. Scott may be Alpha but, dammit, I'm still the Sheriff of this town, Derek..."  

'Fine,' Derek tone strongly suggested he was about to add something else to the conversation, however instead he prompted hung up. 

"Goodbye to you too," the Sheriff muttered to himself as he listened to the silence of the ended call, placing the phone on the desk. 

A small lull in the commotion outside, caught the Sheriff's attention - any change in behaviour usually wasn't a good sign. 

"Just one moment of peace," the Sheriff prayed under his breath as he stepped out into the bullpen hoping there wasn't a second body to deal with - or a Kanima in the cells... 

"Your son's at the front desk," Parrish stepped up to inform the Sheriff with an amused expression on his face. One that quickly disappeared as the Sheriff raised an eyebrow, prompting a clarification as to which son he referred to. "S-stiles," Parrish stumbled awkwardly, "Stiles in at the desk." 

"Thanks," the Sheriff nodded, not waiting around for Parrish to apologise again, making a bee-line for the front entrance as he geared himself up to give his - clearly moronic - son another lecture on staying out of police business... the front entrance where his moronic son was pinging the bell like a bemused toddler... 

"You touch that bell again, I'm throwing it out the window," the Sheriff cautioned with serious expression. 

"Got it," Stiles retracted his hand quickly as though in fear of losing his fingers. 

"I'm not discussing this case with you Stiles," the Sheriff said curtly, stubborn in his stance on the matter. 

"Nope, I'm totally staying out of it," Stiles raised his hands in surrender a little, which was awkward to do with the plastic take away bag in on hand, "I come with a peace offering," he added, nodded to the bag in his hand.  

"Is that from that place off Main street?" the Sheriff raised his brows curiously as he inspected the bag from a far. 

"You know it is," Stiles shot back with a smile.

"Okay, you can pass," the Sheriff allowed, leading the way back to his office. He paused in his steps as he saw his door ajar a little, swinging lightly as though a light breeze had just past - though no window was open. He thought he had closed his door...

"Yo, pops," Stiles prompted from right behind him, "we moving this show along or what?"

"Yeah," the Sheriff shook his head, continuing his motion, heading into the office as he took a seat at his desk. 

"Ta-dah," Stiles declared as he dumped the take away container in front of his father, "don't say I never do anything for you - that is a cheeseburger, you're welcome." 

"Which I technically paid for," the Sheriff countered as he unwrapped the foil and took a large bite.  "Stiles," he whined, mouth half full of food, "this is stone cold." 

"Yeah, I bought it a while ago..." Stiles admitted, taking a seat across the desk. "I didn't know you weren't here." 

"I had to pick up somethings from home," the Sheriff offered with a light conversational tone, testing the waters before he added, "Stuart's staying with Danny Mehealani tonight."

"Danny's standards are seriously slipping," Stiles retorted instinctively, to which the Sheriff had to consciously ignore the jab, knowing it would just result in another argument that he honestly didn't have the energy for.  

"Aren't you eating?" the Sheriff frowned as he saw at his son watching him eat. 

"I told you, I had to wait," Stiles blinked, "it would've gotten cold..." 

"We haven't really done this in a while," the Sheriff murmured, his voice soft with melancholy, "there was a time where it was practically a weekly occurrence..."

"Haven't done a lot of things in a while," Stiles shrugged, quietening a little, drumming his fingertips nervously against his leg.

In that moment, the Sheriff wished he could say something, wished they could just forget everything for a moment and have a nice, stress-free meal with his kid. Though he knew his mind didn't really work like that and neither did Stiles' - even after claiming he wasn't at the station to fish for clues, he could clearly see Stiles' eyes darting around the room in hopes of spotting something.

"So did you - " the Sheriff began, though a sharp knock at the door announced Parrish's presence at the threshold of the office. 

"Sorry to do this, but Sheriff Myers is on the line, he wants to speak with you," Parrish informed him. 

"It's alright," Stiles nodded obediently, already up and heading to the door before the Sheriff could say anything to the contrary. "I'll see you when you get home."

"Thanks for the food kiddo," the Sheriff called after Stiles through the door, settling in as he picked up the office line.

"Sheriff here."  

As he spoke with his Modoc counterpart, an odd thought struck him - Stiles hadn't asked once about the case... he didn't even try. For such a stubborn kid, it was strange to see him not trying to weasel information out of him. 

Also, he was confused as to why the Modoc Sheriff hadn't call him on his cell like he had an hour ago. Though, on second thought, where had he put his own phone? He could've sworn he left it on the table... 

God, maybe he was getting old...

He really needed to this day to be over already. 

 “I thought we were going out?” Stuart asked nervously, anxiously looking around as they stood in the crowded line. Dozens of others huddled in beside them, filling in the gaps tightly as though they believed it would make the line go any quicker. 

“We are out, aren’t we?” Danny quipped casually, sounding a little too smug for his own good.

“This is a club Danny,” Stuart shot back, staring up at the large glowing neon sign on the side of the building stating it was ‘Sinema’

Danny cocked his brow a little, pouting his lip, tilting his head as he studied the other boy with odd curiosity. “And your definition of ‘out’ is…?”

“We won’t get in here, we’re not even eighteen,” Stuart whispered back, flicking his gaze over to the large bouncer at the front of the line, blocking the entrance way to the club.

“Oh, you’re not?” Danny wondered with false surprise, flipping out his own ID with practiced ease, “cause I am, in fact I’m 22. Oh look, and so are you,” he added, presenting Stuart with a freshly laminated driver’s license.  

“How did you even…?” Stuart wondered aloud as he studied the falsified information that pronounced him ‘Stuart Twombly, 22, from the state of California’.

“I know a guy,” Danny winked, "you owe me fifty bucks." 

"What?" Stuart's smile disappeared instantly - where the hell was he going to get fifty bucks from? All he had in his pocket was the twenty-five he'd swiped from Stiles' room... 

“Now shut up, age is about confidence," Danny told him as they were shuffled along to the front of the line. 

“IDs,” the bouncer told them, looking utterly bored with life, the universe and his place within it, as the two handed their illegal identification over - one more confident about the entire arrangement than the other. 

The bouncer barely even looked over Danny's, but somehow decided to study Stuart's as though it were an intricate 'Magic-Eye' and he was trying to make out the unicorn on a spaceship. Each flicker of the larger man's gaze had Stuart growing more nervous. There was no way they were going to get in...   

“Really Mahealani?” the larger man shot Danny an unamused, exasperated expression as he rolled his eyes a little. 

“He’s with me,” Danny informed the bouncer.

“Isn’t he the Sheriff’s kid?” 

“No,” Stuart lied. Technically it wasn’t a lie – the guy clearly thought he was Stiles, he wasn’t Stiles.

“Whatever, just don’t let him drive,” the bouncer smirked a little at Danny, rolling his eyes as he stood aside to let the two of them pass into the door behind him. 

“Confidence?” Stuart scoffed at Danny as he followed him in.

“Shut up,” Danny pushed the shorter boy a little, laughing at they headed through the heavy doors into a dense sea of grinding bodies, the pulse of the thudding base hitting their chest as they made their way to the bar.

“You want a drink?” Danny offered, practically shouting of the roaring as he leaned over the high bar, waving his hand to grab the attention of the topless barman - or rather barboy. 

“Maybe later, I – uh- don’t have much – I haven’t really – ” he mumbled over the words, feeling overwhelmingly self conscious about it. 

“That’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Danny told him supportively, a kind, easy smile gracing his lips. 

“But I’m going to,” Danny grinned wickedly wiggling his eyebrows as he headed for the bar, greeted enthusiastically by some shirtless Adonis – subtle Danny…

With the absent of Danny, Stuart stood awkwardly in the centre of the pulsating room, looking around at the abundance of carefree people throwing themselves around. 

'Sinema' wasn't really like any place he'd ever been to - not that he ever been to a club, mind. The hanging chains and high ceilings were a little daunting but the strobe lights and fog machines were pretty cool, better than any old high school party.  

“Stiles!” a young bubbly teen practically ran into Stuart - getting far too 'buddy buddy' with him for a stranger. “I didn’t know you came here!”

“Not Stiles,” Stuart glared at the younger boy, eyes sharpening tightly as he contemplated the need to wear a shirt that stated 'I'm not Stiles - so fuck you and fuck off'. However, as he hadn't thought to wear such a top, he was stuck in this ungodly situation - to which he was immediately going to walk far away from. "Bye," he quipped icily as he turned to make his way through the dense crowd.  

“Hey, come on, wait!” the boy whined, racing around to physically block Stuart from running off.  “Do you know why Liam keeps avoiding me?”

“Don’t know who that is – wouldn’t care if I did,” Stuart snapped, a familiar frustration rising as he was once again made to deal with his brother's stupid messes. 

Thankfully, Danny was quick to come to his rescue. 

“Mason, it’s Mason, right?” Danny cut in, all smiles and charm, with an expensive looking drink in his hand, "this is Stiles’ brother Stuart, Stuart, Mason, Liam’s friend and Liam is Scott’s friend?” he clarified for Stuart, though honestly Stuart was pretty much purposefully forgetting the names as they were told to him - not like he really cared, or had any need to remember them. 

“Stiles has a twin brother?” Mason gaped at Stuart as though he were some genetic anomaly, “whoa…he never said…" 

“Probably because he’s hated my guts since we were thirteen and has tried to -  fairly successfully, I might add - erase me from all existence,” Stuart spat resentfully, eyes dark and bitter as he glared down at the younger boy. 

“Intense,” Mason nodded dumbly, unblinking as he starred at Stuart. 

“Awesome… see ya,” Stuart promptly turned on his heels, disappearing into the crowd, desperate to put as much space between him and the bouncy little freshman as quickly as possible. 

So much for normal. 

The thick air of the enclosed space was making him claustrophobic. Strobe lights piercing his eyes as he was jostled about by the people around him.

He needed to get out. 

He need to get far away from here, away from all the odd looks and whispers, the interrogations, the guilt.

Why couldn't people see? He wasn't his brother, and he never would be.

Sweet relief was soon found in the form of a heavy door tucked away around the side of one of the smaller rooms.  

Bursting out into the cold night air felt like pure freedom. 

The small courtyard was barren and dirty, littered with hundreds of abandoned cigarette butts which indicated it was probably used for smoking. But the night was still fairly young and people weren't quite desperate for their fix just yet, leaving the space utterly desolate. 

So far this was his favourite place in all of Beacon Hills...

Blissfully absent of people.  

The creaking of the door, told him that his small sanctuary was no longer a place of solitude. However the familiar face was one he would allow to enter.   

“You know you may actually make some friends in this town if you weren’t such a dick to everyone…” Danny suggested as he handed Stuart a small glass of soda - Dr Pepper, it was nice that he still remembered that after all these years.

“Not sure I want to make friends in this town, everyone seems to think I’m Mirroworld!Stiles, moments away from killing them in their sleep," Stuart retorted with a petty snort. 

“Mason’s a nice guy, Stu," Danny continued his 'be nice, do good' sermon, "he’s just worried about his friend, Liam’s been kind of absent lately, he just misses his best friend," Danny reasoned, looking genuinely concerned.  

“And I should care about the pathetic soap opera that is Beacon Hills High because…?”

“I’m just saying I can relate,” Danny huffed out a frustrated sigh, “I kinda went through a similar thing with Jackson…”

“Yeah? He leave you for Scott too?” Stuart snorted at the thought of Jackson even glancing at Scott without wanting to punch him in the face. “Seriously does McCall have some cult going? Stealing everyone’s best friends?”

“You know it really hurt Jackson when you left,” Danny revealed quietly, sounding a little hurt, “he took it out on Stiles.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it was kind of a shitty time for all of us really,” Danny explained quietly, “your mom died, then you left, then Jackson found out he was adopted, and uh... he didn’t really take it well...” 

“Jackson was adopted?” Stuart gaped a little, completely thrown by Danny’s revelation. “Holy crap…” he croaked. Poor Jackson, that definitely couldn’t have been easy to take, the guy had idolised his parents, always bragging how he had got his lacrosse skills from his father…

“Shit,” Stuart rubbed the back of his neck, a flicker of guilt rising in his chest as he thought of the best friend he’d abandoned all those years ago. “You have his number? I was kinda hoping to catch up with him again, apologise, you know?” Stuart winced.

“Well you’d probably have to start by getting a passport and hopping on a plane for fourteen hours.” 

That completely threw Stuart. 

“What?” 

“Jackson moved to London,” Danny told him bluntly.  

“Seriously, since when?”

“Last summer, his parent’s shipped him off to a boarding school over there.”

“Fuck…” Stuart swore, head reeling from the umpteenth bombshell dropped on him that day – what the hell was wrong with people in Beacon Hills? “what happened?”

“Ask your brother,” Danny told him cryptically.  

“What the hell does Stiles have to do with Jackson moving?” Stuart spat his brother's name like a curse, his temper boiling under his skin as a thousand furious thoughts raced through his head.  

“Just ask your brother,” Danny brushed off.  

“No, I’m asking you,” Stuart pressed, determined to find out what exactly Stiles had done to get Jackson shipped off to an entirely different country. He was getting so sick of everyone telling him to talk to Stiles - he didn't want to talk to him, he just wanted to know the facts. 

“It’s not really my place, Stu,” Danny shook his head with an apologetic expression, eyebrow pinched together like some lonely golden retriever.   

“I don’t care – “ 

"You can't be out here, it's staff only," a young girl with a mop of dark brunette curls – who was so very obviously not 21 (what was wrong with this place?!) -  interrupted them sharply, a tray of drinks balancing precariously on her forearm. The poor girl clearly didn’t have a lot of bar experience, though she was probably 15 or something, ‘daddy’ probably cut off her allowance and refused to pay her phone bill…. 

"Yeah fine, whatever, we're going," Stuart shot back peevishly.  

“You look like you could use a drink,” the girl offered, nodding down to the half dozen shot glasses on her tray - an opportunist for sure, but one with perfect timing. 

“You know what, yeah, I will,” Stuart decided, taking two shot glasses in his hand, thumbing a few notes to place on the tray.

"Well, you know where to find me," the girl shrugged, satisfied with her sale as she headed back into the club.  

“I thought you weren’t drinking…” Danny challenged, looking a touch concerned.  

“Yeah well I am now,” Stuart threw the shot into the back of his throat, unprepared for the dry burn that spread throughout his chest. Hacking and spluttering as the alcohol burn made his eyes water, his stomach in revolt as though it was yet undecided on whether or not it should reject the liquid. "Oh gross..." he whined pitifully, scrapping his tongue with his teeth. "That's so nasty." 

The two stared at each other for a moment, not really sure where to go from the interruption of their argument.

Danny broke first, snorting at Stuart's poor attempt at the shot, which proved infectious as Stuart found himself unable to resist. 

"Shut up, jerk," Stuart punched the other boy's shoulder playfully, "she didn't tell me what was in it! Oh God, I think I just drank gasoline..." 

"Well you handled it beautifully," Danny quipped facetiously, before sobering slightly as he sent Stuart a look,  "we're meant to be celebrating," he sighed. 

"How like Stiles to ruin my fun, even when he's not around he - "

"Nope, that's it," Danny made a 'T' with hands, "I call veto on anything Stiles related for the rest of the night. No bitching, no whining, no nothing. Tonight is me celebrating end of Junior year and you getting into Stanford, okay, nothing else, okay?"

"Okay," Stuart nodded in compliance after a moment.  

“Alright," Danny agreed with an excited grin, draping his arm over Stuart's shoulders as he lead the shorter boy back into the ear blistering abyss of Sinema, "now let’s start you off with something nicer than straight vodka…”

Chapter Text

Sleep was a luxury nowadays, a gift.

And not just sleep – the kind that just sort of happened due to your body succumbing to exhaustion – but rest , that pure, uninterrupted bliss . The kind that makes you feel like an actual human being. The kind free from the plague of nightmares shod in blood and death, absent of piercing screams and long stretched shadows that whispered torturous words – just sleep . Just sleep, normal sleep, peaceful sleep…

But of course, it seemed to be just his luck that his first night of blissful rest in months is cut short by a heavy thud .

The noise snapped his senses into instant overdrive, forcing his body into action, like a soldier out field - standing in the centre of his room, at attention, before he was even fully awake. His heart racing almost painfully at the rapid call to arms that pulsed rich adrenaline through his veins.

It took him a few moments of standing in the dark, lungs heaving from the shock, for his brain to catch up. Rational thought sharpened his senses, honing in on the rustle of leaves and the shuffle of feet on the porch. A glance at his clock told him it was 3:14am – too early for his dad to be home. Stu was at Danny’s, Scott would call, as would Lydia – Malia wouldn’t use the front door. Derek had learnt to text before entering – thankfully. Though knowing all this wasn’t helping his peace of mind in that moment.

The odds weren’t really in his favour on this account.
 
Biting his lip, Stiles grabbed the bat by his bed, wincing a little at the sharp cold bite of the metal on his hands. With feet roughly shoved into his sneakers, he made his cautious descend down the stairs.
 
Every creak throughout the old house sent his already frayed nerves into overdrive, cautious sharp eyes glaring at each flicker in his peripheries. He could practically feel the beat of his heart in his clenched fists as they gripped the bat tighter.
 

Taking an anxious moment to collect himself by the front door, he briefly considered whether or not opening the door was the smart thing to do in this situation. He probably should call someone – Scott, Malia, Parrish, hell Derek now that they guy was back in town. But curiosity was a fickle mistress and his sleep addled mind hadn’t quite caught up to rational thought.
 
Steeling himself for a moment – mentally repeating his mantra of ‘ don’tbeaserialkillerdon’tbeaserialkiller’ - he bit the bullet and threw open the door, fully prepared to charge at the intruder with the full force of his strength.
 
However – much to his surprise –
 
“Oh you gotta be kidding me…” he groaned, voice hoarse from sleep, bat slipping through his fingers unceremoniously, falling to the ground with an echoing ring of metal on wood, as he stared down at the ‘intruder’.
 
Draped across the dirt trodden welcome mat, doing his best impression of a coma patient, was his idiotic – drunk , given the smell of him – little brother.
 
“The fuck is wrong with you?” Stiles grumbled, mostly to himself, in a tone little more than a whisper, nudging his brother’s shoulder gently with the tip of his shoe, jostling the sleeping teen. Stuart moaned back something unintelligent, his voice severely muffled against the cold decking, glasses pushed up to rest on his forehead – by some miracle they hadn’t broken.
 
“I should leave you out here, you know, serves you right,” Stiles told his intoxicated sibling, knowing full well that he was never going to get an intelligent response, “this,” he gestured vaguely to his brother’s state, “is self-inflicted wounds, dude, s’not my problem…”
 
He paused for a moment, as though waiting for a protested response, fingertips tapping absently on his thigh as he listened to the wind whistle through the still Summer’s night.
 
It was warm enough out, maybe he should just leave Stu out here for dad to find…
 
Because yeah, that’s exactly what the Sheriff needed to find after a 12 + hour shift – his wayward son passed out on the porch, fingers still gripping the front door key as though he’d just been one step away from victory, tripping at the finish line and deciding that getting up was far beyond the realm of possibility.
 
“Ugh,” he groaned, guilt getting the better of him. “C’mere,” Stiles rolled his eyes, kneeling down to pull Stuart’s limb arm around his shoulders, surprised at how easy it was to tug his younger brother off the cold front porch. Funny how much stronger he felt when he was lugging around weedy little computer nerds rather than injured werewolves.
 
“M’hm,” Stuart muttered undistinguishably as his head rolled into Stiles’ collar bone.
 
“Yeah, well done genius, getting hammered with a killer on the loose,” Stiles lectured his little brother petulantly as he kicked the door shut behind them, ignoring the fact that Stuart probably wouldn’t remember, “A+ survival instincts there Stanford.”
 
Stuart may not be a two hundred pound Alpha werewolf, but negotiating his gangly limbs up a flight of stairs proved a little more effort than Stiles had initially expected, “Such. An asshole ,” Stiles muttered under his heavy panting breathe as he lugged Stuart up the final stair. However, manoeuvring Stuart into the recovery position was simple enough once Stiles had dumped him onto the bed.

Bucket, water, Advil. Glasses on the bedside table. Yeah, that was probably good enough.

His work here was done.

Time to get back to the blissful sleep that’d been so rudely interrupted – if such a heavenly experience were even still possible.

Though, as he tried to make his exit he realised there was something stopping him.

Long fingers curled around the hem of Stiles’ sleeve - a vice grip like a baby orang-utan clutching on for dear life.

“No,” Stiles sighed, exhaustion turning his words into unintelligent whines. Gently he pried his sleeve from Stuart’s fingers, knowing full well that Sober Stuart would have a much different take on the entire scenario.

Pausing in the doorway, he stopped to looked back at his sleeping brother.

“Night Stu,” he sighed, flicking the light off to allow Stuart some sense of peace before the inevitable hangover from hell hit, trying his best to ignore the feeling of hurt burning the pit of his stomach.

He’d fix this one day, maybe not right now, but he would.

There was an order to this, a plan. Stu coming back to town had screwed up the plan – he was annoyed at that, he knew he shouldn’t be, but that just seemed to be what Stu always did. There wasn’t time right now to sort this all out, not just this moment anyway, not when there was a new something out to kill them, not when there were more bodies adding to the list of the fallen. So he just put a pin in his complicated sibling relationship, he hadn’t forgotten about it, he wasn’t ignoring it – he was just planning to deal with it at a more convenient time. Once Stiles had reconfigured the plan, whilst juggling his other plans in motion, then he’d get back on it.

“This is actually the worst plan you’ve ever had,” Scott moaned wearily as he shot a look across the living room.
 
“Not sure you’re considered all the contenders for that one there buddy, I’ve have some pretty terrible plans…” Stiles scrubbed his tired eyes, attempting to scrape away the sleep collected in the corner of his eye. His plans to continue his blissful night’s sleep hadn’t really play out as he’d wanted to.

“Okay, but this is stupid,” Scott tried to reason, “We could just talk to Derek –”

The sigh that exhaled from Stiles’ mouth was something akin to a growl as he hung his head in frustration. “Just believe in the plan, okay? We’ve got this far – “

“Are you okay? You look tired,” Scott frowned, his concern obvious on his face.

“Late night house calls,” Stiles explained jadedly.

Scott flickered his gaze up to the ceiling, clearly picking up on the third heartbeat in the house, “Thought he was staying at Danny’s?”

“We kinda have bigger issues, dude.”

“I know,” Scott accepted, though by his tone Stiles could tell he wasn’t happy about dropping the subject, “but tricking Derek into helping us isn’t really a great start…”

“Since my dad has half his deputies watching the lake and he told your mom’s not letting us anywhere near the body – they kinda gave us no choice,” Stiles shot back defensively.

“Yeah, but there’s no way Derek is just going to – “ Scott froze mid-sentence, ears pricking up at some noise only supernaturally enhanced hearing could detect.

“He’s at the door isn’t he?” Stiles shot a smug look of victory at his best friend, pushing himself off the couch.

“Shut up, it’s still stupid…” Scott grumbled petulantly as a sharp knock on the door echoed through the hallway.

“Lalala, can’t here you over the sound of my plan working,” Stiles muttered back, knowing full well Scott could here his victorious exclaims.

Reaching the door, he paused for a moment, knowing Derek was waiting on the other side. A flicker of anxiety wavered within as he had second thoughts about his ‘fool proof’ plan. He shouldn’t have lied to Derek, that was stupid. But it wasn’t like he could back out now – the guy was already there. Also, to be fair, Derek had brought it on himself…

Ah, screw it.

“What did you find at the lake?” Stiles blurted out immediate as he opened the door, completely unable to contain his overwhelming curiosity.

“Hello to you too,” Derek muttered as he walked over the threshold, looking around the house curiously, “you know I’m here to talk to your father, not you… but he’s not home.”

“Mhmm,” Stiles nodded, glancing over at Scott, pursing his lips in attempt to keep his features looking completely nonchalant and innocuous.

“His car’s out front, but your's isn’t…” Derek accused with sharp eyes as though the truth was slowly dawning on him.

“Really? Huh…” Stiles feigned innocence, a little unsuccessfully, feeling his heartbeat pick up a little, which undoubtedly did Derek also.
 
“You stole your father’s phone.” Derek concluded quickly, glaring down at Stiles.

“Maybe?” Stiles offered lamely, squirming under Derek’s unimpressed scowl. “Alright, yes, but come on, we need some answers,” he whined, caving with a dramatic flail.

“I don’t have to tell you idiots anything,” Derek scoffed.

“As your Alpha, I demand you tell us,” Scott announced sternly.

Derek blinked over at Scott with a look that could only be read as ‘seriously?’, before promptly turning back around with the full intention of leaving through the same door he’d just walked through.

“No, no, no,” Stiles was quick to jump between Derek and the door, blocking off his exit, “please, we need to know. Is it werewolves? Hunters? Nessie? Come on man, spill.”

“Oh I’m sorry, are we back to sharing information with each other? Like how you apparently have an identical twin you never told anyone about?”

Passive aggression thy name is Hale… Stiles mentally rolled his eyes. Though on second thought he realised the elder werewolf generally covered all types of aggression.

“Ugh, dude, you make my life sound like a crappy Soap…” Stiles whined, “I’m not doing this again, I already have to make it up to Lydia…” he muttered to himself before turning back to Derek, “I’m sorry, okay, happy? Didn’t think anybody cared about my family issues, excuse me for thinking supernatural threats to our lives were more important that having a ‘feels’ talk with you.”

“Give the Sheriff back his phone,” Derek ordered, turning back to the door, only to be once again stopped by Stiles.

“Already done, not my fault I know his passwords and his weakness for red meat,” Stiles quipped smugly, before noting the furious glare in Derek’s eyes. Seeing a need to admit defeat, Stiles hung his head, letting out a frustrated breath. “Look, nobody ever asked, okay?”

“Don’t be an asshole, why the hell would anyone ask if you have a secret twin brother?” Derek quipped, mouth stretched into a thin line, eyes hard with an overwhelming look of betrayal washing over them.

“No, no one ever asked who I spent my holidays with, no one ever wondered why people around town sometimes calls me ‘Stuart’, nobody asked me if I have any other family, besides my dad…” he new he was rambling slightly though the frustration volcano that had been building was erupting. “Stu and I hadn’t spoken in years, we, uh, yeah, I don’t really wanna get into it, I didn’t like talking about him, so I stopped. Scott didn’t talk about him anymore. Yeah, it was a dick move but it was easier. Stu was fairly young when he left and we weren’t really that popular, so people just kinda forgot about him, I guess, people assumed me and Stuart were the same person, I just… didn’t correct them.”

In typical Derek response, the elder man simply stared at Stiles for a moment, as though weighing up his options (the options usually being to either quietly accept the knowledge or to rip someone’s throat out). Much to Stiles’ relief, Derek settled with a slow stoic nod of acceptance, not really letting on if he forgave Stiles or not, leaving Stiles to wallow in the agonising tension for a few moment longer than necessary.

“The body in the lake was a twenty-three year old Caucasian woman, blonde, brown eyes…” Derek uttered after what seemed like an eternity. It wasn’t forgiveness – in any sense of the word –but it was something. It was information. Stiles could work with that. “Her description matches a missing person’s report from Modoc County, Bridie O’Connor.”

“And…?” Scott prompted, clearing seeing an opportunity to push for more information.

“It looks like a suicide,” Derek shrugged, trying to act casual as he shook his head slightly, “there were no signs of a struggle around the water’s edge.”

He wasn’t lying, that much Stiles could tell – though he’d still confer with Scott later – but he still didn’t seem to be telling the truth, not the whole truth anyway. He’d let it go for now, he knew he could Derek in a verbal trap sooner or later…

“Supernatural creature that lures people in water?” Stiles suggested with a shrug, flopping down onto the couch, opening his laptop.

“Like Mermaids?” Scott offered, sounding a little too hopeful about the possibility.

“You think there are mermaids living in the lake,” Derek directed an unreadable look towards the young Alpha, however his tone revealed a deep-seeded sarcasm that could be clearly understood. “It’s barely a puddle, you can touch the bottom.”  

“Oh yeah, we know, Scott once broke his ankle trying to cannon ball into it,” Stiles nodded, ducking his head slightly at the memory.

“You dared me to,” Scott retorted defensively, before turning back to Derek. “I was on crutches for weeks…”

“So… mermaids? Real? Yes, no?” Stiles looked up from his laptop with a curious expression, “cause if so, I have a long list of questions for them.”

“Yeah, like how do they pee?” Scott asked thoughtfully, completely earnest in his concern.

“And where do baby mermaids come from?” Stiles nodded, “do they vomit them out like fish do?”

“And how do mermaids have sex, I mean you gotta right?” Scott offered, sharing a look with Stiles as they pondered the questioned with serious consideration.

“You know, sometimes I forget I’m dealing with teenagers,” Derek’s eyes twitched slightly as he held them in an odd stare, “thank you so much for reminding me…”

“But… mermaids?” Stiles looked over at the elder man, hopeful.

“No, idiot,” Derek snapped.

“Rude,” Stiles retorted with a small pout, “you know the same argument could be said about werewolves.”

Suddenly Derek frowned, sniffing the air a little, “what’s burning?”

“Ooh, food’s done,” Scott announced excitedly as he scrambled off the couch, following his nose to the kitchen.

“You can sit you know…” Stiles smirked as he looked up at Derek standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.

Looking a little self conscious, Derek looked down at the couch across from where Stiles sat, before slowly taking a seat.

“Good boy,” Stiles couldn’t help himself, earning a sharp - practically trademarked - glare.

“So, uh, do you actually have anything concrete?” Derek nodded at the Stiles’ computer, looking as though he were trying to act nonchalant, but Stiles totally saw right thought the elder man’s attempts.

“Ah.. a little of ‘you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’, eh?” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows playfully, before noting the seriously stony glare being directed his way. “Right, annnnd… we’re back to the ‘staring-not-talking’ thing…”

“Stiles,” Derek prompted.

“Okay,” Stiles huffed, a little disappointed their banter couldn’t continue. “So there’s been several deaths at the lake and the surrounding rivers over the past fifty years,” he offered, flicking through his numerous browser to show the information he’d found, “one in October of ’83 – another woman, 38, one in 95’, little kid fell in, one in 2004, a young girl got hyperthermia and died…”

“You knew her?” Derek frowned, probably hearing the anxious stumble of his heart beat as he read over the familiar surname.

“Knew of her,” Stiles muttered, chewing the tip of his thumbnail distractedly, staring at the screen. “Old school friend of me and Scott’s, Theo Raeken, his sister, he left town soon after,” he added as an after thought. Theo hadn’t even been a blip on his radar for a long time now, it was strange to think what had happened to him after he’d left Beacon Hills. “And the last one, last year – oh, yeah well I guess we’ve solved that case already…”

The silence that followed, caused Stiles to notice Derek’s pinched brow of slight confusion.

“Matt,” Stiles supplied dully, not really wanting to drudge up old awful memories, but felt the need to say the name for Derek’s benefit.

However, Derek’s face didn’t moved an inch, still confused as ever.

“Creepy Matt,” Stiles clarified, shaking his head a little as he watched Derek’s stony expression freeze up as though the information wasn’t computing.


Completely blank.

“Forced Kanima-Jackson to go on a killing spree Matt,” he offered, waving a ‘tah-dah’ motion with his hands as he waiting for the pieces to click.

“Oh.”

“There we go,” Stiles praised patronisingly as he turned back to files on his laptop.

“Right,” Derek nodded with a slight pain to his expression, as though he were remember the nightmare that had been. “I thought his name was ‘Mike’…” he added, looking a little guilty, screwing up his nose slightly.

“Well, he was a psychotic murderer who tried to kill us,” Stiles quipped back lightly, “so probably not the worst thing you’ve done.”

Derek shrugged it off a little, leaning over as he pointed to Scott’s abandoned laptop lying on the coffee table. “Can I borrow this?”

“Knock yourself out, big guy,” Stiles waved him off casually, not even looking up from his laptop as he continued to type furiously at the keys.

There had to be something he was missing here. And well, Beacon Hills editorials weren’t really giving him much to go on. He had sort of been banking on the victim’s identity to some how be the break in the case he’d been looking for, but ‘Bridie O’Connor’ from Modoc County was uncharacteristically absent from social media for a 23 year old. Her last Facebook post was back in ’09 and her twitter account considered entirely of song lyrics and cat memes, so nothing to go on there...

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted his train of thought sternly, as though that wasn’t the first time he’d said the younger boy’s name.

“Yeah?” he glanced up from the screen absently.

“Why are you so convinced this is something supernatural?” Derek sighed, eyebrows pinched together in a way that seemed to convey… concern? Crap, was Derek Hale worried about him?

Double crap.

“Seriously, you too?” Stiles whined, throwing his head back dramatically, “I thought that you of all people would get it.”
 
The lack of response had Stiles casting a look back over at Derek, who was once again giving his best non-verbal ‘care-to-explain’ expression in the form of a raised brow.

“Because it’s Beacon Hills,” Stiles sighed, because that alone should’ve been explaination enough, “no matter what sort of reprieve we think we’re getting, there’s always something waiting until our guard’s out down, that’s just how it works, we don’t get to relax…”

Stiles took a moment to let his words set in. Judging by the silence that follow, Derek agreed with his theory of unending terror within the town limits.

“How’s your brother settling in?” Derek said instead, curiously shifting the conversation to a much more personal nature – completely unfamiliar territory in the usual repertoire of ‘Stiles & Derek dialogues’.

“Really? Are having chats about my personal life?” Stiles practically gaped at the elder man over the top of his laptop screen, “is that a thing we apparently do now? Wanna talk about high school crushes and who I’m taking to prom too?”

Derek blinked slowly, his features back to the ‘concerned look’ he’d seemingly been wearing more frequently since he’d got back to town.

Stiles suddenly felt like an asshole, because apparently it was something they did, but he’d just spat it back in Derek’s face. “He’s different, I guess,” Stiles shrugged a little, trying to come off nonchalant about the fact that he barely knew his own brother, his biological other half.

“You don’t like talking about him,” Derek noted curtly.

“No shit,” Stiles muttered, more to himself, turning back to the local news website – which offered even less help than his father had. Apparently – other than ‘cougar attacks’ – all Beacon Hills really wanted to share in their media were bake sales and beauty pageants…

“Is it because he reminds you of the Nogitsune?”

Stiles’ fingers froze a little, hovering over the keys as the words washed over him.

Yes. Stiles’ mind offered instantly, a gut reaction. Dark eyes, slow glances seething in bitterness. The flicker of a sadistic smirk, a shadow in the corridor, but he knew it wasn’t him – it – not really, but it still toyed with his emotions, dragging up horrific memories he wished to keep buried.

“No, ” Stiles offered, “maybe,” he frowned, words betraying him before he could stop them. “I don’t know. Things were pretty bad with us before all this crap infiltrated my life…”

Yeah it was proabably true that without all the supernatural demons plaguing the town he and Stu probably would’ve butted heads and sorted this out before now, but that was life wasn’t it? What happened happened and they can’t go back now, they could only keep going.

"You should tell him," Derek offered gently, putting Scott’s laptop aside, apparently done with that prop of pretence. “About werewolves, about the pack, about everything that’s happened…”

"Ha, no…" Stiles shook his head, a bitter smile working its way across his lips, "Stu is not knowing about this. No way.”

"You handled it fine," Derek noted quietly, “better than most actually,” he smirked at that.

"We're not the same person, Derek,” he snapped back in angry retort. God he was so sick of people seeing their identical looks and immediately thinking they were exact carbon copies of the other.

“Your father took it well enough,” Derek countered, not missing a beat. Though his argument completely lost in Stiles’ opinion as Derek had not been the one to witness just exactly how well his father had taken the news. The elder man continued nonetheless, “Melissa, Lydia, it made you all a lot closer…”

“He’s got a point, Stiles,” Scott appeared in the doorway, a bowl of chicken nuggets in one hand, a half bitten nugget in the other. He clearly had been eavesdropping from the kitchen, which irked Stiles a little, but he knew there wasn’t much that could be done about it – just another day with werewolves...

“It’s always better when they know…” Scott insisted, thoughtfully chewing on the chicken as though it cemented his point.

"I'm not gonna push him away further by explaining all …. this," Stiles groaned at the two of them, waving his arms around in a vague gesture of their lives.

“No, you’re doing a perfectly good job of that already,” Derek voice was low, jaw clenched, eyes sharp.

“Derek,” Scott scolded with a stern glare, though the impact was slightly less forceful as he had a mouth full of chicken.

“What the hell is that suppose to mean?” Stiles challenged, feeling himself gearing up for another fight.

“Nothing,” Derek muttered with a sigh, backing down to the Alpha in the room, his passive aggression oozing through each syllable, “where’s your printer?”

“My room, I’m guessing you know where that is?” Stiles cocked his brow a little, challenging, egging on a fight that neither really wanted.

“Yeah,” Derek sighed, shaking his head a little as he dropped Scott’s laptop onto the couch and made his way out of the room.

Ascending the stairs, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he overheard Scott whispered “why does Derek know where your room is?”
 
Navigating his way to Stiles room from the inside was something new, but not necessarily a difficult task. Stiles’ was the first room after the top of the stairs and fairly easy to spot, however a family portrait hanging on the wall made him pause in the doorway.

Stiles and the Sheriff were easy to pick out, with Stiles perched up high on his father’s shoulders, little hands clinging to the much younger Sheriff’s head, a beaming grin on both their faces as they smiled blissfully at the camera. A woman stood beside the two with a young Stuart on her hip – the little boy nuzzled close to her, eyes closed, refusing to look at the camera as he held her tight, as though knowing his moments with his mother were numbered.  

Another frame along the wall saw three little boys all dress up for Halloween as Musketeers. Though they were chubby with youth and their faces a little morphed from the cheesy grins, it didn’t take much to recognise the familiar faces; Danny Mehealani, Jackson and Stuart.  

The next few were all of Stiles and Scott in various stages of adolescence, making Derek smile fondly at Stiles’ awkward buzz cut phase and Scott’s unruly mop of hair – God had they really looked that young, all limbs with red chubby cheeks? Had that only been two years ago?

Stiles had grown to be such an integral part of his life, when that had happened he wasn’t so sure, but somehow he had. Stiles was like a tumour, or an infectious disease – subtly growing on you until you didn’t realise he had taken over your entire life. He had always been so fiercely loyal to them it was oddly foreign to see him turn his back on his own blood.

Honestly, it scared him.

If the timeline he’d been given was anything to go by, Stiles and Stuart had cut their ties long before anything supernatural had plagued the lives of the Stilinskis. Long before the Nogistune, the Alphas, the Darach, the Nemeton. Years before any thought of vicious hunters, horrific Kanimas. A lifetime before Peter was a plague upon their lives.

Stiles had been changed, hardened, jaded, by the heartache of the past few years and the Nogistune had left a darkness in the teen that Derek wasn’t sure would ever truly leave. But to think that Stiles had turned his back on Stuart long before any of that - back when he was that innocent little boy - was scary. If Stiles had done that then, how would Stiles react if something were to happen now?

Tearing his eyes from the hallway of captured memories, Derek made his way towards Stiles’ room. The printer sat where it always had, tucked away in the corner. Derek couldn’t help but notice the number of pictures that sat in Stiles’ room – Scott and Stiles, Stiles and the Sheriff, a young Stiles and his mother, a group photo of Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Allison and Isaac…( both Scott and Isaac had closed eyes, looking as though they were just smiling a little too bright, though clearly it was an attempt to hide the glare from the camera). There was even one with him in it – he wasn’t even aware the photo existed – it looked like it had been taken in the loft, clearly it must have been after some horrifically exhausting nightmare as the pack was all fast asleep on the couch, all bar Kira who was mysteriously absent from the picture and clearly the photographer: Stiles and Malia were cozied up next to Derek with Lydia between then, leaving Scott and Liam snuggled up on the far end.

All these moments saved and displayed, yet not a single picture of Stuart was present in the room – not one.

He wasn’t sure, but he knew that Stiles would most surely regret his feud with Stuart one day, that the years they had been estranged would come back to haunt him.

Pausing in the centre of Stiles’ bedroom in thought, the printed pages in hand, his ears twitched slightly as a soft humming caught his attention. There was something oddly familiar about the melody, an old song slowed down almost beyond recognition, almost.

Following the low hum, Derek found himself in front of the upstairs bathroom door. Mostly open, he gave the door a gently push to reveal the youngest Stilinski lying on the bathroom floor, towel around his waist, crooking a scathing brow at the creak of the door.

“Wow, knock much?” the younger boy croaked, voice achingly raw.

Close the door much? Derek felt himself wanting to say, but stopped as he a sour scent hit his nose. With his glasses placed on the bathroom sink, Derek was once again confronted with the eeriness of the boy so alike Stiles – yet not.

"Are you sick?" he recoiled visibly, not that Stuart saw.

"In a sense," the boy muttered, refusing to meet Derek’s gaze, choosing instead to stare up at the warming bright light above – which was probably not doing anything good to his eyes or the headache he clearly had. 

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe," Derek could practically hear the nonchalant shrug in the boy's voice, though Stuart barely even twitched his lip, "not sure…” he frowned, sparing a furrowed glance at the man towering over him, “you gonna attack me again?”

“That was a…misunderstanding,” Derek explained vaguely. How else could one explain ‘I thought you were a thousand year old Japanese fox demon possessing your brother’? “I’m sorry about that…”

“Weren’t the only one,” Stuart shrugged far too casually, making Derek a little concerned, the teen was quick to brush it aside, “Only one to apologise though, so congrats,” he pondered thoughtfully, a tight wince washed across he features as Derek recognised the signs of pain.

"Pretty sure there’s some Tylenol in the cupboard,” he offered, knowing the kid would most likely run for the hills if Derek tried to take any of his pain – Stiles would most likely kick his ass too… well Stiles would try, then tell Scott to.

“Hmm,” was the only verbal response he received.

Swinging the cupboard open, he stopped to take another glance at the puddle of a teen wallowing on the cold tiles.

Stupid idiots.

If he wasn’t fully aware that the Sheriff kept several wolfsbane rounds on his person at all times, he’d more than likely lock to two idiotically stubborn asses in a room, let them fight it out until they had settled their differences.

They didn’t know how good they had it.

He paused as his fingers brushed over an unfamiliar prescription bottle, hidden behind several other generic brands. He couldn’t read the first name, it looked Russian, possible Polish, either way it had lots of funny looking ‘z’s in it. And the middle initial was an ‘S’, that didn’t help, he didn’t know Stiles’ middle name. Surely ‘Stiles’ wasn’t Stiles’ middle name, that wouldn’t make sense.

Buspirone… he read the label curiously. Not ever needing to deal with medicines, he hadn’t ever thought to remember anything beyond the standard.

“Begins with a ‘T’ genius,” Stuart prompted, alerting Derek to the fact that he was taking a little too long by the medicine cabinet.

A guilty feeling rose up within his chest as he placed the bottle back into the cupboard. It felt like prying. Quickly grabbing the painkillers, he gently closed the cupboard, turning his attentions back on the wallowing teen.

“Here,” Derek grunted, kneeling down to place two small pills in Stuart’s clammy hands, turning back to the sink to fill a small water glass.

“Drugs from a creepy stranger, must be my lucky day,” the boy quipped snarkily, dry swallowing the pills with a petty smirk as Derek held out the glass of water. It was odd hearing that bitter tone, so similar to Stiles’ voice – yet not. Where Stiles often made jabs or snide comments, they were more than likely made with a flippant tone. There wasn’t a sense of jadedness about Stiles’ words, not as there was with Stuart.

With an expertly controlled exhale through tightly clenched teeth, Derek placed the glass back on the sink, knowing that Stuart was going out of his way to get a reaction from him and he wasn’t going to play that game.

“Annnnd you’re just still standing there, wow...”

“Sorry, I’ll go,” Derek shook his head, heading out of the room, this wasn’t helping anything.

"Hey, do you know why my brother knows a lot of drag queens?" Stuart wondered, halting Derek in his tracks.

"What?" that threw him for a loop. Stiles and Drag Queens?

"I'll take that as a no…" the youngest Stilinski hummed thoughtfully as though simply pondering the dirt underneath his nails.

"You know it's two in the afternoon," Derek blurted out, utterly bewildered how the boy hadn’t even moved to the shower yet.

"Well done, you've mastered basic temporal calculation, what will you do for your next trick?” Stuart congratulated in a tone dripping in rich sarcasm, closing his eyes in a way that projected an end to the conversation, though Derek was not going to let him off that easy.

"You're heart beat’s erratic and you smell like vomit," Derek snapped childishly, before he had a chance to think about his words.

"Yeah, this is about as far as I got on the shower plan," Stuart gave a little shrug, clearly not paying 100% as he let the ‘heart beat’ comment slide.

"Lying on the floor in a towel…?" Derek scoffed a little.

"Judge not lest ye be judged, Abercrombie, ” Stuart decided to let his eyebrows convey his boredom, as his eyes remained hidden behind closed lids.

“I’ll try to remember that…” Derek murmured to himself.

"Thanks for the chat," Derek hears the boy mutter as he left the room, slamming the door closed behind him, feeling a flicker of petty satisfaction rise within his chest as he heard a pained moan come from the petulant youth behind the door.

Little shit.

“He’s been up there a while,” Scott frowned, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he peered up at the ceiling curiously.

“Ten bucks said he legged it out the window,” Stiles uttered, absently chewing on the rare chicken nugget he’d managed to steal from the bowl before Scott ate them all. He was far too busy tracking down each and every scrap of information he could about Bridie – which was a total of squat at this point.

“Uh…?” Scott uttered unintelligently as Derek walked into the room, dropping stack of paper upon the table.

"Your brother's hung-over in the bathroom," Derek announced.

“Yeah,” Scott nodded, “he’s been there for a little while, heard him get up about an hour ago.”

"Didn't know he had it in him," Stiles pondered thoughtfully for a moment, before looking over at Scott. "He alright?"

"I can hear the shower running now," Scott offered with a nod.

“Huh, there’s something,” Stiles shrugged of lightly, turning back to his screen, scrolling down the page with vague interest.

“I should go,” Derek muttered, looking around the room awkwardly, as though he felt out of place.

“What, that’s it? A couple of print outs and you’re turning tail?” Stiles’ head snapped up at attention. “You just using me for my ink?”

“You know your father asked me to keep you out of this?” Derek sighed, a guilty expression directed at the teens.

“Yeah, and how’s that working out for you?” Stiles shot back cockily, issuing a challenge with his stare.

The guilt-rid expression on Derek's face suddenly morphed into something bitterly cold – jaw clenched, eyes sharp.

“How’s avoiding your brother working for you?”

It was nightmare had plagued him for months now.

A scene just like the one before him. White halls, hushed voices never quite wanting to say the words they knew to be true. Cold seeping in through his skin, chilling him down to the bone. A body shrouded in a thin white sheet, hiding the victim’s face.

‘We don’t know how it happened…’

Shaking hands gripped the cold metal table as the sterile stench of the morgue overwhelmed him.

‘Suspected animal attack..’

“Sheriff?”

‘You need to identify the body Sir…’

He would stand there, just as he was now. Stand there knowing who lay beneath the sheet, knowing he had failed her, that he’d failed all of them, that no amount of liquor could wash away the pain of losing his son.

“Sheriff Stilinski?” the new fresh faced deputy – Valerie, Clark – suddenly stood before him, a concerned expression on her face.

“What can I do for you Deputy?” he asked wearily, desperately trying to blink away the nightmarish images riddling his thoughts.

“They’re here to identify the body, Sir,” Clark informed him, “Mr and Mrs O’Connor.”

Taking a moment to rub away the tension building behind his eyes, he instructed his young deputy with a curt nod. 

“Send them in...”

As Clark hurried away to retrieve the O'Connors, the Sheriff steeled himself.  

Nothing prepares you for the sound of a mother’s cries as she realises her child has been taken from her. No amount of training, or experience, makes you ready for the agonising wails of loss, the weakness of their knees – the unconscious guilt that rips through you knowing you are praying to every God in existence to never be in their shoes.

The nightmare was a familiar one – a common one, plaguing him so frequently he almost dread the drudgery of sleep. But he refused to be paralysed with the thought of what could be, knowing that the drug of uncertainty would sedate him in his actions.

He need to do what any officer of the law would in this position and find the monster responsible, before it had the chance to take another innocent victim and tear apart another family just as it had the one before him. 

Dead.

He was dying.

There was no other possible solution to the symptoms he had and WebMD was surely the most trusted second opinion in these desperate times.

Agonising headache – check. Feverish tremors – check. Dizzying nausea – check.

The shower had helped in someway – sort of… He had at least been able to move from the cold tiled floor back to his bed, though he still hadn’t gotten dressed and was now lying on his bed in his towel, starring up at the ceiling contemplating the sheer agony of his own existence, but it was something.

“Oh God, why?” he moaned at the shrill pip of his text alert assaulted his delicate senses.

Danny:
You alive? ;P

‘I hate you’ - he thumbed the quick retort, tossing the phone away. Groaning at the constant throb that still hadn’t dulled.

It was almost four in the afternoon by the time actual clothes had become part of his routine again. Scott and Stiles had thankfully headed out doing God knows what people did in this deadbeat town – skipping stones or riding bikes or something equally as worthy of a rural American town stuck in the 50s.

Food came after clothes, slowly trudging his way to kitchen though – Toast. Butter. That was it. That’s all he could possibly stomach at this point in time – anything beyond the holistic unity of bread and butter sent his body into revolt.

With his rich delicacy in hand, Stuart made the silent retreat back towards his room, with the goal of avoiding all forms of life for the remainder of the day.

Clearly the universe had other plans for him that day...

A vengeful “arrrgh,” of frustration was his only warning before a large textbook came flying out of Stiles’ open door, missing his head by a mere inch before smacking against the wall beside him with a heavy thud before landing at his feet. 

“Sorry!” a familiar voice yelped the apology out from Stiles’ bedroom – he was now rather thankful that he’d thought to put clothes on before he’d gone downstairs…

“Death by text book is hardly a new concept to me,” Stuart blinked owlishly, adrenaline surging, honestly a little shell-shocked by the entire situation. He leaned over slowly to pick up the heavy projectile, walking over to the room's entrance, only to hover at the threshold, resting up against the door frame, “but it’s usually more figurative…”

“I hate Math,” she offered as some sort of explanation, getting up off the bed to meet him at the door.

“Rightly so, it’s a bitch,” he hummed thoughtfully, taken aback by the roughness of his own voice - the after effects of the previous evening still plaguing his every waking second. Reading the title of the book's cover, he smirked before handing it over, “especially differential equations…”

“What?” she wrinkled her nose, eyes glazing over a little in confusion, outstretched hand accepting the book nonetheless.

“Calculus,” he nodded, a small smirk pinching at the side of his mouth at her bewildered expression. “It’s what you’re studying…”

“Is it?” she groaned, hanging her head - well Math clearly wasn't her strong suit...

Not really knowing where to go from there, Stuart pushed his glasses up his nose a little and asked, “Molly, right?” 

“Malia,” she corrected.

Well he was close, close-ish. 

And... now he was stuck in the corridor, playing the soul-blistering game of smalltalk chicken - both holding out for the other person to blurt something horrifically awful like 'looks sunny today', which could only ever been answered with 'yeah'. 

Probably better to cut off all attempts early. 

“Good luck with that,” he concluded with short awkward nod - that he immediately regretted, feeling as though he had just tipped his hat to the fair lady. He squinted a little, mentally berating his paralysing social ineptitude, before abruptly turning heel, in hopes the curt exit would halt any further conversation.

He should really just hide in his room for the next two weeks and not talk to anyone. You could totally survive two week without food and he could sneak bathroom breaks for water. Maybe then he wouldn't keep putting himself in these situations, maybe then he could - 
 
“Hey,” she called out, stopping Stuart in his tracks - mentally and physically frozen as he tried to decide whether or not he should turn back... Turning around no doubt would lead to more awkward silences and possibly minutes of avoiding eye contact. But somehow he was already facing Malia, getting suckered into conversation by her sad pleading eyes. “I could use some help with this.”

“Obviously," the flicker of smirk betraying his amusement. 

“Could you help me,” she snapped, though her tone came across as a reluctant request rather than a genuine plea for assistance.

“Why isn’t your boyfriend helping you? He - ” Stuart shot her an odd look, his mind turning over the information for a moment before he came across the obvious conclusion - “He bailed on you, didn’t he?"

Which was seriously a dick move. 

Not that Stuart had had many relationships - scrap that - any relationships. But rule numero uno, by many accounts, said you didn't invite your girlfriend over to your house only to forget about her... 

“No,” she shot back defensively.

Stuart raised his brow slightly, letting her know he wasn’t buying her little lie.

“Stiles just gets… distracted,” she put delicately, brows pinching, justifying Stiles' leaving her to sit in his room, while he - most probably - played Mario cart at McCall's, “especially when he’s trying to solve something.”

Maybe Stiles should solve the mystery of why he was such an asshole instead? 

“Well that’s why they keep him medicated,” Stuart muttered himself, though the sharp fiery glare Malia shot told him he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d thought. So he decided to change tactics a little, “why do you need help anyway? Isn’t it Summer, aren’t you, like, done?”

“Summer school,” she released a heavy breath, avoiding eye contact as she bit the corner of her lip. “If I don’t pass, I don’t get to be a senior.”

“Oh. Shit,” Stuart breathed out, pushing up his glasses a little, a small flicker of guilt nestling between his ribs, “that actually kinda sucks…”

Malia blinked at him for a moment, before nodding, “yeah… you know what it does.”

He didn't know what it was like to fail a class - hell, he hadn't failed anything since that group project with that asshole Percy Brady in the fifth grade, and that was only because Percy - the dumb shit - threw their project off the science block because Greta Miller said she had a crush on Stuart and not him. But even without experience he knew that failing wasn't really a great feeling. 

However the raging throb of his headache was seriously depleting his empathy well and his mind was quickly drawn to the oh so holy image of the Tylenol in the bathroom cupboard... At least Abercrombie had been good for something.  

“Right,” he announced, “well you can go back to silently hating me, I’m going to go die in my room…” he awkwardly gestured a thumb at his door behind him, once again regretting opening his mouth, but having not invented time travelling, he was stuck with his actions. 

“I don’t hate you, you know,” Malia told him earnestly, "I actually like talking to you." 

“I don’t really know what to do with that information,” Stuart blinked. 

“Help me,” she uttered softly, "please." 

“What?”

“Stiles is busy, I need help and you’re bored,” she proposed.

“I’m not bored,” Stuart retorted, the words coming out less convincing than he'd intended. So maybe he was bored. But that didn't mean he should have to do Stiles' hard work while his brother got to have all the fun. 

“You’ve been lying on the floor groaning for the past few hours.”

“I was… meditating?” he supplied feebly, suddenly very glad he wasn't doing anything else other than lying on the floor, because apparently his brother's girlfriend had insane hearing - like what the fuck? 

“You’re hung-over,” she countered. 

"Alright, but what's in it for me?" he raised his eyebrow skeptically, arms crossed as he stared her down. 

"Whatever you want," she offered all too eagerly, eyes pleading desperately. 

Great. Now what he meant to say to that? If he asked for anything he was automatically an asshole. Here was someone - one of the only people who had actually been nice to him since he got here - asking for his help. All he really wanted to do was to go back to his room and sleep, but if he did that all he would be able to think about was Malia ditched in Stiles' room struggling to work out what a line of symmetry was...  

Ugh.

 God dammit. 

“Fine, alright, whatever,” he groaned, giving in to his guilt completely as he reluctantly trudged into Stiles' room, sitting down at the end of his brother's bed - there was only one chair and he was in no mood to stand, so the bed was his only option... "But I'm not promising miracles, I'm a shit teacher..."

"Awesome," she beamed brightly, failing to hide her excited grin as she quickly gathered the papers strewed over the desk, dumping them before him, sitting down next to him in wait of a response. 

A little overwhelmed by 'Paper Mountain', Stuart grabbed the first thing within reach - a page dense with workings. “Well this is a good start,” he utterly, eyes quickly glancing over the pristine equations. “Looks like you’ve got the basic principals here.”

“Those are Lydia’s notes…” she shot back in putout monotone, an unimpressed scowl matching her tone. 

Now that was a surprise. 

“Wait Lydia Martin, Lydia? She did this?” Stuart snorted in disbelief, eyebrows shooting up as he studied the page - surprisingly it was correct, not a single flaw in the calculations, no hesitation in the penmanship - each line written in black pen. Lydia clearly knew what she was doing, and knew she knew what she was doing. 

“She’s really good at this,” Malia chewed her bottom lip as she looked over the page in his hand. 

“Wow, I always thought she was dumb as bricks...” he breathed out in awe. The Lydia Martin he'd known was a fiery little nine-year-old that talked incisively about how perfect she was. Sure Stiles had always been talking about how she was actually insanely smart - but Stuart had always assumed that was his 'strawberry-blonde' coloured glasses distorting his vision.  

“Then you’re an idiot,” Malia snapped testily, ripping the page from his hands as though feeling he was no longer worthy of handling Lydia's mathematical interpretations. 

“Do you want my help or not?” he laughed, a genuine smile managing to escape as he shook his head.   

"Yes," she urged, jiggling her knee impatiently, "so help." 

"Okay, mind grabbing me something you did?" 

Lydia's delicate handwriting was replaced with a sheet littered with a messy scrawl - no, not messy per say, just raw, like the pen felt foreign in the writer's hand. Malia had clearly gone to town with her highlights on the page - favouring red above all others.

"Oh - " 

"What?"

"-Kay, that's not that bad..." he finished lamely, praying his face didn't give away anything. "Well, now we got a starting point..."

Yeah, the very beginning, a sour part of his mind supplied.   

“Okay, but first, I gotta pee,” she announced quickly, jumping up off the bed, freezing in the centre of the room as though having second thoughts, “don’t move,” she ordered Stuart before rushing out the door.

Stuart cocked his head to one side, watching the awkward girl make her hurried exit with a curious smile. Malia was odd, sure. But there was something refreshing about her. Something he couldn't quite felt what it was exactly, but it felt strangely comfortable. 

Left alone in the room, he took a second to glance around at the foreign space. 

He honestly could remember the last time he had been invited into this room with his brother’s permission. Though it was nice to see some things hadn’t really changed. For one thing, it was near spotless. Most assumed that with Stiles being Stiles, he was the messier, chaotic one, but that had never been the case. Stiles favoured order in his room, where Stuart enjoyed the bedlam of well-constructed anarchy.

Absently flicking through the abandoned papers on Stiles' desk – mostly old newspapers and printed articles with various dates and subject matter - his fingers soon found a solid object buried beneath paper mountain, a small leather bound book, scuffed and battered by ill care.

A smirk pinched the corner of his lips as he read the title: ‘Mysteries of the Supernatural’. Beneath that was a series of books of similar titles, Witches and Warlocks, A Complete History of the Druids and one that just said Bestiary. Apparently his brother was a fan of the occult… who knew?

Posters on the walls were really anything new - random bands, usual stuff, not really any he recognised, but he and Stiles had never really shared the same taste anyway.  

“Oh now what the hell is that?” he whined, eyes falling on a large glass board in the corner of the room. A large sheet had been draped over hit, hiding whatever lay beneath from view. Stuart had never really been the nosey sort of person – ‘curious’ as Stiles would say. His brother had always been ‘curious’ enough for the both of them, was probably going to get Stiles in deep water one day… Nevertheless Stuart was drawn to the board, peeling back the sheet half way, with the hopes to get a glimpse into what a seventeen year old version of his brother was like.

Stiles’ messy handwriting scrawled across in white pencil, erratic arrows and question marks littered. Phrases like ‘body found (girl) – lake – drowned – mermaids/siren/selkie?’ caused Stuart snort, because seriously Stiles?

“Who is the ‘Desert Wolf’..?” He read aloud slowly, cocking his head to one side, wondering what the hell that even meant. Man, Stiles seriously needed to lower his Adderall dosage…

“He wouldn’t want you looking at that,” the reappearance of Malia sent a jolt of adrenaline shooting through his body. He had forgotten all about the girl. Too consumed in the 'board of crazy', his true reason for being in the room had dropped from his mind for a moment. 

“Yeah, if I was making creepy Zodiac boards I’d hide them too,” he muttered, letting the sheet fall back over the strange ramblings. Some part of him wanted to know the point of the board, but not enough to approach Stiles on the subject. “Seriously though, start running if he starts writing ‘All work and no play…’”

“Movie references,” Malia concluded after a tense minute of unwavering observation.

“Ugh yes?” he blinked, watching the girl with an odd look. His brother’s girlfriend seemed to be a strange mix of deep insight and ‘fish-out-of-water’ awkwardness. Either way it made him a little dizzy trying to work it all out.

“Stiles does that a lot,” she nodded acceptingly. 

“Then I’ll be sure to stop,” he quipped off handily, a bitterness seeping through muttered words, eyes tearing away from Malia as they fell upon a familiar sight peeking out from underneath Stiles' bed. 

Kneeling down beside the dusty box, he carefully lifted its lid off. An aching feeling tickling the back of throat as the smell enveloped his senses.   

"Stuart," Malia berated him, "don't, he'll be mad if you - "

"It's not his," Stuart cut her off abruptly, not looking at he as he dipped his hand into the box of bittersweet memories.  

A tattered - 'well loved' as his mom had called it - copy of the Beatles' Abbey Road found his fingers far too quickly. He could feel the broken pieces of the record under the thin paper, each sharp edge threatening to tear a hole in the cover. Ignoring Malia's presence beside him, he sat down next to the box, pouring the shattered record pieces out into his hand, his fingers running over the delicate grooves that once played his mother's favourite song. It would forever be silent now.    

“She wouldn’t’ve wanted this to just sit here…” Stuart muttered as ran a finger along the tops of the other albums, cleaning a clear line in the heavy dust. 

“Your mom?” Malia's voice was gentle, appearing beside him, joining him on the floor.  

“Yeah,” he nodded absently, thumbing the corner of the cover fondly as thoughts of lazy afternoons and bright smiles. These memories where the ghosts that haunted him within his childhood home - the echo of her laugh, the faded smell of her perfume, the claustrophobic pressure of silence that threatened to drag him under. 

“Stiles never talks about her,” Malia uttered softly.

“Stiles never talks about anything,” Stuart muttered with a sigh, carefully placing the pieces of broken record back into the album sleeve. 

“What was she like?” Malia asked, delicate in her approach, genuinely intrigued. 

However, the probing question was instantly jarring, pulling Stuart back from the nostalgic haven he'd step into. This was the most he had talked about his mother to anyone in a long time. His Grandparents tried constantly, but it was always about when his mom was his age or when she was a young child - never about when she had been his mother. For so long he'd kept the memory of his mom so close, protected, guarded. 

He wasn't ready to share that with anyone just yet.

With a sigh, he placed the lid back on the box, closing off the memories for another time. If this is what his Grandparents had in mind for his Summer they were clearly cruel and unusual in their punishments.  

“He shouldn’t have bailed on you, Stiles, that's not,” he frowned, struggling to find the words, but feeling the need to steer the conversation away from his mother.  

“It’s okay,” she shrugged, clearly not too put out by the fact that her so called ‘boyfriend’ thought it was cool just to ditch her to run around town with Scott, knowing that she clearly needed help with this… “He’s busy, I get it, he’d be here if he could. ”

Stuart smirked, because seriously what seventeen year old girl was just that well adjusted in a relationship? “Seriously how are you dating Stiles? You are way too good for him...”

“He was there for me when no one else was." 

“Yeah? Wish I could say the same,” Stuart scoffed quietly, a bitter taste in his mouth, looking up to meet Malia's unreadable expression. “Moving on,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, pushing himself off the floor, dusting himself off as he moved back towards the edge of the bed as though suddenly remembering his purpose for being in Stiles' room. “Alright, Malia…” he flicked open the textbook, reading the name at the top, “Tate, welcome to the world of integrals…”

Chapter Text

Full moon.

Crap.

He should’ve known. 

The perfectly scheduled automated alarm shrilled with unapologetic ear-blistering purpose, kicking his sleep-riddled brain into fifth gear well before he had wanted to. 

Restless, he sat up in bed, staring down at the dimly lit screen in his palm, exhaling a soft groan.

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten.

His every waking moment was so completely consumed by the changing lunar phases - every slight change to the celestial satellite heavily affecting the lives of his friends - It seemed almost impossible to forget this critical aspect of his daily life.

And yet, there he was, sitting in his room, beams of light from the rising sun slowly filtering through the window, fingers twitching nervously as he almost crushed the phone in his hand because he was an idiot and forgot the fucking date.

With the chaos that Stuart’s arrival had brought, on top of the mystery of Bridie O’Connor’s body in the lake, the everyday supernatural – which was probably some sort of oxymoron at this point – had been put on the back burner, pushed to the furthest corner of his mind – into a ‘deal with that later’ pile. Unfortunately ‘later’ turned out to be a whole lot sooner than he’d expected… 

“Dude, it’s a full moon,” Stiles announced the moment he heard the call connect, his free hand absently drumming against his thigh. 

“Stiles…” Scott’s sleepy whine was almost pitiful as he answered. A slight paused of silence followed before a meek moan. “Stiles it’s 6am…”

“What are we going to do?” he urged, looking up at his bedroom ceiling as he struggled to form some sort of plan.

How had they lasted this long without a fool-proof Full Moon plan? Wasn't that hard... a little organisation here and there. It wasn't like Scott's lycanthropy was just going to magically disappear - they were always going to have to deal with it...  

“Sleep,” Scott hummed into the phone. 

 “Not a great plan there, buddy.”

“Sti-les, it’s summer,” Scott stretched out his name, in an effort to stress his point, though in all honesty it just made the Alpha sound like a pouting five-year-old. “We’ve had loadsa full moons, s’fine.”

With a sigh, Stiles pushed back the covers awkwardly with his feet, knowing full well that any attempts at going back to sleep now were lost. Also there was the small matter of his bladder telling him that he really should get up and deal with it. Wedging his cell between his ear and shoulder, he threw quilt back in a half-assed attempt at making it and headed out towards the bathroom.

“Well, how about you tell that to your little wolf child, who - in a little over twelve hours - is most likely going to go full psycho Tasmanian Devil and start tearing people apart –”

“Liam’s not going to do that,” Scott’s voice was firmer now, clearly more awake as the topic of the young unstable beta was raised. 

“Really? Because in the past he’s been real keen,” Stiles snorted, thinking about one of their recent full moons – Liam seconds away from tearing Stiles and Derek apart in the back of a van. “I mean, chanting Buddhist mantras at him seemed to work, but I’m not really gonna bet my life on it without the handcuffs, you know?”

“Stiles,” Scott let a frustrated growl escape through his teeth, “he needs our help, he wouldn’t even have to deal with this if I hadn’t…”

“What? Saved his life?” Stiles was quick to derail Scott’s pity train, knowing the blame game was a terrible way to spend a morning - that game tended to spiral out of rational control rather quickly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Scott muttered, trying to drop the conversation, “you don’t have to do anything, I can do it by myself.”

Oh hell no Scotty, Stiles mentally berated the Alpha. Was he seriously trying to bench him? After everything they'd been through?

Taking the phone in one hand as he used the other to rub the sleep from his burning eyes. “You know this Atlas complex of yours makes you far less attractive than your heroism – ”

“Dude, are you peeing?”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles yawned widely, juggling the phone against his shoulder and his chin as he reached over to flush the toilet.

“Seriously man?”

“What?” Stiles shrugged, scratching the back of his head lazily as he walked over to the sink, reaching out to feel the warmth of the water as his washed his hands.

There was a strange feeling creeping into the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't quite figure it out... “It’s seriously not the worst thing you’ve – “ his gaze flicked up at the mirror, eyes instantly locking on the shadow behind him. 

“ARRGH!” he yelped, dropping the phone instantly as he scrambled back to face the looming figure –

“Uh…” came the unintelligent retort from the sleepy teenager leaning against the doorframe.

Stuart.

His brother.

His brother who wasn't an evil Japanese demon fox who'd split him in two in order to wreak havoc and feed off the town's chaos, strife and pain...  

Fuck. 

“God dammit,” Stiles groaned into his palms as his rational mind caught up with him. Hand finding the wall, he slid down to the cold bathroom tiles, desperately trying to latch on to something stable. 

He threw his head back against the wall as he fought to gain control of his breathing, eyes closed, jaw clenched, hitched breaths coming through his nose, actively willing the blood-drenched memories to stay buried. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stu –

“Stiles!” the Sheriff’s panicked call was the only warning given before his Dad pushed past a dumbstruck Stuart hovering in the doorway. 

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” Stiles breathed out in short gasps, catching his father’s eye, trying to let him know he was okay without having to explain it.

“Your phone’s in the toilet, genius…” 

“Not helping,” the Sheriff bit out in the youngest Stilinski's direction. Slowly, the Sheriff crouched down beside Stiles, placing a hand on his shoulder in an effort to ground his son. At this stage it was practically second nature – he had a nightmare, his screams would wake his dad, his dad would comfort him until he calmed down.

Only this time wasn’t exactly like the other times.

It hadn’t been a nightmare, just a stupid slip up.

He didn’t need his dad to come running at the sounds of his ill-timed yelp.

Also, this time they weren’t exactly alone…

“You know, panic and hallucinations are symptoms of Adderall abuse,” Stuart noted casually from the doorway – clearly uncomfortable with the situation he’d walked into.

“Stuart, go downstairs,” the Sheriff ordered sternly pointing at the door.

“What? I didn’t even – “ Stuart snapped, eyes twitching, looking like he was gearing up to verbally attack his father.

“Go.”

For a moment, it looked as if Stuart wasn’t going to take the hint – a sharp glare flickered across the occupants in the room briefly before the youngest Stilinski relented with a petulant groan.

“Ugh, why do I even bother…?” the sullen teen muttered sourly under his breath as he stormed out, a series of annoyed thuds from the stairwell letting them know Stuart had obeyed the request.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” his dad’s voice was softer now that he was talking to Stiles, there was worry in his tone but mostly warmth. 

“It’s stupid, I was half asleep,” he mumbled, feeling a little self-conscious under his father’s concerned stare. “Wasn’t thinking…”

This was stupid. He shouldn't even be like this still. It was over, it was dead – or in France or whatever the hell Argent had done with it.

“It’s stupid,” he repeated, more for his own peace of mind than his father’s.

Why bring up things that should stay buried? It wasn’t going to help anyone by raising demons they had already beaten – there were plenty of bad guys that were still very much alive for him to worry about…

“You sleeping okay?” his father’s voice cut through his inner monologue, drawing his attention to the concerned look on the Sheriff’s face.

“Yeah, Dad, I’m fine,” he murmured, scratching the side of his head in an effort to do something with his hands.

“This doesn’t exactly look ‘fine’ to me,” the Sheriff approached the topic with great caution.  

“Minor slip up,” he ducked his head to the side, pausing slightly as he heard the kitchen cupboard slam shut, “And… there goes all of my poptarts…” he sighed mournfully at the loss of his strawberry toaster pastries. "He's doing it on purpose, you know, passive aggressive pastry making... it's a thing." 

“You two promise not to kill each other while I’m at work today?” his father shot Stiles a look, studying him as though he were trying to read the answer from his son's face. 

“I thought you were gonna try and get the weekends off this Summer?” Stiles frowned as he looked up at his father.

They’d talked about this. They were both going to take it easy.

Easy relaxing Summer, that was the plan.

Though it was so like Beacon Hills to fuck with every plan he ever made.

“Just until this case is over,” the Sheriff sighed, though it came out more like a groan as he shifted from his crouched position to take a seat on the bathroom tiles, back to the wall so they now sat side by side. “Promise kiddo," he knocked his knee against Stiles' fondly. 

It felt oddly peaceful, sitting on the cold tiled floor, like something that wasn't meant to be done, something childish. The world felt so big from down there, and yet he still felt safe sitting next to his dad.  

Of course he couldn't stay there forever, sitting on the floor...

“It’s a full moon,” he muttered hopelessly.  

“Guess you’re heading to Scott’s then?” the Sheriff asked, knowing the answer already, but Stiles nodded for appearances. 

Several annoyed crashes from the kitchen probably meant some beautiful artificially flavoured breakfast delicacy was being tortured for his brother's sick pleasure. 

“What are we gonna do about Stuart?” Stiles sighed, rolling his head against the wall to look over at his father. 

“Think maybe he’ll want to stay at Danny’s again?” 

The image of Stuart practically unconscious on the doormat flashed before his mind. An intoxicated sulky teen + uncontrollable werewolves weren't exactly the best mix.  

“I don’t exactly think that’s the best place for him..." Stiles winced at the memory. 

“What do you mean?” his father frowned, looking to Stiles for answers. 

“I found Stu was passed out on the porch the other morning,” he revealed with a heavy sigh - this totally felt like tattling on his naughty sibling. But honestly, at the end of the day he'd rather have Stuart hate him than dead.

“He was drunk,” he begrudgingly disclosed, watching his father closely for his reaction.

“Stiles…”

“Look, I get it, okay? He’s just having fun, or whatever, but he doesn’t know the things that go on here, it’s dangerous and he’s - he's stumbling around - blind -  with a potential killer on the loose...”

“I’ll have a talk with him,” the Sheriff let out a calm, if only slightly frustrated breath - not exactly the response Stiles had been counting on.

“A talk?” Stiles flailed a little with frustration, “ground his ass, hell, go full Rapunzel and lock him up in freakin’ tower - ”

“Stiles,” his father cut in with a warning tone, “Do I need to remind you who the parent is here?”

“Do I need to remind you that there are going to be at least twenty different supernatural creatures running around tonight?” 

“I’ll talk to him,” the Sheriff repeated with a final tone. 

“Okay, fine,” Stiles backed down reluctantly, under the weight of his father’s heavy stare, raising his palm a little in surrender, “you’re the dad.”

“Good, now can we please get off the bathroom floor?” he winced, bracing his lower back as he attempted to stand with a weak groan, “God, I’m getting old.”

“Come on, old man, you gotta get to work,” Stiles snorted as he helped his father off the ground. “Ooh, first, can I borrow your phone?” he winced, looking over at the sunken cell that now resided at the bottom of the toilet bowl. “I kinda hung up on Scott…”

From everything he’d learnt about the O’Connor family, a run down motel in one of the more questionable areas of Beacon Hills wasn’t really the type of place he’d imagine finding them.

The O’Connor’s were old money, pack money.

A late night phone call from Braeden, the night before, had given him all the information he’d needed.

There hadn’t been any records of a pack from Modoc County, because the O’Connors weren’t from Modoc. They were originally from Canada. A series of attacks in the outskirts of Ontario had sent the once small pack to seek calmer pastures, evidently settling in Northern California.

According to Braeden, the family had been relatively quiet for the last few decades; nothing but picket fences and pristinely mown lawns – the perfect upstanding citizens.

Right up until their daughter ended up in a river two counties over...

With the Full moon quickly approaching, the presence of unknown wolves in the area left a unsettling feeling in his stomach. Their scent wouldn't bode well for Liam's control - the scent potential threat would instantly set off his instincts. 

Realising he couldn't stall any longer, he bit the bullet, bracing himself for the worst. He tentatively knocked on the motel door, avoiding the peeling paint with avid caution and waited...

No answer. 

Most would assume that no one was there, only most wouldn't have been able to hear the two pulsing heart beats and hushed whispers through two inches of solid wood. 

“Daniel O’Connor?” he called out, knowing the couple inside were already fully aware of his presence. 

The rattle of the door prompted the door cracking open a few inches. 

“What?” came a gruff muffled male voice from the small gap. Though the speaker shadowed by the contrast of the bright sunlight outside, the close proximity allowed Derek to catch the man’s scent – definitely a wolf... "What do you want?"

“Mr O’Connor, I here to talk to you about your daughter,” Derek offered gently. He'd learned over the years that often times tact worked better than teeth - not that he would ever reveal this to anyone, especially not Stiles, in lieu of a rather grating 'honey, flies, vinegar' lecture he'd once received from the cocky teen. 

Seeing the best course of action, he allowed his eyes to glow, revealing his true nature. The cold crimson glare that met his gaze only confirmed what Braeden had told him.

“Mr O’Connor, I – “ Derek stammered as the door promptly slammed in his face, “Daniel.”

This wasn't over yet. He could hear the despairing exhale just behind the door, which meant the Alpha hadn't moved. The man was angry - yes, but surely he could be convinced of reason.  

"Mr O'Connor..." Derek tried again, softer this time. "I just want to help." 

For a tense moment, Derek though it was a lost cause. 

Then, without warning, the door was wrenched open. 

“Get inside,” the Alpha ordered with a fierce, demanding growl, pulling Derek into the small motel room by the scruff of his jacket collar, cautiously watching the area outside before closing the door.

“Expecting someone else?” Derek raised a brow at the Alpha’s paranoid demeanour, brushing off the creases in his shirt.  

A flash of a snarl from the angered wolf was the only answer he gained in response. 

“Your Alpha send you?” came the obligatory, accusatory question - Derek had expected hostility, he knew it far too well. It was rare for a pack to trust outsiders, even other wolves, especially after such a heavy attack against their family.   

“I’m not here on pack business,” he answered carefully, in a way that didn’t reveal his hand. “I - I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“The hell you doing here then?” Daniel spat, the pain of a grieving father prevalent in his anger.

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions about your daughter,” he told them honestly, fearing that any hint of doubt would come across as an attack in the eyes of the enraged Alpha.

“You’re that Hale lad…” a soft feminine voice interrupted, drawing Derek’s attention toward the woman in the far corner of the room.

Though her hair was all but grey, the woman’s dark eyes were near identical to that of the late Bridie O’Connor – the familial resemblance made it clear that this was her mother, Constance.

“Talia’s boy,” she breathed his mother’s name with the kind of reverence usually saved for deities.

There was something about Beacon Hills that made him instantly recognisable to the surrounding population – supernatural and mundane alike. They saw his mother’s likeness in him and his proximity in the town and instantly drew the obvious conclusion. 

It seemed inevitable that he was always going to known as ‘that odd Hale boy’…

“Look, this is none of your business kid,” Daniel growled with a threatening tone, drawing Derek’s attention back towards him.  “You run and tell your little Alpha that too, we’re not here to ruffle any feathers, we just want justice for our pack and for our family...”

“You don’t think she killed herself,” Derek blinked in numb realisation, quickly putting together what the man was saying. 

“She was happy,” Constance's voice trembled slightly, though her conviction was unwavering, tears pricking in the corners of her already red-rimmed eyes, “she would’ve never done that, she would never had done that to us.”

"Then what killed her?" his gaze darted between the two, searching for answers. 

"Murdered," the woman corrected fiercely, "my Bridie was murdered..." 

“By what?” Derek demanded, his tone turning desperate as he felt he was being pushed out. 

“No," Daniel shook his head, a blazing determination settling into his weathered features, "I'm not about to drag some other pack into this, especially not one made up of little boys barely old enough to shave -  'True Alpha' be dammed," he scoffed the title like a petty curse. 

Apparently Scott's pack had a reputation, though clearly not one revered by all. 

"We can help you, just tell us what this is," Derek tried to reason with them. 

"This is my fight, Hale," the Alpha warned him in a fierce tone, "and I'm ending it."

"And what if someone else is hurt because of it?" he shot a glance towards Constance, hoping Bridie's mother could see some sense, however the determined, unwavering glare in the woman's eye told him a different story. 

"We're ending it," Constance corrected her husband, staring down Derek.

"Fuil do fula..."  O'Connor murmured, pressing his lips against the small gold cross that hung around his neck, eyes flashing a burning blood red. 

And without further explanation, Derek was shown the door - or rather dragged out by the revenge-driven Alpha before a door was slammed in his face... for the second time that morning.   

Fantastic. 

Not only did they have something lurking in the surrounding area to deal with, they also had vengeful werewolves to deal with - fuelled by grief and the oncoming Full Moon. 

Like they needed another thing to worry about...

Instinct had him wanting to call Scott. There were unknown wolves in Beacon Hills, Scott should've been the first call he made.  

Though Scott's wasn't the number he dialled.  

“Stilinski,” the Sheriff’s voice sounded tired as he answered the call.

“The O’Connor’s are werewolves,” he informed the Sheriff curtly, not even bothering with pleasantries.

The hollow pause that follows is broken only by a deep sigh that stretched out into an aching silence. 

“Sheriff – “

“I heard you, I just –” the Sheriff’s voice was soft, stress clear in his tone and breathing, “don’t tell Stiles…”

“They need to know, if – “

“Considering I’m his father, I say no, okay?” It was clear that the Sheriff wasn’t thinking as an officer of the law, only as a father, a father who thought he could shield the ones he loved by withholding information. Of course, lack of information was rarely a tool of protection, rather a catalyst for destruction. 

“I’m fairly sure they’ve got their hands full tonight with Liam anyway…”

“Scott already called me this morning, Liam won’t be an issue," Derek informed the Sheriff curtly. 

They had agreed to meet up at the loft later to discuss what to do about Liam's control, honestly he wasn't too worried about the young beta - with an Alpha like Scott beside him, they shouldn't have any issues. 

“Well, there’s one thing, at least…” the Sheriff muttered thoughtfully. “Hey Derek, just give me a second - ” a rustle of sound made Derek realise the Sheriff was probably covering the phone’s mouth piece – clearly the eldest Stilinski still didn’t understand the finer points of werewolf hearing…

“Finish up, you and I are heading out,” the Sheriff’s voice was now only slightly muffled, but still audible. 

“I’m eating breakfast,” came the annoyed retort of a very sullen Stuart in the background.

“You’ve been poking that pastry tower for the past thirty minutes, now scoot kid, grab your hat -”  

Derek could hear the sound of a scoff from Stuart, which probably meant there was some sort of eye roll accompanying.

“Car in five, don’t make me ask you again.”  

A sullen mumble, that sounded a little too much like ‘fuck my life’, resulted in the loud scraping of a chair against the floor as the youngest Stilinski begrudgingly complied with his father's request. 

“Sorry about that, you were saying?”  

“Oh – uh," Derek shook himself out of the daze, trying - and failing - to sound as though he wasn't just eaves dropping on the Sheriff and his son, "the O’Connors know more than they’re letting on."

"Meaning?" 

“I think they know what killed Bridie…”

A 'Girl's Day' was entirely unprecedented in their unique clique.  

From the long awkward silences to Bechdel failing conversations, it was obvious that none of them would have been friends if not for the Supernatural chaos that forced them together.

Kira was Scott's girlfriend, Malia was Stiles' girlfriend and she was... what? Scott's ex's best friend? Stiles' third grade crush?  

If her Grandmother's powers had never been passed down to her - if Peter had never bitten her - she probably would've chosen to remain ignorant to the insanity that was Beacon Hills and she probably would never have given a second thought to the quiet awkward daughter of their history teacher or the wild, slightly strange new girl at school, who rumour said had lived in the woods... 

But life was what it was, and there she sat, text book in hand with Malia Tate lying on her carpet and Kira Yukimura sitting with crossed legs on her desk chair. 

This was their first reprieve of the supernatural since the last summer - the year of Hell as she often referred to it mentally. Their first moment to breathe since Allison... 

Though the lull had brought other things into light - like her, or lack thereof, friendships with the other girls in the pack. She had fought for them, bled for them, but she was surprised to realised that she didn't know all that much about them. Stuart's appearance in their lives had only cemented this doubt in her mind. For all they claimed to be a pack it was only Scott and Stiles that truely knew one another. 

But she was determined to change this. 

It hadn't been easy. Sure Kira and Malia had become fast friends - what with their boyfriends' tight relationship and the 'new kid at school' connection working in their favour.

For Lydia it was different, it wasn't just about having someone bitch to, or to go shopping with, or talk about which celebrities she was obsessing over, it was letting someone in again.

It was attempting to stitch back the hole Allison's death had torn in her heart. 

And she wasn't so sure she was ready for that. 

She was trying, for Scott, for the pack. 

Kira was nice, if not a little intense at times. And Malia - well honestly, her relationship with Malia would be a lot better if she wasn't dating Stiles... 

But she was nothing if not tenacious. Lydia Martin was not known for giving up on something just because it was difficult. 

And so there she was, making do with the cards dealt. 

“I’m impressed,” Lydia offered a - only slightly forced - smile as she looked over Malia’s latest attempt at her calculus practice exam.

Once they had learned of Malia's test scores - and there lack off - it was obvious the fiery were-coyote was going to have to sit through summer school in order to graduate with the other soon-to-be Seniors. Personally, Lydia didn't see how repeating a year would be such a bad thing for Malia: she would make friends outside the pack, she could reexamine her focus on her studies, see where her interest lay, the types of things you get from spending more than just two years trying to cram over eight years worth of schooling in.

But Stiles was adamant about 'keeping them all together', ironic as all he wanted to do was push Stuart away...  

“I got them all right?” the were-coyote beamed, eyes bright with excitement, sitting up a little straighter in her crossed-leg position on the floor.   

“Well no,” Lydia put delicately, putting down the page covered in gruelling read marks from her corrections. “But it’s better than last time, much better.”

“But I still won’t pass, will I?” Malia's good mood deflated visibly as she sunk into her palms with a moan of defeat. 

“You will,” Kira told her with confidence, “we’ll help you, and you’re improving, that’s awesome!”

“You’re doing a lot better with integrated equations,” Lydia noted, pleasantly surprised by Malia's progress, "the working's all correct, you just got a little muddled up at the end." 

“Stuart talked me through it,” she shrugged her shoulders loosely.

“Stuart helped you?” Lydia felt her brow rise high upon her forehead, unable to conceal her disbelief. Stuart 'refuses-to-talk-anyone' Stilinski offered his knowledge of basic Calculus to Malia? "Stiles' brother Stuart?" 

“Yeah, he’s pretty good at it,” she revealed casually, "I mean, once he stops complaining about Stiles..."

And wasn't that interesting... 

“They’re actually quite similar,” Malia continued after a moment, cocking her head to one side in thought, before concluding, “different but similar.”

“I’m not really following…” Kira frowned, looking over at Lydia for guidance.  

“Neither am I,” Lydia uttered, watching the were-coyote with a keen new interest.

If there ever was a hell on Earth, he was sure this came fairly close to it.

As if dragging him out of the house well before noon on a Sunday wasn’t punishment enough. Having to sit through an awkward ten-minute drive of silence only to pull over into some random parking lot was practically torture.

He knew it wasn’t going to be a casual chat about ‘them Mets’ when it began with a sigh.

No good ever came from a conversation that started with a long, drawn out sigh.

“Look,” the Sheriff began, taking the keys out of the ignition and turning to his son.

Oh yes, even better…. 

Stuart had to forcibly control himself not to roll his eyes, gritting his teeth as he geared himself for today’s lecture on all he’d done wrong. Was this seriously about the thing with Stiles that morning? Cause he had literally done nothing. He’d walked into the bathroom – that’s it. And Stiles had flipped out, spooked like some coked up wild animal. Surely he wasn’t being lectured for that?

Then again, in this family, maybe he’d breathed wrong.

“I know being here isn’t really what you had in mind this summer…” the Sheriff shot him a sideways glance, eyebrows wrinkling his forehead with a wryly air. “And I know you probably wanted to spend it with your friends – “

Stuart snorted audibly – oh yeah, all his friends, who were most certainly missing his presence, deeply.

“But it’s only a few weeks, kid, we’re not asking for much here…”

Stuart breathed out through his nose, feeling a little like a caged bull as he glared up at the man. “We really don’t have to talk about – ”

“I’m not finished, Stuart,” the Sheriff held him in a tight unwavering stare, “now, I thought we could all be adults about this, but apparently that’s not the case.”

Stuart shot a jaded look over to the Sheriff, unsure where he was going with this little speech.

“And while you’re back living under my roof, I expect certain rules to be upheld.”

“You gotta be kidding me…” Stuart muttered under his breath, rubbing the bridge to his nose where his glasses sat, willing a meteor to crash down upon them in the hopes it would end this conversation. 

“Number one: I know where you are at all times – “ 

“You can’t be serious…” Stuart blurted out, head snapping up to try and find some sort of clue that this was all some elaborate joke.

“Two: Curfew is 9 o’clock sharp.” 

“What? I’m not four,” Stuart groaned, slamming his head back against the headrest. 

“Number three: You will treat those around you with respect, that goes for your brother -”

“I didn’t even do anything,” he growled under his breath, grinding his teeth in frustration.

“ - his friends,” the Sheriff continued, unfazed by Stuart's protest, “and my deputies - ”

“The guy that was about to pull a gun on me?” Stuart’s mouth gaped slightly, utterly unable to hold back his fury any longer, “no, you know what – screw this.”

Practically kicking out the door, he left the confines of the stifling vehicle.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here,” he seethed venomously, scanning the parking lot for a quick escape.

“Get back in the car Stuart,” the Sheriff ordered him, which only fired him up further.

“How ‘bout you go fuck yourself,” he offered plainly with a fake smile plastered on his face, before turning back towards his task of getting the hell away from everyone and everything.

“Stuart!”

Stuart paused, biting his lip as he turned to face his father, “Is this about this morning? Because that wasn’t my fault, I didn’t even touch him! I swear!”

However that comment only seemed to confuse the Sheriff, who looked completely thrown by his apology. “This has nothing to do with that,” the Sheriff frowned, his tone softening.

“Then why am I the one being punished, huh?” Stuart goaded, “I bet Stiles doesn’t have fucking curfews, I bet he –”

“You lied to me, kid,” the Sheriff put simply, a soft, tired expression crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Plain and simple. I trusted you and you broke that trust. These are the consequences.” 

“Wha – “ 

“You told me you were staying at Danny’s the other night,” he continued before Stuart could respond. 

Oh. 

Yeah, he had actually done that. 

Shit.

“Actually,” he corrected slowly, desperately trying to push down the humiliation burning in his chest as the realisation hit him. Okay, so he might've been a little wrong on the why, but he sure as hell wasn't going to admit that.  “I said I’d be hanging out with Danny, never actually said what I’d be doing…”

“You were out drinking.”

“So?” he shrugged lamely, digging his hole deeper with every word he spoke. 

“You’re seventeen, Stuart, it’s dangerous, it’s illegal.”

“Well I guess I learn by example, eh Pops?” he chuckled darkly, glaring down the Sheriff. 

Oh yeah, when in doubt, go for the throat.

Game. Set. Matc -  

“You’re grounded kid, effective immediately.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Stuart gawked, eyes twitching with a vehement frustration behind them, “all teenagers drink or are you seriously that deluded?”

“Stiles and his friends don’t,” the Sheriff shot back.

“Oh my God, seriously?” Stuart groaned under his breath, pulling his beanie down as he ducked his head.

Back to Saint Stiles and the pure holiness of his being.

“Think of what would happen if you had been arrested and charged, you could certainly say goodbye to that scholarship of yours –" 

“Well good thing my Daddy’s the Sheriff then, isn’t it?” Stuart sneered bitterly, jaw clenched tight, “How many speeding fines have you let Stiles off on? Ten? Twelve? Bet you'd let him get away with murder, wouldn't you?” 

“Look, kid, Beacon Hills isn’t Fresno, it’s a small town, you can’t just go around acting this, people talk. You’re lucky your brother found you that morning and not someone else…”

Ah, so Stiles had narked on him. Ran to Daddy to point out how imperfect Stuart was in comparison to Stiles.

Wasn’t he so lucky to have such a wonderful brother like him...

“And why should I care…?”

“Kid, my position as Sheriff in this town is already hanging by a thread, I can’t have my underage son getting drunk and causing trouble..."

And there it was. 

Stuart felt a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. This wasn’t about him at all – not really. This wasn’t about his safety or Stanford or his precious Stiles or even some after school special on the dangers of underage drinking and the consequences of his actions. No, once again it all came back to the Sheriff’s job – his position in the town.

“How is your incompetence as a Sheriff any problem of mine?” his response was slow and cold.

“Stuart,” the Sheriff sighed, sounding as though he were about to formulate some retort. However the shrill chirp of a text alert caused the Sheriff’s stare to waver, drifting towards the phone in his pocket. 

After a tense moment, the Sheriff put their little stalemate on hold and pull out the cell to check the message. 

“Let me guess, work?” Stuart chided bitterly.

“Just…" the Sheriff paused for a moment, taking a slow breath, "get in the car, we can discuss later.”

“No,” Stuart retorted simply, practicing the age old strategy of parent-child feuds: juvenile stubbornness.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“I’ll walk,” he countered quickly.

“Don’t be stupid, do you even know the way from here?”

“I’ll Google it.”

“You know what? Fine," the Sheriff bit out, storming over to the driver's side of the police vehicle and wrenching open the door, pointing over at his son with a warning look, “But if you’re not home by 4 sharp – so help me – I’ll bring the full force of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department to drag you back!” 

“What an excellent use of tax payers’ money,” Stuart shouted back, not caring who heard. “No wonder you’re such an asset to this town!”

And so there he was. 

Coming in last place to his father's job. 

Again. 

Abandoned in a carpark.

Again. 

Awesome.

Just another glorious day in Beacon Hills. 

"Run by this plan again?" Lydia unconvinced tones echoed through the cabin on the Jeep as he turned onto Main and Chester. After his phone had been lost to the depths of his toilet bowl, he'd been forced to spend the morning getting a new one - it was actually getting a little embarrassing how often this occurred though, the guy at the phone place new him by name... 

Stiles sighed as he geared up to reiterate his new and improved 'Full-Moon Plan' - because seriously they needed one. It was nearly going on two years since Scott had been bit and they still hadn't got a proper plan in motion. 

"Step 1: Meet at Derek's, okay? Five sharp," he explained. Derek was already in for that part at least - they had tried to convince the former Alpha to let them stay there for the entire night but were met with a sour look and a 'like hell I'm letting a bunch of unstable betas maul my furniture'... 

So they had agreed on splitting up: Derek with Malia ( 'family bonding time' apparently), Kira and Lydia (because the moon didn't really effect either of them and apparently there was a marathon of Gossip Girl on), leaving Scott and Stiles to play happy families with Liam. 

"Sun sets at 8:43 tonight so we'll have a few hours to kill before we head out," he continued, flicking a glance to his wrist as he confirmed his mental calculations, "Malia and Derek are heading out to the preserve," he tried not to sound too bitter about it, though he was actually kinda annoyed.

Derek had insisted that Malia stay with him, in hopes that he could help her try to fully shift into a coyote - what now that he was all Master Yoda with the ways of the Wolf. 

Which was freaking awesome. Only annoying thing was Derek still hadn't show him his wolf yet, freaking dick. It had been ages since Mexico and the guy still hadn't whipped out his Cujo-mode and shown Stiles his tail... 

Actually maybe it was because Stiles kept asking to see his tail... 

Whatever it was, it was annoying. 

"And what's your plan for Liam?" Lydia's voice brought him back to focus on the conversation at hand. 

"Well my suggestion was to chain him to a tree," Stiles shrugged a little, which wasn't so easy to do when you were trying to negotiate traffic. "But Scott vetoed me, so Derek offered the Hale basement."

"At the school?" 

"Nah, under where the old house used to be, basement's still there, you just have to go through the tunnels." 

"So you, Liam and Scott are going to spend all night in a hazardous abandoned basement in the middle of the woods?"  Lydia's cynicism was clear from her slow questioning. 

"I'm gonna bring snacks," he pouted a little.

What was wrong with that plan? He and Scott got to hang out and eat Peanut butter cups - well Stiles would eat them and Scott would laugh at him for trying to fit as many as he could in his mouth whilst trying to talk - and Liam could just hang out in a creepy cellar not attacking people. 

It was a great plan. 

"And what about Stuart?" 

"Ugh," Stiles let out a bored groan, that came of a little like a wounded buffalo, "can't I have one nice conversation without you people bringing him up?" 

"Where is he going to be tonight?" Lydia continued, unfazed by Stiles' reluctance. 

"I'm working on it," Stiles bit out, trying not to throw his frustration at her again - he wasn't about to do that again, he wasn't stupid or suicidal.

He was hoping that his dad had grounded Stuart - that would be perfect. Stuart would stay at home, locked up in his room, awesome. Then Stiles would just need to line the front door and windows with mountain ash and they were golden - his dad knew how to reset if once he got home, easy. 

It was a really awesome plan. 

"Just," she paused, clearly wanting say something, but in the end she went with: "keep me posted." 

"Yup," he nodded, not that she could see him through the phone.

"Oh and Stiles...?" 

He didn't like that tone, he didn't like that tone one bit. 

"What did I do?" he winced, knowing that he wasn't going to like whatever bombshell she dropped. 

"Just wanted to let you know how well Malia's doing with her Calculus," she told him, anyone else would have considered her tone to be innocent, almost friendly, but Stiles knew it was anything but. 

Shit. 

Malia.

He'd promised to help her study.

Yesterday...

"I'm a dick..." he whined into his steering wheel, ignoring the blaring horns from the car behind him just as he ignored the green light in front of him.

Stuart's impromptu arrival had completely messed up his entire schedule for that week.

First he forgets Malia, then the Full Moon - what next?  

"Guess I'll that to my list of things to apologise for," he muttered with a guilty sigh, pulling out from the intersection just as the light flickered orange - which really seemed to piss off the bored housewife behind him. 

"Stiles," Lydia let out a long breath, as though steeling herself for some lecture.

"Yeah?"

"Doesn't matter, I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah, okay, bye," he sighed, ending the call quickly before he was caught by a passing deputy on duty - having your Dad as the Sheriff only bent the law so far... 

Speaking of... he needed to make sure his dad had grounded Stu, none of this worked if he wasn't - what was he going to tell Stuart, 'uh, stay behind that line of black dirt so supernatural creatures don't tear your flesh from your bones'... yeah that probably wouldn't go down so well...  

The station was buzzing with deputies, that much was clear just from the state of the parking lot. For a space that was only designed for one lot of county vehicles, some people seemed to be trying their damned hardest to cram in two.

Sure seemed like a hell of a lot of men for a simple suicide. 

Derek's call had only cemented the fear in his mind that there was something more going on here than young woman wanting to end her own life - a young werewolf as it turned out. 

“Sheriff Stilinski?” a man called out, breaking into a slow jog as he crossed the lot. 

“Sheriff Myers?” the Sheriff concluded, noting the man’s badge and Modoc County emblem, holding out his hand to greet the fellow Sheriff. “Thanks for coming.”

"Sorry it took us a little longer than expected," Myers apologised sincerely. 

"Well I'm just glad you boys managed to get here, we could certainly use a hand." 

“Girl was from my town, Stilinski, I’m sure you’d do the same,” Myers offered with a soft tone. 

“Here’s hoping I don’t have to," the Sheriff uttered with a gruff tone. 

"Shall we?" Myers nodded towards the station, keen to get down to business, which was a good sign - maybe this could all be cleared up before week's end if the two counties could work together seamlessly. 

However, they didn't get to far before their path was blocked. 

“Did you know?” a young man stood in the doorway, eyes locked upon the Modoc Sheriff. The boy was clearly in distress; red-rimmed eyes that looked as though he hadn't slept, tears threatening to spill over at any moment, shaking hands held out wide in desperate accusation. 

“What are you doing here Casey?” Myers sighed wearily, clearly knowing the boy, “Go home, I’ll get one of the boys to drive you ba – “

“Did you know?” Casey's voice was raw and hoarse with a deep pain that couldn't been easily deciphered. 

“Excuse me for a moment,” Myers uttered in a tone barely concealing his obvious annoyance. “I need to have a word with my son…”

The reveal of the Modoc Sheriff's son was a touch off-putting - what in God's name was the kid doing driving two County's over in such a state? And how could Myers' be so casual about it? 

“Don’t touch me,” the young man spat as he glared at the elder man, pulling away as though he was physically repulsed by his own father. “D-don’t you – “

A few incoherent words were past between father and son. The Sheriff couldn't hear them from where he should, but he sure as hell could read body language and it didn't look particularly friendly. Myers' hand a firm grip on his son's elbow, tugging at the boy as he whispered harsh instructions in hushed tones. 

“Drive him home Marcus,” Myers instructed after a moment, waving over an eager Modoc deputy. Marcus was quick to obey his superior, grasping Casey's shoulders in an effort to steer him in the direction of a Modoc vehicle. Like Myers', Marcus seemed to be uttering some advice to the shaken young man - though from Casey's expression, it was clearly falling on deaf ears. 

“Don’t mean to pry…” the Sheriff began awkwardly, holding the front door of the precinct open for Myers', "but is he alright?" he nodded over at Casey, concerned. 

“My boy grew up with Bridie, went to middle school with her,” Myers' explained with a weary sigh, "he found out this morning, I didn't even know they were friends until, well…” he gave a small jostle of his shoulders. 

“I hate you!” Casey's screams echoed through the lot as their attentions were once more trained back to the kid, cheeks red and tear-stained, gasping for air. 

To his credit, Marcus was succeeding in physically restraining the distressed boy, allowing him only a little room to kick out his grief. 

Casey's outburst had attracted a few of the other unfamiliar deputies, each lending a hand to try and calm the boy down. They all probably knew the boy quite well - Myers' had been the deputy of Modoc county for going on ten years now. 

"I hate you," Casey's angry cries turned into desperate sobs as he sunk with defeat, the Modoc deputies swarming to carry him away.  

The Sheriff waited with baited breath, watching for what Myers' would do.

But in the end, the man just stared blankly, expression revealing nothing of his inner thoughts as he watched the men haul his son into a nearby police vehicle.  

"Come on, we got work to do, Stilinski," Myers' patted the Sheriff on the shoulder, a gentle warning that the show was over, before wanting into the precinct. 

“I guess it seems like that kind of day,” the Sheriff muttered to himself as he spared a glance over at the poor grief-stricken boy, thinking back on the look on Stuart's face not some half hour before.

"My office is just through here," he announced as they ended the precinct, leading Myers' through the bullpen. 

Closing the door behind him, he took a seat behind his desk, gesturing to the empty chair for Myers' to do likewise. 

“The wisdom of youth,” Sheriff Myers shook his head with tight smile and an 'am-I-right?' tone, attempting to break the awkward silence between them, “everything’s the end of the world with them…”

“Preaching to the choir here,” the Sheriff offered in response.

Though tempted to trade 'war stories' with a fellow Sheriff, something wasn't sitting right with him about what had just occurred in the parking lot. If Casey had only just found out about his friend's suicide, wouldn't the boy's father be a little more sympathetic? Myers' had been nothing short of cold, ordering his deputies to get rid of his son like an unwanted inconvenience...  

“Got kids?” Myers asked casually, taking a seat across from the Sheriff, “please say girls?” he added with a pained expression. 

“Two boys, both seventeen,” he sent Myers' a wiry smirk - I win. 

“Oh ho… I do not envy you,” Myers chuckled a little, wincing with deep sympathy. “I’ve only got the one and, well, you saw that…” he added, thumbing at the door as he rolled his eyes a little.

“He go to the prep school up there? I’ve heard really great things about their programs,” the Sheriff wondered out of curiosity, feeling the need to break the awkward silence growing between them. 

“You’d think,” Myers snorted as gave the Sheriff a shrewd expression, “would you believe that child is twenty-four next month?”

“Please don’t tell me I have another seven years of this crap…” the Sheriff groaned a little, wincing at the thought.

“Like I said," Myers quipped with a subtle smirk, "I don't envy you."

As though on cue, a knock came at the door, alerting him to the all too familiar face at the door.  

“Hey kiddo,” the Sheriff sent his son a warm smile, waving him in. 

“Daddio,” Stiles beamed, though he paused for a moment, giving Myers a brief once over. “Modoc County Sheriff right? Here about the girl in the lake…?” 

“No,” the Sheriff quickly interjected before turning back to Myers, “and don’t let him bully you, info goes to badge holders only.” 

“That hurts Pops,” Stiles moped with a pouted lip, taking offence to the accusation like water to a duck’s back. “And after all the trouble I went to get you lunch,” he revealed a paper bag that looked suspiciously lacking in all things greasy and delicious. As though hearing the Sheriff's inner monologue, Stiles added, “your arteries are gonna thank me."

The unconvinced expression he sent his son said 'yeah, but my tastebuds won't'. 

“I might be a little later here than I thought, do you mind making sure your brother gets home?" he asked, hoping Stiles would understand his meaning, "also, we had a talk.”

'Grounded?' Stiles mouthed curiously, standing just behind Myers so that the Modoc Sheriff couldn't see. 

Feeling a little guilty, the Sheriff nodded, brows pinching into a scowl as Stiles victoriously fist-pumped the air in excitement. 

"Can do," Stiles beamed a little too excitedly. 

“Thanks, kiddo,” the Sheriff couldn't help but smile at Stiles' antics,  “Stay safe, okay?”

“Ten Four,” Stiles nodded with a mock salute, though the silent promise in his eyes made the Sheriff feel a little better about allowing his son to spend the right with a pack of supernatural creatures.  

“See that’s what I wish I had,” Myers' spoke up, reminding the two that he was still in the room, “You be good to your ol’ man kid,” he told Stiles with an earnest glance.

“Always am,” Stiles shot back a wide, toothy grin, drumming lightly on the door as he made his exit. "See ya," his voice echoed through the bull pen, followed by the usual passing pleasantries of "how's the kids, Michaels?" and "did you lose weight Andrews?"   

“What I would give to have your life, Stilinski,” Myers chuckled fondly, attention still out the door as Stiles made his final exit from the precinct. 

“Grass always looks greener until you get close enough to see the paint, Myers,” the Sheriff quipped back, exploring the contents of the bag. “Salad, see, the kid loves to torture me,” he chuckled, as he looked down at the case files in front of him.

“So the girl’s parent’s identified the body,” Myers concluded, nodding at the reports splayed out upon the desk. 

A small sympathetic look was all the Sheriff could offer in response.

“The O’Connors confirmed it was their daughter,” he nodded with deep sympathy, “That actually brings me to my next point, we’d really like to help with the investigation.”

“Investigation?” Myers frowned, “I’m not sure I follow.” 

“I don’t think that girl tried to kill herself.”

“Neither do I,” Myers agreed, “I think she succeeded.”

“Rope fibres were found in her wrists, I’m still waiting to hear back from toxicology, but I believe we’re dealing with a murder here.”

“That’s a pretty bold claim coming from a County Sheriff, if you don’t mind me saying,” Myers leaned forward in his chair a little, a dubious expression on his face, which came off as a little more than patronising. 

“If you’d seen half the things I have in this town, you’d know it’s not that bold.”

The Modoc Sheriff held his gaze, unblinking, for a moment, as though calculating an appropriate response. 

“Well, if you think that’s necessary, I’ll trust your gut, Stilinski,” Myers shrugged, relenting with ease, “I’ll have my best boys on it.”

Yeah, now that wasn't exactly going to work for him. 

“Actually," Stilinski countered, "I was hoping to help oversee the investigation myself, my deputies included.”

“I’ve never been one to turn down an outstretched hand,” the Modoc Sheriff gave a warm smile, “two heads and all, and you boys would sure know your way round this town a damn sight better than mine.... But if this is a homicide, Stilinski, we’ll need to do this the right way,” he continued sternly, “I’ll have a word with the big boys, see if they can spare anyone to come take a look.”

“Thank you," the Sheriff nodded stiffly, concealing uneasy feeling churning in his stomach. 

Feds. 

Fantastic. 

Okay he really hadn’t thought any of this out.

He didn’t even have his key… it was still sitting beside his bed, being completely useless to his current predicament. In the pressured rush to get out the door he'd completely forgotten that there wouldn't be anyone to let him in like there was back in Fresno. One of his Grandparents were always at home. Here no one ever seemed to be there if he wanted them to - and if he didn't, they were everywhere. 

So, what was he meant to do now? Sit out on their porch until Stiles or the Sheriff decided to come home? He didn't have Stiles' number and he sure as hell wasn't going to call the Sheriff after all... that. 

Maybe he could climb through the window like Malia had somehow managed… couldn’t be that hard, could it? Though in all likely he would probably just break his neck and then where would he be…

Annnnd…. just perfect, his phone was at 34%...

Helpful, really fucking helpfu –

“Hey handsome,” a voice to his right snapped him out of his thoughts.

Casually propped against the mouth of an alley was the woman from the supermarket – Tessa. 

“Strange lady,” Stuart address her with a cordial nod, failing to hide the excitement in his eyes as he caught the devious smirk on her lips. 

“Couldn’t help over hearing you hash it out with your old man there,” Tessa pushed herself off the wall, sauntering towards him as she nodded over at the now vacant parking lot where his father had torn out of moments before.

“You and the rest of the Northern Hemisphere…” Stuart muttered under his breath, his anger flickering wickedly beneath. 

“You didn’t call,” she pouted a little, slipping the phone out of his numb fingers, collecting her prize with poorly veiled glee, “really hurts a girl’s feelings…”

“I – uh,” Stuart fumbled over the hundred excuses filling his mind, but nothing sounded lamer than the truth – ‘I accidentally washed it off’…

“I wanted to,” his mouth finally said, though he really wished it hadn’t. Tessa has this presence about her that made him forget everything – mostly his ability to effectively communicate with human beings.

God, he hadn’t noticed last time they’d met, but she had this intoxicating perfume that filled the air, spreading a warm floral aura around her. It was beyond heavenly, effortless and addicting, just like her.  

“Wanna get out of here?” she asked, completely unaware of the inner monologue she had interrupted, long fingers tapping his phone screen with casual disinterest. “Diner up the road does the best burger for miles…”

“I was told never to accept food from strange women,” a small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked up at her. 

“Then it’s a good thing you know me,” she smiled, handing back his phone with her newly saved number. 

“You buying?” he wondered, trying to not sound too much like a pathetic little teenager who didn't have any money. Because as much as he would love to play the gentleman, there wasn’t much in this world you could buy with two quarters and a gum wrapper.

“Yeah, I am.”

Then who was he to say no to a pretty face?

“Lead the way.”

Walking out into the parking lot of the Sheriff's Station felt like second nature. The number of times he had walked in and out of that building over the years, especially after his father had made Sheriff. 

Thumbing a quick text to Scott to update him on the Stuart situation, he made his way across the lot to where his baby sat in prime position. Awkwardly juggling his phone in one hand, he was less than a yard away from the jeep when an irritated grunt stopped his timely exit.   

“This area is reserved for authorised vehicles only...” 

With an unseen eye roll and a belligerent sigh, Stiles turned to greet a tall gruff looking deputy tapping the weather-worn sign that had been up longer than his father had been with the department.

“Uh huh, got it,” Stiles nodded slowly, failing to hide the facetious tone behind his retort. “Good thing I’m leaving then…” He muttered slowly to himself, digging the keys from his pocket, dangling them in front of the unfamiliar man's face.

The guy was clearly one of those called in from Modoc to help with the 'suicide' - pfft yeah right. Like a suicide would require five deputies to accompany the Sheriff...

“You sassing me kid?”

Yes, he wanted to retort, clearly, was his delivery not direct enough?

But for his father’s sake he acquiesced, graciously. “No, I’ll move, sorry.”

“Sounds like you were sassing me.”

“Then clearly you don’t have an accurate gage on what constitutes ‘sass’,” his mouth snapped before he can stop himself.

“Oh you’re begging for a ticket now boy,” the deputy gave a breathy chuckle, shaking his head as though he was gearing himself up for a fight - with some random innocent (well at least in this situation) teenage, in the parking lot of the Sheriff's department.

“Seriously?” Stiles snorted, annoyance making him cockier, “this isn’t even your jurisdiction, you don’t even have a ticket book,” he nodded towards the guy's clearly empty pockets. 

“Some snot nose little punk,” the deputy stepped right into Stiles' personal bubble and jabbed him hard in the shoulder, “thinks he can snark off to an officer of the law, that makes it my jurisdiction.”

“Also makes it police brutality,” Stiles countered, rubbing his shoulder - he better not get a freaking bruise from this asshole, “which is kinda frowned upon, just a little FYI.”

“Yeah?" the deputy sneered, hands shooting out, rough fingers grasping handfuls of fabric as Stiles felt himself being lifted slightly - not enough to actually pull him off the ground, just enough to make a point, apparently... "And whose gonna care what some little Juvie brat like you has to say?” 

“My Dad might,” Stiles challenged, trying to keep his face blank as he gestured casually at the white-knuckled fist gripping the front of his shirt.

Clearly this guy was just some power-hungry asshole hyped up on his on self-importance -  reminding him a little too much of the orderlies at Eichen house... 

“Like I give a fuck who your daddy is –"

“You probably should,” the familiar voice sent a rush of relief through him - not that he was worried, he'd faced crazed Alphas, kanimas, a nogitsune, some petty wannabe Dirty Harry wasn't enough to scare him. No, mildly concerned was a better way of putting it, pessimistically cautious.  

Parrish's familiar presence was suddenly right behind the brutish deputy, a very unimpressed look on his face. 

“Given that he’s Sheriff of this county...” Parrish finished calmly, arms crossed, chin jutted out, hostility clear, body language screaming intimidation.  

“Parrish,” the deputy straightened up, releasing his grip of Stiles instantly as though he'd suddenly been shocked. "I was just - it was - "

Parrish tilted his head, pretending to listen to the deputies excuses. Though it was another officer who spoke next. 

“Stevens!” the stern bark brought their attentions over to Sheriff Myers storming out of the parking lot - looking a little less blasé than he had in the Sheriff's office. “The hell are you doing sulking around the parking lot?” 

“Just enforcing the law Sheriff,” Stevens gave Myers a tight smile, swallowing nervously, looking like a naughty little boy under the eye of a furious principal. 

“You ain’t been instructed to enforce shit, Stevens, so do as your told and go help the nice Beacon Hills Deputies get more familiar with our case files…”

Stiles snorted, he couldn't help it, the guy was a bully being racked over the coals, that was always hilarious.   

Stevens grit his teeth, glaring at his superior with rich discontent, eyes flickering over at Stiles as he breathed angrily through his nose like a raging bull.

“What was that Deputy?” Myers asked, condescension oozing from his words.   

“Yes Sir,” Stevens growled out his submission, shooting a hateful glance at Stiles and Parrish as he begrudgingly made his way inside the Sheriff’s station, starring Stiles down with fiery daggers as he left. 

“They’re a bunch of idiots, but it was a slow few years for recruits…” Myers rolled his eyes with a drained sigh, “Most of the boys nowadays just wanna play solider instead, think it’s more exciting…” he snarled with rich sarcasm, “I just get them that don’t make the cut,” a small snort escaping as his dissatisfaction was made known.

“I spent a fair few years with the Army as a Hazardous Device Technician,” Parrish revealed to the Modoc Sheriff with a matter-of-fact tone, “Gotta say I see plenty of excitement right here.”

“I’m sure you do,” Myers shook his head with a smile before heading off in the direction of the Modoc vehicles. 

Only it wasn’t just a smile, it was knowing smile, a nefarious smile, an ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’ smile and Stiles didn’t like it at all. The guy was trying way too hard to be friendly... and it irked him. 

“Him,” Stiles nodded the moment Myers was out of hearing range - well normal hearing range, he was really hoping the guy wasn't a werewolf.

“What?” Parrish frowned.

“He did it, murdered the girl, tossed her in the lake. Case closed. I win.”

“And you think this because…?” Parrish glanced over at Myers, brow furrowed, struggling with the idea.

“Sheer creepiness,” Stiles shivered in repulsion, the guy was the embodiment of creep, “you saw that look, the guy’s a psycho, his inner monologue is probably along the lines of ‘little did they know I had several body parts in the trunk of my car freshly hacked up with a chainsaw’…”  

“You got all that with a look?” Parrish blinked.

“I’ve gathered more from less,” Stiles shrugged, letting his arms flail a little in casual nonchalance. “Learned to just go with it.”

“You think he might be like the Argents?” Parrish furrow his brows in thought, watching Myers with utmost caution.

“A hunter?” Stiles blinked innocently, feeling the tug of a smile threatening to give away his excitement. 

“Yeah, well we know Bridie was a were -” Parrish froze the moment he realised the words that had escaped his mouth - eyes wide, paling as he turned to face a very happy Stiles. “Oh no, damn it, forget that, forget all of that!”

“Uh-uh,” Stiles beamed, shaking his head like a little child as he stepped away from the young deputy, “no takesie backsies, Parrish!” he laughed, twirling his keys around his index finger in playful victory as he pulled open the side door of the jeep.  

“Don’t tell your father!” he whined, looked physically pained by the epic betrayal. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Stiles smirked and he hopped in the jeep. 

So Bridie was a werewolf, well were-something.

That he could work with.

But first things first, he decided as he saw the sun drifting closer to the western side of town, he had a brother to lock up and a teenage werewolf to babysit.

“Oh God, this is good,” he moaned in the burger, completely and utterly enthralled by the flavours in his mouth. Oh God, was that dijon mustard? In a burger? He mentally took back every bad thing he’s every thought about Beacon Hills – any place that could produce something this heavenly was very high up on his list of favourite places.

“Told you,” Tessa smirked, lazily picking at Stuart’s fries, swirling it in ketchup before taking a bite, licking her forefinger in a way that Stuart knew had to be illegal in most States. “So what’s the deal with the Sheriff?” she wondered in a casual tone.

“Ugh,” Stuart rolled his eyes as he groaned, hanging his head as his lease favourite topic of conversation was brought up once again. “The guy has a permanent chip on his shoulder, he and his little boy band he’s got going on with Deputy Boy Scout and that Abercrombie model – um, Derek, I think?” 

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen him round,” she nodded absently, popping another French fry into her mouth, savouring it as she uttered, “gorgeous.”

“Yeah, anyway the Sheriff left some files on the table the other day – apparently someone found a dead girl in the lake, I don’t know…”

“Not interested in a nice juicy murder?” the corner of her lips twitched, entertained.

“It wasn’t murder, it was a suicide,” Stuart corrected her, with a vague shrug, “I mean, sucks for her family and all, but not really my problem is it? I’m not the Sheriff.”

Tessa smiled, his disinterest amusing her somehow.

“So, what about your brother and his friends?” she crossed one leg over the other, accidentally grazing her foot against his shin, stunning him for a moment before he thought about what she’d said.

“What about them…?” Stuart gave her an odd look, feeling weirdly interrogated by the woman across from him. 

“What’s little Scotty been up to lately?”

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Stuart wondered slowly as he cocked his head a little to one side, studying her curiously. 

“Oh don’t make me seem creepy,” she laughed off with an easy smile, “Scott used to date my niece.”

“Oh,” Stuart blinked. That actually made a lot of sense, small town and all – everyone seemed to know everyone around here. “You don’t look anywhere near old enough to have niece my age,” he smirked, testing out the waters a little. He never really had the opportunity to flirt with a girl – woman – as hot as Tessa before, there was so much room for error...

“We were more like sisters,” she told him fondly, a sad look washing over her features.

“Were?” Stuart found himself repeating Tessa’s words, a sympathetic pain making him uneasy.

“Ally got dragged into a lot of things that she shouldn’t’ve,” she finally explained after a tense moment. “It got her killed…”

“I’m sorry,” Stuart offered, feeling a little awkward, not really knowing what he could say to that.

“Me and Scott haven’t really talked since, salt in the wounds and all.” 

“Fair enough,” Stuart nodded. God why had he said anything? “Well Scotty’s pretty much the same as I remember him, following Stiles around like a little lost puppy,” he answered her earlier question, “except, well, huge, I mean seriously the guy’s a beast.” 

“Accurate phrasing,” Tessa smirked knowingly, making Stuart a little uneasy. Tessa had a way of making him feel like she was always talking over him, like she was having a completely different conversation. Though it was also a little hot - okay a lot hot, mysterious and hot, like she was thing dangerous flame that would burn you if you got too close, but you couldn’t look away either.

“I’m gonna get a beer, you want one?” Tessa announced suddenly, looking at him expectedly.

“A beer?” Stuart almost stumbled over the word, glancing around to see if anyone else in the diner had heard her offer alcohol to a minor. “Like an alcoholic beer?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, that amused little smirk flashed across her lips once more – the one that made Stuart feel like he’d done something stupid.

“Oh, uh, umm,” he rambled, struggling to come with a response that didn't sound ridiculously lame. 

“I’m buying remember,” she smirked, a teasing ‘sing-song’ tone to her voice as she tried to entice him, the tip of her shoe rubbing lightly against his calf – okay that hadn’t been an accident, right? 

Aw, crap. What the hell did he do? Drinking with Danny the other night at the club felt so different to drinking in the middle of the day in a busy diner – where probably most people knew he was the Sheriff’s son at least. 

And he was already grounded...

Also he was already 0 for 2 on his med count – sure he’d been fine, but withdrawal didn’t sound like the kind of fun he was into.

“I – I better not,” he sighed in defeat, knowing there was no good way around it. 

“Aww, I won’t tell, if you don’t…” she goaded him with a mocking smirk. 

“It uh - it sorta messes with my meds,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact at all costs – this was way too much information for a woman he’d met in the freezer section, friend of Scott’s or not.

“Thought you were out drinking the other day?” she shot back with a look that told him she was trying to call ‘bullshit’. “Wasn’t that why daddy Sheriff was pissy?”

“I missed a couple days, I – uh – I shouldn’t miss any more,” he explained, avoiding her eye awkwardly, self-conscious, he could already feel the red hot burn of humiliation flaring up in his chest and cheeks. 

“Or you’ll go crazy?” she laughed, a playful spark dancing in her eyes. 

“Not exactly,” he rubbed his jaw nervously, “it’s anxiety mostly, but I used to get blackouts, panic attacks, meds help. It’s been a lot better, but I don’t really wanna mess with a good thing, you know?”

“Well, that’s too bad kiddo,” she shrugged, disappointment clear as she thumbed a couple bills onto the table, “next time you decide to skip a couple, give me a call, you can buy me a drink,” she winked, pushing herself out of the booth, leaning over the table a little to gently kiss his cheek.

A warm buzz blossomed throughout his body, coursing like molten lava. 

“Yeah,” he grinned fondly, desperately trying to conceal the giddy feeling building his chest, his heart thudding violently against his ribcage with excitement.

A wicked grin played across Tessa’s smile, her eyes bright as she looked down at him, twisting his hair a little with her long fingers. “Til next time, Stewy, I had fun.”  

Oh God...

He wasn’t sure how long he sat in the booth, a stupid smirk on his face. Though it was definitely long enough for the waitress to clear the table without him noticing and enough time for the diner to pretty much clear out. Honestly he would have been perfectly happy to sit in that booth all afternoon, thinking about those lingering glances, deliberate touches, wandering -

“Stu?”

Though apparently his quantity for amicable socialising had been allotted for the day.

Scotty McCall – just the person to ruin his almost redeemable afternoon. Sure his morning had been terrible, but couple hours with Tess and he could’ve almost counted this as a good day. Almost.

“Stu-art,” Stuart corrected, his blissful mood sinking fast with every passing second, “you really should be able to handle multiple syllables by now McCall, I mean you’re practically a senior.”

“You okay? We’ve been looking all over for you,” Scott frowned at him, concern practically dripping from his expression.

“It’s not four,” Stuart noted, glancing at his watch with mild disinterest – 3:42, well technical it still wasn’t four. “Sheriff said I had ‘til four until he sent the hounds after me…”

Did - did McCall just flinch?

“Were you here… alone?” Scott sniffed – sniffed, like what the fuck? – the air around the booth suspiciously.

“We’re not friends McCall, don’t play the sympathy card with me,” Stuart muttered bitterly, he wasn’t about to take pity from Mr Popular just because he thought Stuart was some sad little loner. “I don’t pry into your cultish little friend group, so why don’t you stay the hell out of my life.”

The hurt look on McCall's face said it all. 

Ugh, why did insulting Scott always feel like kicking a small child, or an adorable puppy?

“Look I’m going, happy?” he stood up; hands raised high in surrender as he made his way to the exit. Tess had paid when she left, so there was nothing for him to do but leave and apparent Scott had been anointed as his warden for the afternoon... 

“Do –do you want a ride home?” Scott offered, trailing after Stuart as he walked out of the diner. “I’ve got an extra helmet…” 

Stuart paused mid-step as he turned back to face his brother’s best friend. Scott immediately took this as a positively response and pointed over the bright green Kawasaki propped up in the almost vacant lot.

Of course McCall had a freaking motorcycle… 

“Well, Frenso’s a fair trip, but if you’re up for it…” 

“Oh – no, I didn’t – I meant – “ Scott blanched instantly, eyes wide as he struggled to offer any sort of intelligent response to that.

“It was a joke, McCall, chill…” Stuart felt a genuine smirk dance across his lips as he watched the poor guy stumble of his words.

“Oh right,” Scott left out a breathy nervous chuckle, “Cool.”

“So…” Scott broke the silence with cringing awkwardness, “how are you?”

Stuart raised his brows high, staring down McCall in silence retort. Really Scotty? We playing this game?

“I’m great,” he offered facetiously, squinting in eyes a little - how was he? Yeah, he was pretty sure perfect little Scotty McCall quite wasn't ready for that wonderful conversation. 

“Oh, okay, good,” Scott nodded in casual acceptance, clearly not understanding the high level of sarcasm attached to his retort.

Holy fuck, this was awful. 

“Hey, so are you doing anything tonight?” the human puppy asked casually. 

“I’m grounded,” he blinked, thoroughly bored with this conversation now. Small talk was the devil's work. 

“So you’ll be at home then?” Scott asked, “All night?” 

“Hence the grounding...” he spoke slowly, like he was talking to a small child – then again, McCall was practically like an overgrown child. 

“Oh okay, right,” Scott nodded numbly, “good…” he uttered quietly, like he was unaware that Stuart was still standing there, “that’s good.”

O-kay...? 

Was this Scott's way of nicely telling him he didn't want to hang out with him? Or was he actually that stupid to think that Stuart had planned to be grounded that night? 

“Well then, I should, uh, I’ll see you around, then," Scott shrugged awkwardly, dragging his feet slightly as he slowly made his way over to his motorbike - defeat was clear in the teen's shoulders. 

An annoying - realistic - part of Stuart's mind reminded him that his phone currently sat at less than 5%, the little red battery glaring at him for his carelessness, and the fact that he didn't exactly know where he was... and the fact that it was getting pretty close to four...

“McCall,” Stuart groaned, hanging his head, admitting defeat as he begrudgingly caved. “I could actually use a ride…”

“Sure, man, of course!” Scott beamed brightly, like Stuart had just confirmed Santa’s existence, tossing Stuart a helmet before he had a chance to change his mind.  

The ride back to the house had been awkward - just as he had expected clinging to his brother’s best friend on a death-vehicle would be.

Though there was one benefit he could see over a car – no talking. As much as Scott tried to hold a conversation, nattering on about God knows what, Stuart couldn’t hear anything over the wind and the bike’s engine.

“Uh, thanks, McCall,” he offered quietly, handing back the helmet awkwardly.

“You can call me Scott, you know,” Scott told him, accepting the helmet.

“We’re not friends,” Stuart was quick to shut the other teen down - last thing he needed was Stiles' little jealousy streak coming into play. 

“We could be,” Scott tried again, “Like we were, you know?”

Stuart paused in the doorway, thankful that someone had forgot to lock the front door as he pushed it open with ease. Memories of his childhood in Beacon Hills danced across his reverie as he thought over the years spent with Scott McCall in his life. 

“We were never friends.”

Well, on the one hand, he had totally expected a door to be slammed in his face. Though he hadn’t necessarily expected it to be so literal.

Silver lining - he’d made it to the door to have it slam in his face… so progress? 

But Stiles was his brother, so therefore Stuart was also his brother. 

And while Scott didn’t really know much about being Stuart’s brother, he knew how to be a friend, if that’s what Stuart needed.

Or maybe Stuart just needed someone to vent to, or at. 

Then again, maybe he just needed someone to blame... 

And maybe that was progress?

For now, at least, he was fine with being the friend, or the punching bag, or even the bad buy, if it helped Stuart find a way back to Stiles. 

His relationship with Stuart could take it, Stiles' and Stuart's... not so much. 

On the other hand, it was actually probably a good thing Stuart had slammed the door in his face, rather than invite him in... since Stiles had already given the house a decent sprinkle with mountain ash - he could feel the subtle humming of the protection barrier working before him. 

Yeah, that might have gotten awkward if he'd attempted to walk through the door.

But it meant Stuart was safe for the night, which eased his mind.

Stiles' anxiety was enough for the two of them.

 He heard the two idiots long before either of them stormed through the large industrial door of the loft - heavy footfalls and loud playful banter alerting all those with enhanced hearing of their arrival.  

“Well this is… formal,” Stiles announced, pausing in the doorway for a moment to survey the surroundings. Liam and the girls had arrived earlier - keeping mostly to themselves over by the table at the far end of the room. 

“Just sit the hell down,” Derek ordered with an exasperated sigh.

“Why do you even still have the lease on this place?" Stiles raised a suspicious glare in his direction. 

“He owns it,” Scott shrugged casually as he walked past, carrying on his casual conversation with Stiles as though there wasn't anyone else in the room.  

“The loft?” 

“The building," Scott revealed. 

‘The building’ Stiles mouthed at Scott, taking in the size of the space around him, adding a low whistle. “Would’ve been nice to know,” he added in a mutter, clearly to himself, though nothing was really all that private in a room full of werewolves.

“Would’ve been nice to know that you have a twin brother,” Derek shot back, possibly a little childishly. 

“How long are you going to hold that against me?” 

“Uh…” Derek hummed as he thought for a second, “forever.”

“Awesome,” Stiles sneered, "Anyway, I thought you were being all ‘Stay out of my life, Stilinski’,” he growled, his imitation of Derek’s gruff tones sounding more like Christian Bale’s Batman more than anything.

“I asked for his help,” Scott revealed patiently.  

“What with?”

“What do you think?” Scott sighed, glancing over at the young blonde hunched over on the couch.

“Right, gotcha,” Stiles winked.

“Go talk to her," Scott instructed Stiles quietly, nodding over at the girls. 

"Yeah, okay, cool," Stiles relented softly, hanging his head as he shuffled over towards the others, his heart beating a little too fast for it to be considered normal.

"He's apologising," Scott informed him, alerting Derek to the fact that he was starring.

With a subtle cock of his brow he apparently - unknowingly - requested Scott continue.

"He's been pretty caught up in that suicide case lately, and forgot he was meant to help out Malia with her Summer school prep."

Derek's gaze trailed over to Stiles' watching him dance around a little, nervously, hands flailing as he worked up the courage to admit he was wrong. Which, apparently, was forgiven all to easily, as Malia was quick to curl up in Stiles' arms, hand reaching up to his jaw to gently pull him closer -  

Which was his cue to stop watching them. Feeling a flicker on annoyance in his chest as he turned back to Scott - who was looking up at him expectedly. 

"What is it?" Derek shot the young Alpha a concern glance. 

"I - uh," Scott hummed anxiously, before begrudgingly revealing, "I need some advice..."  

“This isn’t about Liam, is it?” Derek cut to the chase, not particularly wanting to deal with niceties or small talk. 

“How do I deal with Stuart?” 

Of all the words he had considered hearing in that moment, advice on Stiles' brother was completely out of left field. 

“And you think I would know that why?” Derek looking at Scott as if he’d suddenly grown several heads.

“You were an Alpha too," Scott whine a little, like he thought Derek knew all the answers. 

“Yeah, with no experience, like any,” Derek told him earnestly, “what does that have to do with Stuart?”

“Okay, well Stiles is in my pack, but Stuart isn’t, but - “

“You want him to be…?” Derek frowned, cocking his head to one side in confusion.

"I sorta feel like he already is," Scott winced, looking almost guilty about whatever it was he was feeling, “I feel responsible for him, like I would Stiles, or Liam, like I would pack…” he frowned in frustration, slowly looking up at Derek for guidance, “And I can’t shake it.”

It didn't make any sense. Stiles' brother had only been in town for a few days now. And before that, what, seven - eight years since Scott had seen him? That wasn't nearly enough time to form any sort of pack bond, even if Stuart had wanted to be apart of the back - which seemed impossible given he didn't even know werewolves existed. 

“Their scent is uncannily similar, maybe that’s just messing with your instincts,” Derek offered in quiet suggestion, thinking aloud more than anything else. “Once you learn to separate them, it’ll be easier.” 

Once they all learned to tell the two apart it would make everything a lot easier. 

“Yeah maybe,” Scott sighed. He didn't sound wholly convinced on the subject, but he definitely seemed calmer about the situation.  “It’s just weird…” 

Derek had never heard of identical twins being in different packs before, siblings yes, but not twins - monozygotic twins were always in the same pack. Ethan and Aiden's Alpha powers had proven the extent the bond could be used. But it didn't bode well for Scott if Stiles was adamant about keeping Stuart away. 

And yes, the distance would help in the long run, though it probably wouldn't be easy for Scott in the weeks after Stuart's departure. Losing a pack member was difficult, especially one that left by choice - the bond would still be there, confused and wanting, desperately trying to reach out to something that wasn't there...

Ultimately there wasn't much Scott could do, unless he stayed away from Stuart - but Derek wasn't sure that was really an option they should consider, given how isolated Stuart already was from his family and knowing that Stiles would more than likely choose Scott.  

“Hey, one more thing,” Scott bit his lip in thought, “is there, like, any way of retrieving a memory from a scent?”

“Scent is one of the most prominent forms of recalling memory, even without our enhanced senses,” Derek supplied easily - at least this was a question he could answer. Though he paused for a moment to studying Scott's worried expression with a similar unease growing. “Why, did something else happen?”

“I thought I smelled something today, problem is I can’t remember what it reminds me of…”

“Good or bad?” Derek's brows deepened in concern, his mind churning over the possibilities. Something good he could deal with - a perfume an old elementary school teacher used to wear or an air freshener someone once bought. But something bad could mean a range of things, a range of people. The enemies of Scott's pack were only growing over the years, and while they had dealt with most, there were others still lurking in the shadows, waiting for their moment to return. 

“Also can’t remember,” Scott shrugged a little, looking slightly despairing.  

“It’s probably nothing,” Derek offered, knowing there was little he could do without all the information, “but let me know if you smell it again…”

‘You busy?’ 

He sent the message out of necessity. 

Yeah, Danny was an awesome guy, like the best - but there was still some hesitation there. He had talked to the guy in years, so there was bound to be some awkwardness. 

Danny:

'Sorry man, got a date, tomorrow?' 

Well there goes that plan...

He’d send a fairly casual – ‘Thanks for today’ – sort of message to Tessa and had so far got no reply. Which was fine, she was probably a super busy woman. And he couldn’t exactly send another text without seeming completely desperate.

His thumb had hovered over Malia’s name for a brief moment before he’d given up on that completely. She’d text him if she needed his help. Befriending Stiles’ girlfriend wasn’t going to solve anything, even if she was nice…

Which then left him in the agonising hell that was his childhood bedroom.

Alone.

Bored.

Grounded…

God, was the Sheriff serious?

He hadn’t been grounded since he was twelve years old – an unfortunate serious of events that had resulted in the complete dismantlement of the microwave and toaster… to be fair, his babysitter was far too occupied with texting her boyfriend and his own natural curiosity had egged him on.

Being grounded as a seventeen year old was nothing like it was back then. For one, he had access to all of his electrical belongings – phone, television… all at his disposal. So no 'punishment' there.

Also, there was the small matter of his lack of warden. And wasn’t that the point of the Sheriff’s whole ‘I don’t trust you around my people’ speech? But the first thing the Sheriff does is leave him to his own devices.

A spiteful part of him wanted to immediately push the boundaries confining him. What the hell was the Sheriff even going to do if his precious rules were disobeyed? 

Would he even notice?

Stiles wasn’t home, the Sheriff wasn’t home.

But...

There was bound to be a point where the Sheriff would cave and tell his Grandparents - ugh. His Grandpa would do that disappointed face and his Grandma would probably just send him back to Dr Francis...  

Nope. 

So he resigned himself to his fate, deciding to move to more promising ventures - like food.

Well he would've, if there was actually anything in the fridge - other than two galleons of milk (clearly Stiles' still hadn't grown out of that), a jar of pickles and a lonely kraft single. The cupboards weren't looking any better: Stiles' cereal (which literally said 'Stiles' don't eat - I mean it Dad, don't even look at this' ) some peanut butter and several cans of tuna. Nothing that really looked that appetising. 

It was clear that neither the Sheriff nor Stiles had been doing a lot of eating in the kitchen lately - probably living off take out and Melissa's cooking.   

A sharp shrill from his phone alerted him instantly to the message on the screen. Tessa had finally texted back –‘Anytime’

Good God, he hoped he could take her up on that offer. Might actually make the next few weeks in this town bearable - especially if Danny was going to be busy with his new boy toy... 

Giving the kitchen a final once over, he knew he wasn't going to find much there, which left him with one option...

The 7-11 wasn't too far... and well, tree falls in a forest and all…

Who was going to know if he slipped out for a few minutes?

“Got any twos?” Stiles hummed thoughtfully as he starred down at his hand of cards, studying them carefully under the dim glow of the camping lantern. He just needed one more two and then he would have a perfect little threesome set up in his ever growing collection of pairs and triplets, with his four queens sitting proudly at the top, reigning over his beautiful card kingdom - Scott's pitiful two pairs, didn't even compete... 

Which made him realised that Scott wasn't actually paying any attention to the game at hand, like at all.  

“Yo, Scotty,” Stiles nudged the other boy with the tip of his shoe, “asking the important questions here…”

They had made a pretty good little set up - utilising all of the McCall's camping gear, sans tent. And Stiles had cleared out the pantries, brining enough food to last three humans over a week, or one night with two very hungry werewolves. The weather was calm, even a little balmy with a gentle breeze, which was actually kinda nice. If this became a thing, they should totally make a campfire next time, bring some marshmallows, makes some s'mores - it'd be awesome... 

Back in sophomore year, Stiles really couldn't picture that this was what full moon's were going to be like, but Scott really had a handle on it and Liam? Well, he would learn soon enough and he was doing pretty good so -  

“What was that?” Scott's head whipped up, eyes wide, listening intently as he sat frozen for a moment before glancing over at Stiles. 

“Um, what was what?” Stiles tightened his gaze suspiciously, really not wanting to know that answer to that question – because did anyone ever?

“You didn’t hear – “ Scott began to eat his words as he caught the look on Stiles’ face. “Oh yeah, right.”

The was a sudden echoing groan of metal, sounding a little too much like a very angry young beta slipping his shackles in the hopes of running off to tear apart something squishy and fragile... 

“That didn’t sound good,” Stiles pursed his lips with a wince.

“Come on!” Scott urged, leaping out of his chair and hastily darting off into the dark corridor, leaving Stiles no other option but to abandon their comfy little set up and follow his best friend deeper into the tunnels. 

Negotiating the Hale's underground labyrinth was near impossible without werewolf senses, causing Stiles to fall behind a little as he gingerly avoided the rumble and watery something lapping at his feet - the drainage in this place wasn't really thought through.  

Scott's calls of 'Liam' rang along the walls, allowing Stiles to find his way, his phone's flashlight lighting his way, leading him towards a room at the far end. 

A room that currently only held one werewolf. 

The chains that had once held the young beta were ripped open as though made of soft plastic, blood and skin grated against the broken bounds, making him a little more than queazy as his flashlight illuminated ground zero of the beta's escape. 

In the centre of the room stood a forlorn looking Alpha, desperate eyes met Stiles and he slowly entered the room, silently begging him to help him fix everything. 

“Well it’s safe to say he’s not here…” Stiles winced.  

“It’s useless,” Malia huffed out in defeat, glaring down at her cousin with rich discontent. “I’m never going to be able to do this.”

The large obsidian wolf prowled in the shadows, the moon light making his coat look almost blue in colour, matching the glow of his eyes as he slunk back into the cover of trees and bushes. 

They had been standing out in the middle of the Preserve for a little over two hours now with no results. Not even a little hint of her complete shift.  Derek has been - showing off - shifting back and forth, trying to get her to slow the beating of her heart in order to fully concentrate.

Which wasn't exactly working... 

“Try again," Derek told her calmly, concealed by a veil of darkness as he shrugged his henley and jeans back on. 

"Stiles should be here," Malia pouted with a hard glare, "he's my anchor, I won't be able to control it without him."

"You can't always rely on Stiles," he revealed pragmatically as he walked back to join her.

"Why not?" she growled, teeth sharp at the very insinuation, "why don't you trust Stiles?" 

"I didn't mean it like that, I meant you can't put that on him," Derek smiled a little, clearly not offended or intimidated by her threatening glare. "Okay, let be put it this way, what college is he going to?"

"I don't know..." she shrugged numbly, avoiding Derek's searching gaze, "I have to be a senior first, then we're deciding..." her words faded as she struggled to find an answer.

Where was she going to go? What if she had to repeat Junior year and couldn't graduate with them?

Stiles wouldn't wait. 

It had been a slow realisation, but a very clear one once she'd seen it: Stiles wouldn't wait. He'd move on, go to College, leave - that was his plan. He would probably promise to call every day and meet up on weekends, but it wouldn't be the same. He was already forgetting her when she was right in front of him, she would be easy to forget about when she wasn't around. 

What would she do then? 

Derek watched her carefully, before offering a supportive look, "you can never know what's going to happen, you and Stiles might not even be together next year - "

Malia growled lowly at the thought, eyes flashing blue - egged on by the pulsating beams of the large bright moon above. 

"Do you want to know what triggered it for me?" Derek cut in quickly, placing a hand upon her shoulder in an effort to calm her raging emotions. 

"You 'evolved'?" Malia retorted dryly, shooting an unconvinced look up at him.

"I let go," he said simply, honestly, "I thought I was dying, so I just - let go of everything, the pain, the guilt, the anger, all of it..." 

"I - " Malia froze, her own guilt clawing up her throat. A flash of bright lights in the night dancing across her reverie, screams, glass shattering - 'MALIA...' 

"I don't think I can do that," she told him, her voice wavering only slightly as she fought to keep her emotions in check. 

She couldn't remember much of what happened in the crash, but she knew it had been her fault. Her mother and sister were dead because of her and there wasn't any amount of 'talking it out' with psychologists and counsellors that would stop that from being true. The cold blue tint to her eyes were proof of this. 

"Then that's what you need to work on first..." 

Thankfully, before Derek could try to start another lecture on how she needed to 'open up' and deal with her traumatic childhood, a muted buzz of his phone began to vibrate in his back pocket. 

"Scott? What's wrong?" Derek answered immediately, not wasting a second, his heart spiking a little - knowing Scott wouldn't have called Derek unless something bad had happened.   

“Derek?” Scott's voice was clear, anxious and reserved, but clear, untainted by injury which was a relief. 

"Is Stiles okay?" She asked nervously, jaw tight as she tried to listen through the phone's receiver for any clues that Stiles was unharmed. 

Derek was quick to shush her with a finger to his lips, earning a sharp glare from the were-coyote. Though both kept their tongues as they waited for Scott to continue.  

“We lost Liam…”

It was useless. 

Even with two werewolves, a were-coyote, a banshee and a kitsune all scouring the town with their supernatural enhanced senses, they still hadn't managed to find the crazy little beta.  

Which was more than a little concerning.

And it was only another ten minutes before they would have to call in his Dad...

They had all agreed, if they couldn't find Liam within the hour, they would inform the Sheriff. 

After Scott had called Derek, Stiles had phoned Lydia to inform her and Kira of the news and they had all split up to cover more of the town. 

So far no one had had any luck in tracking Liam down. 

“Anything?” Lydia ran up across the practically empty parking lot to meet them. Luckily she hadn't been feeling any sort of senses or have a need to scream, so that was a good sign at least. Liam hadn't or wasn't going to kill anyone that night... though Stiles did often wonder at how accurate Lydia's abilities were with slight maiming... 

“Nada,” Stiles reported with a frustrated groan, “you?”

Lydia shook her head, “Kira’s checking up with Mason, making sure Liam doesn’t head over to his place out of habit.”

“Yeah, Mom said she’d make sure his Dad was okay at the hospital,” Scott let them know, his voice was quiet, sounding a little defeated, “his Mom’s out of town…”

“Okay, well where else would he go?” Lydia looked to Scott for answers, clearly trying to create a mental strategy for their next plan of attack. 

“I don’t know...” Scott frowned, guilt all too obvious on his strained features, his voice thin and desperate. 

"The school?" Stiles suggested, trying to list the possibilities. He had to keep Scott focused. "Should we maybe check Devenford's grounds too?"

“Wait – “ Scott paused, holding up his hands to quiet them, closing his eyes as he concentrated on the scents and sounds around him.

Stiles practically held his breath as he watched Scott closely, afraid that his breathing might screw up their chance at finding Liam.  

“This way!” Scott called out loudly after a moment, springing into action as he darted off across the parking lot. Stiles and Lydia shared a brief look before chasing after the manic Alpha.

"Liam," Stiles called out into the night, knowing that yelling the boy's name hadn't worked so far, but still hopeful enough to give it a try.

"Liam!" Lydia followed in suite, tittering after them in shoes that were clearly not made for activities like chasing down a rouge werewolf... 

“Uh oh,” Scott suddenly froze mid-step, eyes wide, head jerked up to stare at something unseen. The abrupt halt caused an unaware Stiles to run right into the back of his best friend, just barely catching himself. 

“’Uh oh’? That didn’t sound like a good ‘uh oh’,” Stiles’ heckles were up instantly, nerves wracked as his eyes darted around the surrounding area in a mad panic. 

“Stuart’s here,” Scott flickered a nervous gaze back at Stiles as Lydia caught up with them. 

“Wha - ?” Stiles cut himself off with a groan of annoyance, racking his fingers through his already dishevelled hair. Stuart wasn't supposed to be here, he was meant to be safe, behind a thick line of mountain ash with Wolfsbane trailed along his windowsill. “Seriously? It’s like he’s actively trying to get himself killed…” 

As if sensing his presence was so not wanted - Stuart was suddenly there, casually walking out of the convenience store like there wasn't a crazy little teen wolf running around in the shadows wanting to rip apart something fragile and defenceless. 

His idiotic brother practically froze solid when he saw the three standing in the parking lot – arm full of assorted candy and a large slushy - begrudgingly pulling his headphones out of his ears, letting them hang around his neck, though he made no attempt to turn off the deafening music. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles barked, unable to hold back the fury inside. 

“So, I’m not allowed to even allowed to leave the house now?” Stuart let out in a low drawl, raising his eyebrows a little as a spiteful glare washed across his face. 

“No,” Stiles shot back, “because you’re grounded, that’s how it works, so go home.”

 “And whose fault is that?” Stuart jab was curt and barbed; clearly Stu had worked out just how Dad had known about his little adventure with Danny on Friday night.

“Um, yours,” Stiles shot back, anxiety making him nervous as his eyes flittered around the quiet gas station – Liam was here somewhere, the look in Scott’s eyes only confirmed it, and his idiot brother was just strolling around completely unaware of the danger he was in, “maybe you shouldn’t be out drinking with a fake ID.”

“You know, this concerned brother act of yours isn’t really that convincing,” Stuart snarled the words bitterly. 

“Go home, now,” Stiles ordered, gritting his teeth in frustration. 

“Stiles, you should take him home,” Scott muttered under his breath, gently taking Stiles' elbow to whisper into his ear. 

“What about Liam?” Stiles snapped his head over at his best friend, searching his eyes, “I can help.”

“Help by getting Stuart out of here.”

Help by staying out of it Stiles, his father's words played across his reverie, 

“Don’t bother, I know the way,” Stuart rolled his eyes, turning heel to begin walk off toward the darkened streets. They didn’t need supernaturally enhanced senses to hear Stuart mutter ‘assholes’ as he walked away.

“Ugh… Stuart!” Stiles groaned, reluctantly running after his brother. “Just stop, okay?” he put his hands on his brother’s shoulders to physically stop him, “Look, don’t be an idiot, it’s the middle of the night, yeah?” he swallowed, searching Stuart's eyes in attempts to make him see reason. 

“Fine, whatever,” Stuart let out a sigh in defeat, shaking his head a little. 

Yes! Stiles mentally beamed in victory. 

“Could you drop him home?” he turned to Lydia, choosing to ignore his brother's petulant 'you serious?' mutter behind him. 

Lydia's eyes bulged a little, looking a touch uncomfortable, which was fair enough, Stuart was a dick and all and the two hadn't really been alone since... well ever. But Scott needed him right now and having an excuse to keep Lydia out of danger was an added bonus. 

"Stiles, I don't really - " however Lydia's protests were cut off as Scott caught sight of something in the shadows behind them. 

“Liam!” Scott cried out, brushing past Stiles in order to rush forward just as the young beta ran out of the shadows and into the overhead lights of the parking lot, crashing into Scott's outstretched arms. 

 “No-no-no-no!” Stiles’ eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of bright glowing eyes and elongated teeth.

“I’m okay,” the younger boy choked out through heaved breaths, leaning over, bracing himself against his knees in attempts to catch his breath. Scott was instantly crouched down beside him, hands grabbing his shoulders, desperately trying to make sure Liam was alright, “I’m okay,” Liam promised his Alpha softly. 

“What the…” 

Stiles felt his stomach drop as he slowly turned towards his brother. 

Stuart was staring straight at Liam.

Chapter Text

One Coke Slurpee.

That’s all he wanted.

Just a nice icy beverage with one of those shovel straws, nothing fancy or out of the realm of possibility. Sure, he’d thrown in some Red Vines – who was he to deny an opportunity.

With the kitchen cupboards down to the bare bones, he’d really only been left with one option. Well two.

He could’ve ordered pizza.

Fuck, he should’ve just ordered pizza…

But no, he hadn’t – like an idiot. And now here he was, watching his bizarro brother dance around like he was on fire.

“I can explain!” Stiles flailed like some crazed, spastic puppet, eyes wide and manic.

“Please don’t…” Stuart muttered as he actively avoided looking at the little half-naked teen. He really didn’t care what Stiles was doing with shirtless freshmen in the middle of the night – his mind was already supplying a whole range of unwelcome thoughts to explain that one away – knowing it probably had something to do with lacrosse hazing, or something equally as dumb. Giving him the feeling that ignorance might be far easier in this moment.  

Although why was the kid running around barefoot? Jesus… 

What was the kid’s name anyway? What had they called him – Lucas? Lionel? Leon? Yeah, Leon sounded right… What the hell was Leon doing running around without a shirt on a Sunday night?  

Maybe Leon was high…?

Leon was probably high.

Beacon Hills was weird, he thought as he chewed absently on the long red liquorice straw, only half listening to his brother’s psychotic rant.

Thankfully, the car park was pretty much abandoned, so no one else had to bear witness to his brother’s insanity – only Stiles’ friends and honestly, if they didn’t know what they were dealing with yet, now was as good a time as any to find out…

“Listen, okay, I know this is a lot, okay? I know, but it’ll make so much more sense if you just let me explain,” Stiles told Stuart slowly, like he was speaking to an idiot. Yes Stiles, a patronizing tone is always the best way to get your point across…

Stuart blinked slowly, taking a sip of his drink – which was so not worth the drama it has caused in purchasing it. It was practically half melted now anyway – which basically just made it flat, watered down Coke – which was disgusting. 

“Stiles,” Scott groaned, trying to get his friend’s attention, but clearly failing miserably.

“So…” Stiles bit his lip, wincing as he waited with baited breath for Stuart’s reaction, looking more like he was about to have some sort of mental conniption, "werewolves…” 

Huh. 

So maybe Stiles was the one on drugs...

Either way, he should buy another Slurpee… this one was practically a write-off at this point. On second though, given the position the original slurpee had put him in, he should just call it a night and be done with it… 

“Can one of you just give me a ride?” Stuart looked over to Scott and Lydia for an answer – he didn’t really trust Stiles behind the wheel right now, given he was definitely on something - he even seemed to be twitching slightly. Also being in a car with Stiles meant he had to put up with the rare flare of crazy his brother was sparking up this evening… Which was definitely not on his list of To-dos.

“What?” Stiles’ jaw dropped in disbelief, arms flailing manically, eyes squinting as confusion flooded his expression, “I just – what? ”

“Stiles,” Lydia stressed, her tone one of dire impatience. 

Stiles’ head snapped back to look at Lydia, catching a glimpse at the young blonde still shirtless teen – and okay ‘Summer’ or whatever, but it wasn’t So Cal summer, and with the cool night breeze it was barely pushing 50. But whatever Stiles saw made his spastic flails a little less pronounced. “Oh, hey… okay, cool, I guess, maybe, there’s no explanation needed… Nothing strange about that – nope – just a normal teenager, running around the woods at night, totally normal – “

“Stiles,” Scott sighed, alerting Stiles to the fact that he was clearly rambling.

“Yup, cool,” Stiles nodded, trying to sober his frantic spazziness.

Stuart shook his head, slurping his flat, watery coke with a bored, blank expression, as he watched the entire chaotic situation with the same fascination as watching paint dry.

“Come on, I’ll drop you home,” Lydia offered sharply, pursing her lips as she sent a look to both Scott and Stiles – as though communicating something – before hastily trotting off in the direction of her car, heeled boots echoing in the empty parking lot.

Stuart went to follow, but paused looking back at his brother, “Adderall abuse,” he quipped at Stiles with a queer look, “look into it.”

“Copy that,” Stiles nodded stiffly, looking as though he was mentally kicking himself from the embarrassment of the last few minutes.

Good.

There is approximately two minutes of stunned silence as they stood in the vacant lot, watching Stuart and Lydia drive off into the night. Two minutes of Stiles stunned into absolute awe as his mind failed to comprehend the exchange he had just witnessed.

“Please, tell me I’m not the only one that saw that?” Stiles gaped, eyes wide with utter disbelief – because seriously? How could someone be that oblivious? 

“Oh, I definitely saw it,” Scott offered Stiles a wince of sympathy as he shrugged an arm around Liam to support the younger boy.

“He just – ” Stiles gestured wildly at Liam, “and nothing, not a thing,” he seethed, mind reeling over the impossibility of the entire situation. “I mean he was looking straight at him! What is he – blind?”

Well, most likely a little, but they both knew Stuart didn’t really need to wear his glasses all the time – he just liked not looking like Stiles… 

“People see what they wanna see,” Scott shrugged it off simply, his focus seeming to be more on Liam than the literal catastrophe that has just occurred, checking over the beta carefully as Stiles paced vehemently. “And it’s kinda dark, I guess?”

“You guess?” Stiles balked, eyes twitching with frustration, before levelling an annoyed glare at the young guilty looking beta. “And you…”

“I’m sorry,” Liam moaned, lip pouting like a little kid, large blue eyes shining a little under the bright lights of the 7-11.

“It’s… not your fault,” Stiles sighed, scrubbing his fingers through already dishevelled hair. “But you run off like that again and I’ll have Deaton microchip your ass – don’t think that I won’t,” he threatened, only half joking. The microchip thing might actually come in handy…

“C’mon,” Scott muttered “we should get him home.” 

“Home?” Stiles frowned, “Moon’s still out, what if he…” he made a motion at teeth and claws and general werewolfiness.

“He’s fine,” Scott sighed, clearly as exhausted as his beta after the chaos of the evening. "Let's go," he added, helping Liam make his way towards the jeep at the other side of the lot, leaving Stiles, once again, stunned. 

“Why am I the only one acting like a rational human being?” he called out after them. 

Oh God he should’ve walked.

Why did he keep making awful decisions? 

He should’ve walked and risked potential stabbing, because that was so much better than sitting in a car with Lydia Martin – Demon Queen of Hell. 

The preppy red head looked like she was having an inner battle with herself on whether or not to stab him and toss his body in a wood chipper or to run like hell and never look back.

A slight chill from the car’s central cooling made him unconsciously shiver. He could see the goose bumps pimpling Lydia’s skin, though she seemed to ignore it, eyes focused solely on the road. And while she seemed unfazed by the frigid temperature, Stuart took a chance to reach out and adjust the thermostat.

It was subtle, if he hadn’t been watching her, he would have missed it.

A flinch.

Not an ‘oops, forgot you were there’ flinch, but an ‘I’m terrifying of you and I’m trying to hide it’ flinch. 

And okay, fine, he wasn’t particularly the nicest of guys – on a good day – but it wasn’t like he’d ever done anything to physically hurt her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled an apology, retreating his limbs back into their allocated area, knowing that he hadn’t done anything wrong, but feeling a need to say it anyway. “It’s cold,” he added lamely.

There was barely a flicker of acknowledgement from the redhead, who kept her attention solely on the dark winding roads ahead.

Silence filled the car to an almost suffocating degree, but he wasn’t going to be the one to break it. He was used to silence anyway. 

“You shouldn’t walk around at night by yourself,” Lydia offered in clipped tones, lips pursed together, eyes never leaving the road. “It’s dangerous.”

“Because of the… werewolves?” he shot her a dubious look, the word sounding completely foreign in his mouth.

“Yes.”

And honestly, he couldn’t tell whether she was joking or if she seriously did believed werewolves existed. 

“Ok-ay,” he nodded, turning away to look out into the darkened streets, having no idea what he could possible add to that comment. So he didn’t and let the silence blanket the car once more, the hum of the engine and heater roaring in the absence.

The silence held until Lydia pulled up alongside the Sheriff’s house, giving Stuart the silent cue to ‘get the fuck out and never speak to her again’, or so he thought.

As he tried to exit, he felt a gentle hand brush against his sleeve, gripping his elbow softly, just enough to hold him back, but not enough to seem forceful.

Peering back at the pensive redhead, he could see she was still mentally working through what she wanted to say.

“You need to talk to him,” Lydia chewed absently on her bottom lip as she finally looked up at him. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and he’s being an idiot, but I do know it’s because he’s trying to protect you.”

Stuart furrowed his brow unconsciously, wondering what the hell would Stiles be trying to protect him from.

“He loves you,” she promised, though her unreadable expression didn’t exactly help her words ring true, “Just give him time, he’ll come ‘round.” 

Stuart watched the girl curiously as she drove off into the night. Lydia Martin was definitely not the girl he remembered. A girl he’d once thought destined for Prom Queen and cheerleading practices, the Lydia Martin he knew would’ve never hung out with people like his brother – she had actively avoided the Stilinski’s when he had lived in Beacon Hills.

This Lydia was like the polar opposite of the girl he remembered. This Lydia seemed to be guarded and cautious, though more surprisingly she genuinely seemed to care about Stiles’ well being, and wasn’t that something…

The morning light filtered through the blinds in an almost intrusive manner, invading the room, uninvited and unwanted. Usually this intrusion would have gone unnoticed in the otherwise unaware household. However, some mornings, it didn't.  

“Stilinski…” he groaned instinctively in the infernal cellular device, heel of his palm scrubbing at tired eyes. Having silenced the incessant ringing at his bedside, it took a moment to realise why he had done it.  A glance at his bedside clock cheerfully informed him that is was ‘5:45AM’ – a whole three hours of recharge to his weary body.

“Myers’ kid is missing,” Parrish’s tone was curt, exhaustion clear in his hoarse voice. 

“Aww crap,” he swore under his breath, closing his eyes, praying this was all some over-tired nightmare. Forcing himself into a sitting position, he allowed his mind to focus back on the case at hand. “They sure he’s actually missing? I mean, I saw the kid yesterday, he was pretty torn up about Bridie, he might just be taking some time…” 

“Sheriff Myers is calling for a search,” Parrish informed him wearily, "He's being pretty insistent." 

“Jesus – what?” he was suddenly awake, startled by the sheer insanity of it all.

As a Sheriff, Myers knew the extent of the law, as well as its limitations. Casey was twenty-three, a legal adult and having personally laid eyes on the kid less than 12 hours previously, the Sheriff knew for a fact he had not been ‘missing’ long…

Several shouts in the background of the call gave the Sheriff a sample of the chaos Parrish was dealing with. 

“You better get down here…”

Giving Parrish his word to see him shortly, the Sheriff ended the call, attempting all he could to mentally prepare himself for what awaited him, feeling the frustration growing in the pit of his stomach. Incompetence was not something he tolerated lightly, especially from colleagues who should know better.  

Once dressed, he spared a moment to glance in at the last bedroom in the hall. Being the morning after a full moon, he knew Stiles wouldn’t be back this early, but unlike other mornings, he did have another son under his roof to locate.

Thankfully - miraculously - Stuart was in his room. Spreadeagled, like a damn little sproglet, across his bed was his son, glasses discarded on the nearby table, blissfully unaware of the outside world. 

"Hey, I gotta head into the office kid," the Sheriff whispered, kneeling down beside the bed, brushing back the wayward fringe in the sleeping boy's eyes, feeling slightly guilty about stolen moment.  

"Mmhm," was all the response he got.

 "Good talk," the Sheriff sighed, hating the weight in his chest, gently tapping his son's arm as he stands up. "Love you kid." 

The house is quiet when he finally wakes. Which is actually a welcomed reprieve.

He’d been expecting some sort of awkward family breakfast – Stiles dobbing him in for his night-time antics, the Sheriff would’ve no doubt responded by ignoring Stiles’ bizarre behaviour and further punished Stuart like the stain on the family name he was…

But fortunately, he didn’t have to find out, because – as he was quick to realise – no one was home.

Rolling the crink out of his neck, he stumbled for the silent hallway, pausing before Stiles' bedroom door as mind replaying the night before with strange contemplation. 

Werewolves?  He snorted at the thought. Sure, Stiles, 'werewolves' were real... and so was Santa and Tooth fairy. 

Frozen in the doorway of his brother's room he bit his lip in thought. His theory that Stiles was on something had just been a joke a first, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense...  

He really shouldn't. 

But something was still itching at the back of his mind – something that wouldn’t leave him alone until he found some sort of physical evidence that he was right and this was all just his brother’s over-imagination.

Without a second thought he stepped through the doorway, careful not to move the door on his way in - knowing Stiles would probably be weirdly OCD about things out of place.  

The desk still held it's large library of the weird and the bizarre, though it wasn't the desk top he was after. Prying open the top left draw, it was actually shameful how easy it was to find - really Stiles, he might as well put a sign on the draw that said 'I keep drugs here...'

Idiot, he thought, starring down at the mixed array of dried herbs pressed in small zip-lock bags at the back of the drawer. There was one just filled with a dark powdery substance that looked highly suspect. Not having all that much to do with any of the drug scenes back in Fresno, he couldn't exactly say what any of it was, but the fact that Stiles was hiding this in his room was enough to be certain. Also, he wasn't an idiot, hiding dried mushrooms in a tiny plastic baggie was pretty clear by anyone's standards. 

Yeah, he really hated being right sometimes.

But it made sense, really, must more sense than werewolves. If you took enough of that shit while surrounding yourself with crazy occult books then of course you’d be seeing the craziest of shit - and beside, what else were you going to do in a boring town like Beacon Hills? 

At least that was one mystery solved. 

Last night had just been the result of Stiles giving that Leon something he couldn't handle and he'd a bad trip - ran off into the woods. See, much more realistic. Simple. Done. 

Only.

There had been a moment - just a moment.

The kid's eyes had glowed - 

Nope, he shook his head, as though trying to shake out the stupidness, putting the bags back where he'd found them. Slamming the draw closed his made a quick exit out of Stiles' room completely, heading to the bathroom to clear his head. 

It had been a trick of the light or something.

It wasn't real. 

It was Stiles being an out of control junkie and putting ideas in his head. 

Or it was something more serious flaring up that he really didn’t have the time to deal with...

Glaring up at the medicine cabinet, he couldn't stop the groan that escaped through his teeth, swiping the small orange bottle, shaking out the annoying little capsule.  

It was the power of suggestion. Right? 

Basic psychology: you see what you’re told to see. 

Unreliable witnesses and everything. 

“Fucking Stiles,” he ground out under his breath as he swallowed the bitter pill in his palm. Didn’t hurt to be cautious though, even if Stiles and his friends were complete psychos...

A sharp buzzing jolt in his pocket had him scrambling to grab his phone, his heart racing as he saw the name on the screen.

Tess:

‘What are you doing?’

Stuart blinked as he re-read the text. 

Tess was texting him – texting him.

Wow...

Okay, easy. Cool. 

What was he doing? What was he doing?

Oh God… 

How was he meant to answer that? Was that flirting? Sexting?! Was he meant to reply with something sexy like ‘working out’, ‘chopping fire wood’ – fuck, what the hell did women find sexy?! 

Or was this just a casual conversation, like ‘hey, what’s up?’ – Context was key here and he was running blind…

Okay, well he needed to reply with something, because – like an idiot – he’d opened the text completely, meaning the message had been marked as READ, meaning she knew he’d seen the text – shit.

‘Not much – bored :( ’ he typed out quickly, taking a second to critically analyse each word before deleting the last part so the text simply read ‘not much’.

Done easy, simple – send.

Fuck.

The shrill of the text alert, nearly gave him a heart attack.

‘Meet me at the Circle K in twenty x’

Holy crap was that a kiss?

More importantly how the hell was he going to leave the house when he was grounded? Last night had been some sort of fluke – and he’d still been caught by dibber-dobber Stiles… 

‘Grounded :( ’ he reluctantly sent, completely unprepared as the phone immediately began to ring in his hands.

“Uh – hey –hi,” he rambled, failing to commit to just one word.

“Avoiding me Stewy?” her voice is amused, masking something indescribable.

“No, of course not, no,” he assured her in earnest – Tess was one of the few people in this God forsaken town he actually wanted to see.

“Then get your cute butt out here,” she ordered sharply, “got places to be Stewy.” Her tone was cutting, but really the only words he’d heard was ‘cute butt’ – she thought his butt was cute? He glanced over his shoulder to see if he could see it – was it really that cute?

“Stuart…” Tess pressed, making his heart beat rabbit in pace.

“Look, I would, totally, but I – “

“I need a favour - you owe me for that burger and I’m cashing in, kiddo.”

“Right, and like, I would but – “

“Grounded, I know, but seriously? Come on Stewy, sneak out,” she chuckled, wickedly, like she just knew that whatever she asked he would comply. “Girls love a rebel…”

“Circle K, right?” he felt the smile pulling excitedly, because really - when had a girl like her ever been interested in someone like him. He wasn't about to pass that up for anything. 

“Better get a move on.”

 Glancing out the window, he saw the distinct lack of vehicles – namely a certain blue jeep and BHSD standard issued sedan.

 Okay, maybe he could actually do this.

 Sure enough, the station had been in complete disarray when he arrived - deputies from both departments at odds from the lack of clear authority between them. The Modoc boys seemed to be until the entirely ludicrous assumption that they had high authority over those from Beacon County - an assumption the Sheriff was quick to put at rest once he'd been back in the room.  

"Has anybody seen Myers?" he called out in to chaos, overwhelmed by the madness Myers had brought down upon them. "Parrish?" he sighed at his deputy.

"On it Sheriff," came the dutiful response.

"Clark," he ordered, watching the young woman's head pop up out of the fray, "you and Andrews take the Modoc boys out to the Preserve, walk it through with the dogs - you spot anything and you call for back up, you hear me?" 

"Got it," she nodded, quickly settling in to the task at hand.

Well at least he still had a few good ones. 

“Wow, Stilinski, you’re looking old,” the familiar patronising tones wafted towards him accompanied by the rich scent of expensive perfume. 

“Peterson,” the Sheriff greeted the tall woman with a tight smile, more akin to a grimace as he shook the outstretched hand, leading the woman into his office. This, in all likely, would not be a conversation he wanted to have in the bullpen. “Didn’t know you’d be taking this case."

Agent Alexandra Peterson was the bureaucratic type - everything about her screamed 'Quantico', right down the precise hemming of her trousers. Their paths had several times crossed over the years during a number of investigations in the area. She had often worked closely with Raphael McCall. Even then she had been a departmental headache - Claudia used to refer to the woman as 'Satan's Mistress', though they had had to put a stop to that once Stiles had called her that to her face... 

“Yeah, well McCall tried to grab it but the bureau didn’t think it was appropriate,” Peterson snuffed piously, failing to conceal the smug grin pulling at her sharp painted lips as she took a seat, “What with the mess he caused up here.”

“The internal investigation was something we’d all like to see put far behind us,” he offered diplomatically, settling into his chair nervously under the shrewd scrutiny of her unwavering attention - the woman was like a hawk, she didn't blink. 

“Actually, I was referring to the man he shot in cold blood at the local High School,” Peterson corrected icily, her tone eerily detached as she spoke about one of her colleagues. 

“I see,” the Sheriff nodded stiffly, not wishing to show his hand either way on that matter. 

Though Raphael's presence in the town had been initially abrasive, he owed the man a debt. After everything, the sheriff wasn't sure he could ever repay Raph's actions. The nightmares still plagued him of the consequences had things been different. 

“Look, Peterson," he cleared his throat, hoping to move the conversation along, "I don’t actually have time for this today, I’m sure you’ve heard – “

“I heard Myers is wasting department resources,” the stoic Agent was quick to interject with a disapproving scoff. 

“His son is missing, Alex - ” the Sheriff argued, utter disbelief at the Agent’s callous attitude.

“His son is an air-headed, overly romantic lay-about with a history of running off,” Peterson scoffed with a patronising manner, “who – and correct me if I’m wrong – has only been unaccounted for, for… how long? What - Twelve hours?” the Agent raised her brow sceptically. “Not exactly the manhunt of the century…”

“You can understand his worry – “ 

“A worried father I can understand,” Peterson contemplated sternly, “but not an irresponsible officer of the law. Unlike some people around here, I take the law seriously and don’t feel the need to bend it when it suits me and my wayward children," shrew eyes glancing over at the small photo frame on the Sheriff's desk - the one of Stiles and his mother. 

The Sheriff sunk his teeth into the flesh of his cheek, knowing there was no way he could trust his words in this moment. Though the internal investigation was over, the damage of it's effect still tarnished his reputation, a dark stain on an otherwise pristine career. He knew the price he had to pay to keep the town safe, to keep their secret safe, but even still the inferred incompetence was something of a small burden.   

“Myers’ goose chases aside, what are you doing, Stilinski, honestly,” Peterson frowned, leaning forward, studying the Sheriff with a concerned expression. “I’ve read the files, seen the body, this should’ve been over days ago, you know this.”

“Something isn’t right with this case,” the Sheriff sighed. The unwavering look of disapproval from the Agent told him his efforts were futile, but he knew he had to try - for all her callousness and icy demeanour, Peterson was an exceptional Agent, she would see logic presented before her. “What was Bridie doing in Beacon Hills? Why were there rope fibres in her wrist?” he tapped the coroner's updated reports, pushing them towards the Agent for him to read. 

“The poor girl is dead,” Peterson sighed, ignoring the folder completely, “and frankly, dragging this out to satisfy your little ‘murder’ theory is beyond narcissistic... You've had quite a run of it lately, haven't you?" Peterson noted in a light conversational manner, glancing around the office towards the bustling bullpen. "Taking down murderers, hitmen, serial killers - a small town Sheriff's wet dream... playing hero."

"Not exactly what I would call it," the Sheriff grit his teeth. It was hard not to speak his mind when he knew it would be a completely different story if she knew the truth of what had really been occurring in Beacon Hills. 

“Just leave it be, Stilinski,” Peterson offered with an uncharacteristic softness in her tone, “you’re a damn good officer. I’d really hate to see you lose it all on a feeling…” 

“But what if I could prove – “ 

“I’ve been asked to officially close this investigation,” Peterson announced, pushing the manilla folder back towards the Sheriff. “Let’s hope we can finally give her family to grieve their daughter's loss in a healthy way.”

"Alex - "

“Go home, Stilinski…” she sighed, “Take a night off, get some sleep - you look like you could use it." Picking up the small the small faded picture frame on the Sheriff’s desk, she chuckled lightly, “Glad to see he got Claudia's good looks...”

"Better watch out, he'll be gunning for your job in a few years," the Sheriff smirked, knowing it was probably actually more than half true. He dreaded the thought of what Stiles could do if he were let loose on the Bureau.  

"Well, even at five he had the balls for it," Peterson hummed with an approving expression, replacing the frame to its original position on the desk. After a moment the softness of character she had gained in the past few minutes was lost, her cold mask of indifference firmly in place once more as she levelled the Sheriff with a heavy stare. "I'll be taking over from here on out, formalising things on our end." 

Bureau talk for 'this is not longer your business'.

"We clear?"

With a heavy sigh, he levelled the woman with an incensed stare, "Crystal."  

Stuart paused in front of the Beacon Hills Veterinarian, glancing back at Tess dubiously. “You seriously called me to help you pick out kitty litter?”

“Cute,” Tessa shot him a blunt look, but didn't explain any further.

“Uh, you know it’s closed right?” he squinted, searching Tess’s expression curiously. It seemed odd for a Veterinarian Clinic to be closed so early on a Monday morning, but small towns being as they are, they could probably afford to keep odd hours. “Your guy say when he was coming?”

“He’s a little tied up,” Tessa waved offed casually, walking back to her car, “Said, I could drop by whenever.”

“Wow…” Stuart let out a low chuckle, an amused smirk pulling at his lips, “could you sound any more like a serial killer?”

“Would a serial killer have the key?” she countered, producing said key from her back pocket as though proof of her innocence.

“Ye-ah, if you stole it off his corpse before you put him through a wood chipper,” he quipped, enjoying the banter a little too much.

“Hmm, all little premature, he still hasn’t answered all my questions,” she winked with a devilish grin, swinging open the back door of the car, “guess the wood chipper will have to wait…”

“What a shame,” he hummed, adding, “need a hand?” already feeling like an ass for not asking sooner as he watched Tessa wrestle a large cardboard box from the backseat. Contrary to popular belief, his grandfather had drilled into him a certain level of social tact and manners.

“No, just grab the door for me,” Tessa nodded over towards the entrance, holding out the key.

“Cool,” he nodded, taking the key and jogging ahead to open to door.

“And just through to the back,” she gestured with her chin, as she stepped through the front door, prompting Stuart to take the lead and hold open the small wooden gate leading into the consultation room. A flicker of static electricity fizzled under his palm and he pushed open the gate, but was quickly forgotten, as Tess brushed past, checking his side with her hip.

“Thanks sweetie,” a quick wink in thanks was definitely worth his moment of chivalry.

The back room was that strange sort of familiar he’d become accustomed to when it came to Beacon Hills. Eerie echoes of misplaced memory, long thought forgotten, niggling at the back of his mind. 

“Won’t be long,” Tessa called through from another room, the sound of glass tinkling faintly.

“Take your time,” he smiled casually, leaning back against the metal bench as he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the odd jars and implements the veterinarian had left out.

Not like he had anywhere to be.

"Dude," Scott sighed wearily as he watched his best friend slam his fist against the heavy door to Derek's loft. 

Despite his insistence, Stiles had apparently decided to ignore the Stuart-shaped elephant in the room once more. 'Compartmentalising' as Stiles had referred to it on the car ride over. Stiles wasn't 'ignoring' the fact that his brother might now be aware of the supernatural so much as 'saving it for an occasion where he wanted to actually deal with it' - avoidance in other words. 

"If he wants to know about the werewolves, let him work it out, I had to work it out by myself," Stiles had shrugged as he drove, "When he does, then we can talk, until then..."  

Yeah, Stiles was an ass. 

So instead of actually talking to Stuart - Stiles once again had filed it in the 'too hard to deal with' folder and moved on to more interesting topics of discussion, namely the 'break through' he'd had with the Bride O'Connor case, ergo - Parrish letting it slip that the girl was something supernatural.  

Which led him to charge over to Derek's, bright and early on the morning after a full moon, and take it out in the man's front door. 

"I can't believe he changed the locks!" Stiles whined, taking his outrage out on the thick metal - a futile task at best. "I know you're in there - " he paused, snapping a curious glance at Scott, "he's actually in there right?"

Scott nodded, having heard the ex-Alpha shuffle around inside. Derek was definitely inside, whether he actually wanted to see them was another matter entirely. With seeming 'truce' of the full moon over, he wasn't actually sure if Derek wanted them around at all. 

But as always, Stiles was nothing if not persistent.

"Derek! Come on, you -" 

"What?" Derek snapped, the large door only open wide enough for the elder wolf stand before them, a tight grip on the handle, completely denying them entry. 

"Bridie-O'Connor-was-a-werewolf," Stiles blurted out at rapid pace, seeming unable to hold onto that information a second longer finishing with smug 'I win' grin, brimming as wide as his mouth would allow. 

The look of utter resignation on Derek's face was enough to get Stiles pumping his fist victoriously.    

"Get in." 

 “You sure that stuff is gonna be safe in there?” Stuart glanced back cautiously at the boxed jars of indiscernible vesicle materials, clinking ominously in the rear seats. 

They hadn’t stayed too long at the Animal Clinic. Tess had picked up whatever the Vet had left out for her – which seemed to be a variety of random jars and tatter old books.

Oddly, she didn’t seem all that bothered when Stuart reminded her to lock up.

“It’ll hold,” Tess muttered, complete unfazed as she took a corner a little too sharply and caused the books to topple down under the seats.

Stuart snorted as he leaned back to rescue the fallen book.

“What kinda vet is this guy anyway?” he muttered, glancing over the tattered leather bound text sceptically, unable to even read the title, which was in French? Or was that Italian… some European language he couldn’t read.

Tess spared a moment’s glance back at the precarious box in the rear view mirror, “He’s a little strange.”

“Who isn’t in this town?” he chuckled, leaning back into his seat as he studied the weathered book, flicking through the pages with mild disinterest. Though he couldn’t read any of the words, the pictures were fairly intricate; large images of unfamiliar plants and shrubbery, purple flowers and obscure botany of a mixed variety. “Huh, didn’t pick you for a horticulturalist?

“What did you call me?” she gifted him a cold side eye.

“Oh ha ha,” he smirked, noticing the ghost of a smile hiding behind Tessa’s stony expression, “Horticulture, you know, plants, trees, Nemie-tonnes – Neem-a-ton,” he frowned at the word, unsure of the pronunciation as it was probably in Spanish, or German – maybe Gaelic? “Nea-metton?” he tried again, the word feeling strange and foreign in his mouth, like a bad taste. 

“Give me that,” Tessa rolled her eyes as she reached across to snap the book from his grip, tossing it into the back seat. 

"Okay," he mumbled, unsure if he'd pissed her off some how - Tess was fairly hard to read at the best of times. Which was why he was utterly confused as she pulled off the road abruptly, yanking the gear box to idle in park. 

“Now get out,” she instructed bluntly, nodded at the vacant sidewalk beside the car.

“What – “ he frowned, ducking his head to look out the window at the street outside. “Where are we?” 

“Main street,” she shrugged, before repeating the order, “out.”

"Seriously?" he blinked, hating the slight whine to his voice - way to woo her with your masculinity... 

"Got places to be, kiddo," she quipped with a smirk, eyes momentarily shifting to the contents of the rear seat. "But I'm free tomorrow?" she added - a side eye gaze making his heart jolt just a little. 

"Yeah?" he felt the half utterly betray the casual nonchalance he was attempting to embody. 

Even as she drove off down the street, abandoning him to the horrific nightmare that was the crowded streets of down town Beacon Hills, he didn't seem to mind all that much. 

"This is useless," Stiles groaned into the dust-ridden spine of an open book - hoping that there was the potential for its contents to cram into his brain via osmosis. 

Derek had been forth coming with at least some of the facts - Bridie had died before she went into the lake, which had but a decent hole in his mermaid/selkie/ kelpie theory. However that still left a great deal of potential beasties, the list of aquatic demons alone was enough to do his head in. 

"Do you think I should talk to the O'Connors?" Scott asked Derek, "I mean you said they know something about her death, maybe we could help?" 

"They didn't really seem all that interested last time I checked," Derek murmured, shaking his head, "I tried again this morning but they weren't at there. If it's revenge they're after, they're keeping the details pretty close to their chest." 

Fan-flipping-tastic.

Back to where they started - three hours ago. Not even slightly closer to finding a motive or even a hint of what they might be up against. The facts had remained unchanged, even with Bridie's werewolf status: girl goes missing, girl's body ends up by a lake a few county's over. And though he didn't really want to agree with the 'suicide' angle, it was looking the most likely - if werewolves could even commit suicide that way... 

The O'Connors might be hell bent on 'Games of Thrones' style revenge, but it didn't change the fact that they could just be blinded by their grieve, in denial of the knowledge that their only child would commit such an act. 

Actually the only thing convincing him to dig deeper was the fact that the case was still ongoing. His dad was still investigating which meant he didn't think it was a suicide - so therefore it couldn't be. He knew there were still things Derek wasn't telling him, which was stupid because that only made him want to know more - did they seriously not know him? Of course he was going to dig until he found whatever it was or whoever is was...

Wait.

“Who,” Stiles announced, head shooting up as he come upon the sudden realisation.

“The O’Connors,” Derek glanced over at him, visibly annoyed by the fact that he clearly thought Stiles wasn’t paying attention – or otherwise labelled frown no. 8, not to be confused with number 8.5 (visibly annoyed that Stiles wasn’t paying attention, but with the hint of an eye twitch, which meant he was seconds away from bestowing physical violence upon those in close proximity).

“No, what if the who is the what?” Stiles told him, pausing expectantly as he waiting for them to pick up on his train of thought.

“What?” Derek wrinkled his brow, looking more like he was fighting off a sneeze. 

Okay, maybe this required further explanation…

“We keep saying ‘what’ killed Bridie,” licking bottom lip as he flickered his gaze between the two, “but what if the what is a who?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Scott cocked his head, equally as confused as Derek. 

“Just hear me out, okay? Lydia didn’t scream, yeah?” Stiles tried to explain, “Meaning that the death itself wasn’t supernatural even though Bridie is supernatural. Lydia didn’t scream for half of the Benefactor’s victims, because their deaths weren’t caused supernaturally…”

“Okay…?” Scott nodded slowly, “then if we shouldn’t be looking for something supernatural, what are we looking for?”

“… The what is a who.” Derek finished, looking up at them as he finally clocked on to Stiles’ train of thought.

‘The Last Drop’ is a terribly morbid name for a small local coffee shop, though it aptly suited the bizarre death trap of a town. Unsurprisingly it hadn’t changed much in the last eight years – the same leather lounges, the same low hanging lights, the ruffled lacy curtains, probably even the same chalk board menu.

He ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, black americano; glad to be rid of the shrapnel jingle of coins in his pocket, but annoyed at the knowledge that he was running low – he didn’t particularly want to ask the Sheriff for money or explain to his Grandparents why he couldn’t ask the Sheriff for money.

“Stiles, honey?” a small timid voice appeared behind him, making him turn from the condiment station.

In truth, he’d been prepared to give whomever it was the shock of their lives, revealing to yet another person that Stiles had an evil twin, only - 

“H-hey, hi Mrs Johnson,” he gave her a half smile, his stony expression melting seamlessly to mick Stiles’ mannerisms, instantly putting the woman at ease as he greeted her. “How – how have you been?” he asked hesitantly, unsure how to approach the subject – how Stiles would approach this subject? He scratched the back of his neck, having watched Stiles do that countlessly over the years. It felt unnatural, too bizarre to pretend to be his brother, but it seemed kinder in the moment, an instinctual reaction to a painful memory he’d compartmentalised almost a year ago.

The call had come last September, barely a week after her 17th birthday.

He knew Stiles and the Sheriff had gone to the funeral, his grandparents had passed on the information without invitation. Heather Johnson, the girl he used to have bubble baths with as a toddler, who used to put her mom's make-up on him and stole his Halloween candy two years in a row…

He had never really been close to Heather past the age of five, but she was always nice. She’d always been bubbly and friendly at birthday parties – she sent a card when his mom died.

She didn’t deserve to be murdered.

One more claimed by the curse of Beacon Hills.

“Well, it’s been hard,” she told him, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, “Cameron, you remember Cameron?”

He didn’t really remember, but smiled all the same – a vague memory of Heather’s mean older brother tugging at the back of his mind as Mrs Johnson continued to talk.

“Well he’s staying close by for college which is nice, you know. Oh, how’s your father?”

“Pretty busy, but you know,” he offered, keeping it vague, because honestly, Mrs Johnson probably knew more than him about that.

“Oh, I should go,” she blinked as though quickly remembering something, “don’t be a stranger, honey, we’d love to have you round for dinner sometime.”

“That would be nice, thanks Mrs Johnston,” he nodded in an effort to appear grateful, though he had no intentions of ever taking her up on the offer.

“It’s so good to see you again, Stiles. God, you boys always looked so much like your mother,” she sighed, cupping his cheek slightly, a watery gaze training on him in an all-too-maternal gesture that felt foreign, yet he couldn’t find him in himself to pull away.

“Oh, sorry, I should – go, I should go,” she stumbled over her words nervously; withdrawing her hand, using it to quickly wipe her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. 

“Bye,” he found himself muttering after her as she made a hasty exit. A familiar melancholy rubbed against his chest, prompting him to go in search of a small table – an easy task in an otherwise empty café, which he accomplished quickly, taking a seat by the window.

“You didn’t correct her.”

“Agh – Jesus,” he visible jolted in surprise, thankfully just missing the scolding hot coffee that splashed around his cup. Glaring up at the culprit, he relaxed slightly when he saw the familiar face. “Are you stalking me?” 

“She called you ‘Stiles’,” Malia quipped, nodding over to where Mrs Johnson had just left, the bells still jingling above the door from her exit.

“Yes,” he said, hoping his tone was enough to tell her to back off. Feeling the heat of her gaze upon him, he decided to move the conversation elsewhere, “what are you doing here?”

“Studying,” she sighed, throwing her tall stack of books down at his table – because, sure, that was an invitation to sit with him… 

“I like the danishes here,” was her only explanation as she bit into a large crumbling pastry, pawing at the books, spreading them wide across the table. She picked up one at random, flicking through at whim.

“Jesus, how many classes did you fail?” Stuart snorted, looking over the series of different textbooks spread out across the table – Math, Econ, Science, English, Biology, History… practically an entire high School curriculum was covered in some form or another. 

The growl that followed was nothing short of animal.

“That bad huh?” he felt the hint of a smirk tugging as he teased her. 

“Pretty much all of them,” she pouted, tossing down the book in her hand, only to pick up another.

“Right,” he blinked, taking a second glance at the impressive stack as he slowly sipped the scolding coffee, “Jesus, what did you pass?”

“Gym,” she shrugged, before adding, “I like to run.” 

“Good to know,” he muttered, reaching out to grab the notepad closest to him to read over whatever she’d been recently scribbling, “Because that’s is my worst subject.”

“You’re still gonna help me?” Malia looked up at him, watching his movement with reserved curiosity. 

“Like you said, I’m bored,” he offered honestly, before frowning at the words before him, “And you seriously need my help,” he snorted, biting his lip to hide the amused smile brimming beneath as he glanced over her notes, “Okay well, first of all, Goebbels, Malia, not Gerbils.”

“What?” Malia shot him an odd look, inciting him to flip the notepad around to show her.

“As much as I love the thought of a gerbil as the Minister of Propaganda for Nazi Germany,” he smirked, “it’s probably not going get you that passing grade…”

“Yeah, that did seem weird,” she nodded thoughtfully, absently chewing on yet another small pastry, mouthful as she added, “But Hitler was crazy so…” 

“How can you eat so much?” he felt the words leave his mouth before he could stop them. And hey, sure, mean, but watching her eat was fascinating; teeth tearing at pastry like a wild animal.  

“Full moon,” she shrugged, not even slightly offended by his rude comment. “Want one?”

“I’m fine… What are you working on?” he glanced over to the book in her hand, fighting the urge to roll his eyes and he spied the familiar title. Why the hell did high school teachers have such a hard on for the Bard anyway?

“You want cliff notes? Two idiotic teenagers suck at communicating so they end up offing themselves,” he rambled off scathingly, flickering a glance at Malia, confused at the look she was giving him, before he realised - “Don’t look at me like that,” he glared across the table at her, swiping a danish off her plate as punishment for her smug expression. Woeful teenage love affairs weren't his genre, he didn't even like the stupid play. Especially when there were far more interesting ones in the Bard's collection.  “If anything, I’m Iago to his Cassio,” he muttered under his breath.

“You’re a parrot…?” Malia said slowly, clearly not following.

“Moving on,” he muttered, knowing he wouldn’t win there.

“Ooh, look,” she sparked up, uncovering stray sheet of paper and waving it proudly in front of his face until he was able to take it from her hands. “I did what you told me to and look, I got them right.”

Stuart furrowed his brow as he read over the practice test, utterly confused how she had mastered the mathematic techniques in only a few days. “You did this?” 

“I didn’t cheat,” her expression hardened slightly.

“No, that’s not what I – that’s amazing,” he breathed out in awe, reading through the thought out equations and careful calculations. Her penmanship was still awful and she had obviously used most of an eraser to get through the test, but it was right. 

“Yeah, okay, now help me with this,” she pushed a large text book in front of him, clearly bored with her achievements - however, he wasn’t quite finished with them.

“You are really smart, you know that?” he told her, blinking owlishly, before frowning, genuinely confused, “Jesus, Stiles is an idiot compared to you…” 

Malia scoffed, gifting him a dramatic eye roll as she snatched back her test primly.

“I’m serious,” he pressed with a chuckle of disbelief, “how the hell are even you failing this stuff anyway?”

A snort of frustration alerted Stuart to the fact that he may had said something wrong. Malia’s expression hardened in a way he'd never seen.

"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling as though he'd definitely overstepped into 'so-not-his-business' territory as he watched her pile her collection of books, shoving them into a large rucksack with silent fury. "Look - hey, don't leave, okay - Malia," he sighed, ducking his head, "I didn't mean to - it was - " 

"I don't like talking about it," she snapped, glaring down at him. 

"It's okay," he nodded, quick to accept her reasoning, kicking himself for even asking. "I get it, I'm sorry, I just - " he cut himself off, unsure what he was even saying, having lost his train of thought.  

After hovering by the table for a few agonising moments, Malia relented with an audible groan, slamming her heavy books back on the table as she fell back into her chair with a comical lack of grace. 

"Just explain Fig Newton's theory, okay?" she sighed, pushing the text book in his direction. 

"You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?" he squinted, shaking his head as he accepted the book. The gleeful twinkle in her eye confirmed as much - Malia Tate was a lot smarter than she appeared. 

Contrary to the beliefs of the majority of the town's occupants, Lydia Martin never sat idle. While Scott and Stiles poured over the books with Derek, she had turned her sights to more productive methods. 

"Jordan," she greeted the deputy with a warm smile, "Are you busy?" 

"Hey, sorry, I'm sort of caught up," he apologised quickly, "I got called back in to help out, but I'll be free in a moment, if you can wait? Is that okay?" 

"Yeah, of course," she nodded, smiling despite herself at the deputy's unabashed politeness.  

"Did you have any...?" he spared a wide-eyed glance around the mostly empty station, before mouthing, 'visions'.

"No, nothing," she shook her head, feeling a slight guilt wallow up inside from the sense of helplessness. It was the benefactor all over again - people dying around all around her as she desperately reached out to something unseen to guide her, but nothing every came. It was one thing to sense death, to know when death brushed past those she loved, it was something else entirely for that all to suddenly stop. 

"Okay," Parrish brushed a gentle hand against her shoulder, offering a small amount of comfort as though sensing her need for it, "give me five minutes." 

"I'll meet you outside," she sighed, feeling the need to free herself of the close confines of the station. There was an elevated sense of death that clung to the walls here, much like the halls of Beacon Memorial. And while she tried not to let it affect her, she did try to limit the amount of unnecessary time spend there without distraction.   

The parking lot of the Sheriff's department was mostly desolate, only a few other vehicles besides her own. Though she had every intention of simply waiting by the front door for Parrish, an angered curse of "Christ Almighty" nearby caught her attention.

Peering about the corner, she noticed an unfamiliar deputy loading boxes into the trunk of his vehicle. The phone tucked under his ear was precariously positioned, being held in place by the man's shoulder.  

"Yeah - I'll be out there soon, sir, we'll find him," the voice peaked her interest, completely foreign to the recognisable deputies she had become associated with. "I know - I've got more, just - " he cut himself off, listening intently to whomever was on the other end, before speaking up again. "Nah, there's just Parrish kid and skeleton crew inside, don't know where that Fed bitc - ten four, sir," the man grumbled, ending the call formally before lazily grabbing the last battered box with one hand. 

"Goddammit," he swore as bottom of the box fell open, sending an assortment of jars to smash against the hard cement.  

The smell hit her instantly, barely a moment before she saw the rich colour staining the ground, that unwelcome stench she had the unfortunate experience of recognising above all else. 

Wolfsbane.