Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles had never been close to Danny, but they had their moments of companionship. Mostly, they avoided each other due to the tension between their friend group, and tried to never be alone together due to their past history. Their friends knew this, and knew that they should never be left unsupervised, specifically if there would be alcohol involved. Therefore, it was not their fault when Lydia dragged Jackson away, and Scott quickly jumped ship to go talk with one of the Lacrosse seniors.

This left Stiles and Danny unsupervised with alcohol, leading to wicked grins and not-so-bright ideas, and closed bedroom doors. Honestly, Stiles wished that their interactions fell under the normal teenage stuff–he certainly wouldn’t mind getting groped by Danny–but no one would be wary of them being alone if that was the outcome. Instead, their actions usually resulted in lasting consequences and some minor law breaking.

So here they were, laying together on a bed and still–unhappily–clothed. Danny was cuddled up with his laptop to his chest, while Stiles was nestled to his back. The sun was barely up and both of them should have still been sleeping, but they were rudely interrupted by the continuous chiming of Stiles’ phone.

“Stiles,” Danny grumbled and refused to open his eyes. “Turn it off.”

“Dude, I don’t even know where it is.”

Danny grunted as he carefully dropped his computer to the floor and rolled to inspect the covers beneath them. After a minute of fumbling, he pressed the phone into Stiles’ hand and wrapped an arm around the boy to draw him to his chest. It seemed that he was replacing the abandoned computer for hangover-cuddles.

Stiles cracked his eyes open to examine the screen and felt a wave of confusion at the messages that were flooding in. It seemed to be a group chat, but he didn’t recognize any of the names or numbers. He turned his phone on silent to ignore the new messages and scrolled to the top of the conversation.

You created a Group Chat with PG and 5 others.

>The Lawston Butcher was a woman, not a dude. Pretty sure she was your third witness, Mrs. Alfia.

DM: What?

>George Gelding wasn’t one of her victims, which threw off your data. His killer just used the Butcher’s method to throw off the trail. Also, his killer was most likely Kyle Freeden.

AH: Thank you for your input on one of our past cases. May we have your name for the record of the tip?

>LOL no. I’m drunk, not stupid.

PG: Uno momento.

SR: How did you come to the conclusion that Mr. Gelding’s murder was separate from the others?

>The amount of strikes he was dealt were nearly twice the others, which was a big reason to suspect that it wasn’t the same killer. Since the amount of axe blows wasn’t published, he had to guess and probably just swung until it tired him out.
>There was also the sexual assault which wasn’t done to any of the other victims, and lead to the confirmation of the Butcher being a male with a personal connection to the guy. However, this overlooked the perfume found on the first and second bodies, along with the lipstick residue found on body five’s temple.
>I think Mr. Gelding’s dump site also threw off your Geo Profile, since you were thinking it was the Butcher’s choice instead of Mr. Freeden’s.

SR: Interesting.

DM: How did you get access to the details of the murders? Like you said, they weren’t published.

>I’ve got a friend who’s good with computers.

PG: You hacked us?! :O
PG: I can’t find where they got in!
PG: Also, it’s a no-go on the location. Can’t trace the phone.

>He’s also good with phones.

AH: While that is an extraordinary insight into the case, or cases, we cannot act on this knowledge without proper documentation. Any information we act on must have proper channels and be recorded with a signed witness statement. Therefore, I need your name.

You set AH’s Nickname as Mr. Bullshit.

Mr. Bullshit: Mature.

>Anonymous tips are fucking anonymous. Don’t try to bullshit me.

PG: I want to meet this friend. Neutral ground.

>He said he would meet you in a chat if he could run somewhere? IDK.

PG: Oh you poor thing. Adorable. And absolutely not.
PG: I am a Computer Goddess and I refuse to allow someone to hold my information hostage. If he thinks he can use Ransomware on me, he is welcome to try, but there will be a fiery vengeance upon his house.

You set PG’s Nickname as Computer Goddess.

>My friend said “Fight Me” and is taking his computer back out. He’s also trying to pour another shot while he types. I’m tempted to send a picture, but we’re supposed to be Anonymous.

DM: Is this some kind of dare?

>We were bored and left unsupervised with alcohol. My friend said I couldn’t solve mysteries drunk, and I said he couldn’t hack the FBI drunk. I think we did okay.

DR: I would think you did more than okay, considering you got into our system without Garcia noticing, and gave us intelligent info on one of our old cases.
DR: How much alcohol have you had to drink?

>About 6 shots in the last 2 hours. Plus a few beers.

DR: I’m curious what you would be able to do sober.

Mr. Bullshit: We should not be encouraging this behavior. They have broken the law.

EP: Agreed. Who’s to say they didn’t look at more than our old cases? They obviously looked at our files, since they have our phone numbers.

>I already had Dr. Reid’s and Ms. Jareau’s. Their numbers were easy to find through a google search. It wasn’t hard for my friend to get the others.

JJ: While I don’t enjoy having a stranger message me or look through my information, please just call me JJ.

You set JJ’s Nickname as Just JJ.

> :D

Just JJ: I honestly don’t know why I expected anything less.

Mr. Bullshit: I’m afraid that he will not be calling you anything, since I must ask for a Cease and Desist.

>Refused. Also, I don’t know why, but my friend started shouting “Long may she reign!” and told me to do this.

You set Computer Goddess’s Nickname to Black Queen.

Black Queen: Tell me where you both are. I’ll be on a plane in an hour.

Just JJ: You can’t beat them up.

Black Queen: I wouldn’t harm a hair on their heads.
Black Queen: I’m going to steal them.

>No thanks. I don’t have time to deal with kidnapping and escape attempts.

Black Queen: Too bad. My Chocolate Adonis, you better be prepared to be a father.

DM: Baby Girl, no.

Black Queen: Baby Girl, yes.

Mr. Bullshit: Garcia, do you know the hacker?

Black Queen: Not sure, but I know that they’re one of mine. Even if I do find out who they are, I’m not telling.
Black Queen: I refuse to be responsible for allowing one of my baby hackers to be caught.

>Hell yeah. Fuck the Feds.

DR: I feel the need to point out that we are all, in fact, Feds.

>*Fuck the Feds except for the BAU.

DR: Appreciated.

Stiles stared at the screen before he turned his head towards Danny. The boy had firmly latched onto him and seemed to be making a valiant effort to go back to sleep.

“Danny?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I tell them how old you are?”

“Tell who?” He rubbed his face on the pillow below his head before he pushed forward more to nestle his nose in stiles’ hair.

“The BAU,” Stiles gave up on trying to make eye-contact and turned back around to enjoy the cuddle. Danny was always more tactile when he was sleepy. “Their hacker asked how old you were. She said she wouldn’t help turn you in for hacking them, and you had me change her name to the Black Queen–”

“What?” Danny shifted forward violently to peer over his shoulder at the screen of the phone. “Dude, seriously? The Black Queen?”

“Uh, yeah.” Stiles scrolled back through the messages and showed him before returning to the bottom. “So, can I–”

“Yeah. Fuck yeah.” He leaned more fully over Stiles and watched the screen intently as he typed.

>My friend is 15, but he’ll be 16 in about a month.

Black Queen: So I probably didn’t work with them. Not unless they were a 5 year old criminal.

>I mean, they were, but no. You didn’t work with them.
>>“I wish” - Mini-hacker

Black Queen: Hi Mini-Me! Tell me who you are so I can adopt you!

“Oh my God, Stiles,” Danny seemed to be vibrating with excitement as he whispered, “The Black Queen wants to adopt me. I’m in Heaven.”

“Yeah, well we might be in prison soon.” He shifted in Danny’s hold and tried to put some space between them.

>I feel really bad for what we did, but I’m still not telling you who or where we are.

Mr. Bullshit: Now that you are sober, I will once again ask for a Cease and Desist.

You set Mr. Bullshit’s Nickname to AH.

>Sorry. Won’t happen again.

Black Queen: No!

Stiles quickly muted the chat and turned his phone off, ignoring the line of messages that had quickly appeared. He tried so hard to stay on the straight and narrow, and he couldn’t stand the thought of his father finding out he had failed. Hell, he was technically grounded because he peeked at a case file. There was no telling what his father would do if he found out he had contacted and insulted the BAU.

“My father can never find out about this.”

“Agreed,” Danny mumbled. He sounded much more awake, but he didn’t relax his grip on Stiles or move away. “You gonna keep messaging them?”

“Agent Hotchner was pretty adamant that I stop.”

“And the others were the opposite.” Stiles tried to squirm away again, but it only caused Danny to huff and pull him back against his chest. “If it bugs you, just make a chat without him in it. The others would be fine with you texting them.”

“Uhhh…Danny?” Stiles tapped at the arm around his waist as he said, “You’re getting a little close there.”

“Shut up and go to sleep, Stiles.”

Stiles waited a few seconds and felt his stomach grow uncomfortably tight. He couldn’t help the question as it burst out of him.

“Am I attractive to gay guys?”

“Stiles,” Danny’s voice seemed grave as he replied, “You just allowed me to talk to my idol, who wants to adopt me, and you told 6 Feds to go fuck themselves–five of which still want to kidnap you and go on adventures solving crimes. I don’t know if you’re attractive to gay guys, but if you keep squirming I’m gonna hold you down and blow you, your straightness be damned. Understand?”

Stiles could physically feel the backlash as his brain processed the threat and blew a fuse. He could also feel his stomach tighten further at the thought and couldn’t stop the stuttered mess that fell from his mouth.

“Who said I was straight?!”

It was Danny’s turn to freeze as he quietly said, “I thought you liked girls.”

“Well, I mean, maybe? I liked Lydia, but that doesn’t mean I only like girls–”

“Stiles.” Danny seemed to lunge up on the bed to loom over him, staring down at him with a calculating glare. “Do you want to be attractive to gay guys?”

“Uh,” he had to clear his throat at the sudden intense stare. Though, he was able to choke out, “Yeah, but–”

Danny didn’t let him get any further as he dropped his weight on him, pressing his lips firmly to Stiles’. It was clumsy and awkward, but Danny coaxed him into a rhythm as he slid his hands up Stiles’ arms to pin them beside his head. The heat only flared brighter as Danny’s hips connected with Stiles’ and rocked downwards at a blissful angle. The kiss was broken as Stiles gasped.

“Oh God, Danny–”

“Fucking tease.” Danny rocked down again and turned his attention to Stiles’ neck, nipping at his jugular and trailing downwards. “You’ve been panting after Lydia for years. Didn’t think you were even a little bent.”

“It would be really great if you could refrain from the insults while you’re humping me!” Stiles flinched as Danny thrust again, testing the grip on his arms and feeling a thrill when they didn’t move. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

“That’s the plan.” Danny flashed him a wicked grin before he suddenly stilled and turned serious. He looked Stiles in the eye, but he didn’t relax his grip as he said, “Though I don’t do casual. If I’m reading this wrong, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

Stiles cleared his throat gently and had to take a deep breath before he said, “No, you’re good. Reading it right. Though, I would really like to go on a date before I’m not a virgin.”

“Okay,” Danny leaned down and licked a stripe up Stiles’ neck, releasing a soft breath against his ear. “No fucking. Are you okay with that blowy, though?”

“Good God, yes.”

He gave a shark-like grin as he released Stiles’ arms, placing his hands on Stiles’ waist and dragging them up his stomach. The shirt was pushed up and out of the way as he leaned down to flick his tongue into Stiles’ belly button, making him release a punched-out whimper. It only encouraged the boy as he pulled the shirt over Stiles’ shoulders and tossed it to the side. He then lowered himself again to lick at the chest below him.

He played with his nipples, pinching and sucking and biting, but was sad to see the reactions dulled. Stiles was obviously enjoying it, but he wasn’t as sensitive as Danny had hoped. He was getting off more on the thought of Danny playing with him than the actual teasing. It ended quickly as Danny nibbled his way down Stiles’ stomach, deciding to jump to the main event. The pants went the way of the shirt, leaving Stiles to stare down in wonder as Danny began to explore and descend.

“Hey Danny!” The door to the room was opened harshly and a blond head peeked through as the voice said, “The Nerd’s missing. Have you seen–Oh my God!”

Stiles was too busy panting and covering his face to answer, so Danny poked his head out from under the covers and glared at Jackson as he stood frozen in the doorway.

“Dude,” Danny readjusted his hands on Stiles’ hips to better support his weight and felt a thrill at the choked whimper below him. “Get the fuck out.”

“Fucking Hell!” The door was swiftly closed as Jackson’s shouted curses faded down the hall.

“Oh God, no.” Stiles moaned in despair, refusing to uncover his face. “He’s gonna tell the whole school–”

“Let him.” Danny planted a soft kiss to Stiles’ stomach and smiled as he jumped in his hold. “If he doesn’t tell everyone, then I will.”

“My dad’s gonna know by nightfall.” Stiles shook underneath him, though it seemed more in distress than excitement now. “I’m so dead.”

“Hey, it’ll be okay.” Danny crawled back up the boy and gently removed his hands from his face. “If he says anything, I’ll ruin his credit history. Yeah?”

Stiles smiled and released a wet laugh at the image before he looked at the door and winced. “You were serious about the ‘not-casual’ thing? Like, I get dates, and I can hold your hand and shit?”

“Yeah.” Danny gave him a sunny and innocent smile, which paired oddly with his straddling of the naked boy. “I would have jumped you last year, but I thought you were just teasing me with all the questions.”

“Shit.” Stiles wiped harshly at his eyes and took a deep breath as he began to think. “Will you run away with me? If my Dad kicks me out?”

“He won’t kick you out of the house for being gay, but sure.” He lowered himself to lay across Stiles as his grin turned wicked. “We can hide out at Jackson’s place. His house is so big that his parents would never realize we were there. Though, I doubt the Sheriff is gonna kick his son to the curb.”

“Right. Yeah. Totally.” Stiles nodded quickly and looked back towards the door as he hesitantly asked, “Could you maybe lock the door? I mean, if you still actually wanna–ya know, uhh…”

Danny gave a soft laugh as he jumped from the bed and walked quickly to the bedroom door, throwing the lock. He then turned back and gave him another wicked grin as he prowled towards his prey. Stiles could only loose a startled bark of laughter as he was set upon by the older boy.

Chapter Text

Stiles was sitting in the science lab, trying valiantly not to stare at his new Science partner. Danny didn’t waste a day after the Full Moon party, charming the teachers into a new seating arrangement and forcing the students to switch with him. Chemistry was no different, though Mr. Harris had an even more sour expression than normal. Stiles didn’t doubt that the only reason Danny was now sitting at his table was because someone might call him a homophobe if he didn’t allow it.

Mr. Harris was actually justified in his anger today, as Stiles’ phone had decided it would not be set on mute. He had already muted it four times, and each time it had mysteriously been set back to full volume. This meant that every minute or two his phone would chime annoyingly in class. If he was right, he had already counted twenty-three messages, and it wasn’t stopping.

“Dude,” Danny leaned into his side as Mr. Harris tensely wrote on the white board at the front of the class. “Just check it and see what they want. It might be an emergency.”

Stiles sighed softly and nodded, pulling out his phone and trying to hide the glow under the table. There was no doubt in his mind that he would get a detention if he was caught on his phone, but there was also a good chance he would get a detention if it continued to chime. He was actually surprised he hadn’t been given one yet. Maybe him dating Danny meant that he fell under the “if you pick on the gay guy, you’re a homophobe” umbrella. Maybe his detentions would decrease.

You were added to a group chat by Black Queen, along with 4 others.

Black Queen: Hello my Mini-darling!
Black Queen: You wouldn’t answer us back, so I decided to take the initiative.
Black Queen: My future-son is good, and I can’t find your phone. But that doesn’t mean I can’t access it.
Black Queen: >:] You cannot escape us.

Dr. Chi: I see Aaron is absent from the chat.
Dr. Chi: Good. Now, let’s talk about recruitment.

SR: I also have a few questions about your thoughts on color displays and their effects on human interactions. You briefly mentioned it in the last chat, and I’m interested if you agree with the subconscious characterization of color in one’s social life.

DM: I’m more curious about Mini-Reid’s IQ.

SR: The testing of one’s IQ is actually inaccurate, and can be wildly skewed across the board–especially since intelligence isn’t completely quantifiable. The IQ test is made up of questions that can have different interpretations and meanings for different groups of people. I myself felt insulted by my own IQ tests, as the majority of them were biased. The only one I felt was appropriate is the only one I acknowledged, resulting in my current score.
SR: Unsub, If you would like I could send you the test I found. It was created by a panel of professors and has an adaptive questionnaire, which will give you questions based on your answers and ensure a more accurate reading.

Just JJ: Please refrain from calling the Mini-Reid an Unsub. It implies that they have committed illegal acts and that we are searching for their identity.

Black Queen: I mean, that’s not inaccurate.
Black Queen: They DID commit illegal acts, and we ARE searching for their identity.
Black Queen: But not to arrest them. Just for kidnapping purposes.

DM: Baby Girl, you cannot kidnap the children.

Black Queen set DM’s Nickname to Dark King.

Black Queen: I doubt they would complain. We’d make them cookies and encourage mischief.
Black Queen: We’d be awesome parents.

EP: The day you get your wish is the day I resign.

Dr. Chi: Seconded, except I live to see the day.

Black Queen: Thank you!
Black Queen: Now Mini-Reid! Answer your phone!
Black Queen: Stop Ignoring us!

>I’ll answer, but stop turning my volume on.

Black Queen: Yay! :)

>I’m in class and my teacher is giving me a death glare.
>The only reason I don’t have detention right now is because he doesn’t want to get called out for picking on the gay kid.

Black Queen: OMG you ARE a Mini-Reid!

EP: Garcia, we do not out our friends to strangers.

Black Queen: Sorry!

SR: It’s fine, though technically I’m not gay. I think I would classify myself as bisexual, having felt attraction to both genders.

>Same.

Black Queen: Still Mini-Reid!
Black Queen: What about my future-son?

Stiles turned his head to ask Danny if he could tell the BAU his sexuality, only to laugh and provide him with a better view of his phone’s screen. While he was more subtle than Stiles, Danny had still been trying to read the messages from the chat. After a quick skim over the texts, Danny shook his head and pulled out his own phone.

Stiles wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing until his phone vibrated softly in his hand, revealing a new message in the chat.

Mini-Hacker has been added to the chat.

Mini-Hacker: I’m gay. Girls have coodies.

Black Queen: My son!
Black Queen: Tell me where you both are so I can bring you cookies and officially adopt you.

Mini-Hacker: I have parents already, but you can adopt Mini-Reid.

>Hey! I have a Dad.

Mini-Hacker: My statement stands.

Stiles couldn’t help but elbow Danny in the ribs, though the blow did nothing except almost upset Stiles’ chair and leave him flailing to find balance. He ended up knocking his textbook off the table and winced at the resounding slam and silence after it impacted the floor.

“Mr. Stilinski, is it possible for you to go a single day without being a blight on others’ education?”

Stiles gave a tight smile as he replied, “Is it possible for you to actually give us an education?”

“Detention, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Yes, sir.”

Black Queen: I sense tension. Mini-Me, do you not like Mini-Reid’s Dad?

Mini-Hacker: No comment.

>Dude, you just got me detention. ;-;

Mini-Hacker: You just got yourself detention. You shouldn’t insult the teacher.

>He insulted me first!
>Isn’t it your job to stand up for me?

Mini-Hacker: I’m not skilled in sassy comebacks. You’re the verbal defense, and I’m the physical. If you need me to punch a bitch, then I’m your guy.

Dark King: Woah, what’s this about getting insulted by a teacher?

>It’s nothing.

Mini-Hacker: Mini-Reid flailed and knocked a book off the table. Our teacher asked if he could go a day without disrupting student education. He replied by asking if the teacher could even give us an education.
Mini-Hacker: Also, very nice. It’s hot when you talk back to authority.

>He has no authority.
>Also, OMG no. Please refrain from saying that in class, or at school, or in front of others. EVER.

Black Queen: Mini-Reid is my Future-Son-In-Law!
Black Queen: Also, tell me who this teacher is so that I can ruin him.

Dark King: Kid, are you being bullied by a teacher? Does this happen often?

Mini-Hacker: Everyday.

>Stop. It’s fine. I can handle myself.

Just JJ: I would highly encourage you to speak to the administrative office about your teacher’s behavior. Those with power over children should be closely monitored to ensure they aren’t taking advantage of their position.

>I said it’s fine. He just doesn’t like me because of something my Dad did.
>Most of the teachers don’t like me anyways because I’m a total spaz.
>It’s not even that bad. I just need to stop antagonizing them.

Mini-Hacker: I know about Mr. Douche, but who else? Which other teachers?

>No.

SR: If you allow a teacher to get away with such behavior, it could create a precedent for other interactions, targeting both yourself and other students.
SR: I would like to also recommend that you report this teacher, and any others, for their abuse of power.

>I already did and nothing happened. So drop it.

“What?” Danny whipped his head away from his phone to stare at Stiles, ignoring the silence as Mr. Harris stopped his lecture and turned towards their table. “Who did you tell?”

“Mr. Mahealani,” Mr. Harris seemed to be gritting his teeth, cheeks slowly growing red as he stared them down. “While I do not understand your new-found friendship with Mr. Stilinski, I would ask that you not follow his example of becoming a nuisance in my class.”

Danny stared at Mr. Harris as he heard the insult. Even when it wasn’t Stiles’ fault, it was still redirected towards Stiles. Therefore, he felt absolutely no remorse as he loudly said, “Suck a dick.”

“How dare–” Mr. Harris stuttered a step forward before he physically reigned himself in and threatened, “If this sort of attitude continues, I will not hesitate to separate you from Mr. Stilinski’s influence. Do I make myself clear?”

Danny didn’t say anything, clenching his teeth together and staring down their Chemistry teacher. His phone seemed to be going wild in his hand while he was having their staring contest. When no answer was given, Mr. Harris turned and began his lecture once again. Though Danny wasn’t listening in the slightest as he returned to his phone.

Black Queen: I want names. Tell me so I can burn them and salt the ruins.

Dark King: Seconded. I want to talk to your principal.

>It won’t help.
>OMG Mini-Hacker no!

Black Queen: What did my Future-son do?

>He told the teacher to eat a dick.

Dark King: Adorable. Serving time in detention together.

Black Queen: Such romance.
Black Queen: He obviously gets that from me.

>He didn’t get detention.

Dr. Chi: He insulted the teacher as well, and didn’t receive any punishment?

>No. Mr. Douche threatened to separate us, but he didn’t give him detention.

SR: This teacher mocks you in class, supposedly often. Does he grade your assignments fairly?

>I’m not failing his class.

Dr. Chi: That wasn’t the question, kid.
Dr. Chi: Does the teacher lower your grades?

>It doesn’t matter. He can’t fail me because no one would believe it. I’m literally ranked second in our grade academically.

SR: Am I wrong to assume that you would be ranked first if this teacher’s grading was ignored?

Mini-Hacker: You aren’t wrong. Number 1 is only pulling ahead of him in Chemistry.

>No way. Number 1 is a literal Genius. I just test well, that’s all.

Black Queen: Oh Baby no.
Black Queen: You are a smarticle-particle and should be appreciarticled.

>I don’t think appreciarticled is a word.

SR: As I come from a similar situation, I feel that you should know I’m always here to talk if you need it.
SR: I know how hard it can be to be disliked for your mental success, especially at such a young age, and that does not make it okay for others to demean you for your intellect.

>He doesn’t. Like I said, it just has to do with my Dad.
>My Dad got him in legal trouble, so the Douche takes it out on me. It’s fine.

Mini-Hacker: It’s not fine, and I intend to bring the issue to the administrative board. They’re having a meeting soon, so I can slip it into their itinerary.

>I’m telling you it won’t work. None of them care.
>And it’s not like I haven’t earned all the detentions he’s given me.

Mini-Hacker: You retaliate. You don’t instigate.

Dark King: If someone is backed into a corner and insulted, it’s only natural for them to lash out in kind.
Dark King: You are not at fault.

Black Queen: Listen to your Father. He speaks the truth.

>Whatever.
>Class is over. We have to get to practice.

Stiles turned his phone off and tucked it away, shouldering his bag and standing from his stool. Danny was quick to follow, steering Stiles out of the classroom with a gentle hand on his back. Neither of the boys were smiling as they made their way through the halls, and Danny couldn’t help but frown as he noticed all the scowls from the other teachers.

He’d have to look into it further and keep an eye on Stiles’ grades. He’d change them if he had to, but he’d try proper channels first. And if the principal didn’t listen to him, then he’d just go above them to the board of education.

Chapter Text

Mini-Hacker: Howl.

Black Queen: I love the randomness, but didn’t Mini-Reid say you both had practice?

Mini-Hacker: We did, but he ran off the field with his best friend.
Mini-Hacker: I’m tempted to feel jealous, but his friend is 100% straight and has a thing for the new girl, so I’m not threatened.

Dark King: And the howl?

Mini-Hacker: Something my man said earlier.
Mini-Hacker: He said that wolves howl to signal loneliness and to communicate their location, while asking for the location of their pack. So yeah.
Mini-Hacker: Howl!

SR: It’s interesting exactly how much information can be exchanged between vocal calls, which can sometimes be heard up to 7 miles away. While they are used for locationary references, a pack of wolves may also howl as a social activity. This can be equivalent to someone cheering on a crowd, or asking if they want to have a social gathering.

Black Queen: Awesome.
Black Queen: HOWL!!!!!

Dr. Chi: Howl.

Dark King: Hooooowl!

SR: Howl! :)

>OMG stahp. ;-;

Mini-Hacker: Where you @? Coach sent J home because of his shoulder. We expected you back like twenty minutes ago.
Mini-Hacker: You get attacked on the way to the locker room?

>Not on the way, no.

Mini-Hacker: What

>Haha, ignore that. Also, did you call me your ‘man’?

EP: No deflection.
EP: Did you just imply you got attacked?

>I did not get attacked.

Mini-Hacker: You still in the locker room?

>Yeah.

Mini-Hacker: I’m omw.

Danny flashed a grin at Coach Finstock and bounced off the field when he rolled his eyes. He wasn’t gonna call Danny out on skipping practice, especially since everyone was just running drills with Jackson gone. He couldn’t justify stopping practice, but he also couldn’t truly give a good reason to keep Danny there.

The locker room was quiet when he entered and seemed to be empty until he rounded the corner and saw Stiles. His new boyfriend was crouched against a row of lockers and clutching the fire extinguisher to his chest. He seemed to be pale and shaken, though he didn’t see any obvious injuries.

“Stiles?” Danny ignored the flinch and focused on the large grin he received. He slowly crouched in front of him and eyed the extinguisher and the white marks on the floor to his right. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He shook the canister softly and gave a laugh as he said. “Can you help me put this up?”

“Sure.” Danny looked around and spotted the pull-pin under one of the benches, taking off his gloves and scooting across the floor to grab it. “But why do you have it? Why did you use it?”

“Scott got a little angry,” Stiles chuckled and held out the canister as Danny began to maneuver the pin back into place. “Thought it’d cool him down some.”

“Scott?” Danny stared at Stiles and refused to back down as his boyfriend began to fiddle with the extinguisher’s hose. “Scott attacked you?”

“No!” Stiles set the canister to the side and shook his head quickly as he said, “He just got angry. No maiming happened!”

“But he tried,” Danny gently grabbed Stiles’ arms before they could start flailing and questioned, “Didn’t he?”

“He was just worked up–”

“And he didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m not hurt, no.”

Danny stared at him and felt his jaw clench. Stiles still had an excited air and wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was still pale, and while he didn’t cringe away from Danny, he was certainly pulling away physically.

“Can I check?” Danny asked.

“What?”

He repeated, “Can I check?” He smoothed his hands over Stiles’ arms and nodded towards his torso. “I think you’re lying to me. I think you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. I hit my shoulder while grabbing the thing, but he didn’t hurt me. Scott would never hurt me.”

“You’re protecting your middle.” Danny frowned as he stared at Stiles’ shirt and corrected, “Actually, you’ve been guarding it throughout practice too. Were you hurt before?”

“Danny, please.” Stiles’ voice was soft and strained as he begged, “Just leave it. I’m fine.”

He stared at the withdrawn boy and released a sigh. “Okay. But if you turn up injured, I will find out who did it, and I will take them down.”

Stiles chuckled and shook his head, accepting Danny’s help in standing and turning back to his phone.

SR: Wolves also howl to signal and offer a hunt amongst their social circles.

Black Queen: HOWL!!!!!

Dark King: Howl!

EP: Howl

Just JJ: Arhoooo

Dr. Chi: Ululare

>I’m good.

Black Queen: Why do I not believe you?

EP: Because you’re smart.
EP: Tell us who to eviscerate.

Mini-Hacker set EP's nickname as Alpha Female

Alpha Female: Acceptable, but I won't be distracted.

>It was a false alarm. The joke didn’t go over well through text.

Dark King: Joke. Right.

Mini-Hacker: He’s not hurt and I’m dealing with it.

Black Queen: While I love you both, that doesn’t inspire the most confidence.

Mini-Hacker: I’ll loose the hounds of war if I can’t do it myself.
Mini-Hacker: For now, Heel.

"You wanna grab some food?" Danny carefully began to unlatch his padding, piling the equipment on one of the benches. "With Jackson gone, I'm pretty sure Coach won't tell us off for leaving. He can't really cancel practice, but he won't stop us from bailing."

"Sure." Stiles did much the same, stuffing his own equipment into a duffel bag before he opened his locker. He felt nervous changing in front of Danny, but just turned his back and tried to get through the act quickly. "You want pizza, or burgers?"

"I'm assuming you'd prefer curly fries?"

Stiles laughed softly as he quickly pulled his regular shirt on over his jersey, making sure his back and chest were covered as he wiggled his arms out from the inner layer. "I'll never turn down curly fries."

"Burgers it is." There was a creak from the lockers at Stiles' back, probably from Danny opening his own locker to start changing as well. "You got a curfew?"

"Nope." Stiles popped the word as he shuffled backwards to sit on the bench, reaching down to unlace his cleats. "My Dad's working a double."

"Didn't he work the last two days?"

"So a triple then." Stiles wrestled with his shoes, kicking them off before he stood and swapped his shorts for jeans. "He's got an army cot in his office, so he'll be fine. Jacobson had to take off for family issues, so my Dad is covering his shift."

"At least he won't know if I spend the night."

Stiles hands paused as he fought the zipper on his pants, and his voice sounded a little on the faint side as he asked, "Were you wanting to spend the night?"

"If you were okay with that. Though, I mostly meant sleeping at yours so I didn't have to drive back late." There was a slightly longer pause before Danny admitted, "We don't have to do anything. We could just watch a movie, or do homework."

"I mean, we've already done some stuff."

"But that doesn't mean we have to do everything all at once." Stiles jolted as a hand clapped down on his shoulder, Danny's head propping itself on Stiles' other shoulder. "Step A does not always lead to Step B, and that's fine. We don't have to rush anything."

"It feels weird though." Stiles finished the zip on his pants before he leaned back against Danny, trying to relax the sudden tension that had taken up in his shoulders. "It's like we're taking a step backwards."

"And that's okay." Danny wound his arms around Stiles' middle, gently holding the boy as he sighed. "We can go forwards, or backwards, or even sideways if you need to. Just because you were okay with something yesterday, doesn't mean you'll be okay with it every day."

"I swear that what you just said shouldn't make any sense, but I think I kind of get what you're saying."

"Good." Danny leaned over and gave a loud, smacking kiss to the side of Stiles' neck before he released the boy and rounded the bench to be fully by his side. "Now, let's grab some food and go watch trashy movies."

"Yeah." Stiles quickly did up his duffle and slung it over his shoulder, watching Danny gather his own and turn to follow. "Do you want to leave your car here, or drive separate?"

"Separate." Danny shouldered the locker room door open and held it for the other boy. "I'll need to head home in the morning to get ready for school. As much as I would love to wear your hoodie, I don't think your clothes would fit me."

"Alright. I'll stop and pick up the food if you go rent the movies?"

Danny snorted softly and nodded with a quick, "Deal," before he leaned in and gave Stiles a chaste kiss. He let them linger together for a few seconds before he pulled back and headed towards his car. He caught a glimpse of Stiles’ goofy grin in the rearview mirror, and he couldn’t deny he had one of his own.

Chapter Text

>Oh God
>I need help
>I just found a body
>Well, half a body

Dr. Chi: Kid, call 911.

Mini-Hacker: Where are you?

>I’ll send you the address. I already called it in.
>Me and SM went out to try and find the body again, but it had been moved. We thought we would ask someone we know about it and went to his old house, except I noticed the new grave site and we dug it up, and it was the half of the body. Fuck dude. Fuck

Mini-Hacker: I have so many questions.
Mini-Hacker: There’s two patrol units on the way. One of which is your Dad.

>Shit. I don’t want to get caught at another crime scene.

Black Queen: Honey, you need to stay there and wait for the authorities to get there. Don’t move anything.

Mini-Hacker: Too late to run. The deputy on duty recognized your number when you called it in. She just advised your Dad that you were the one to find it.

>Fuck. I am so grounded.

Dark King: What do you mean you found half of a body?

Mini-Hacker: Some woman was found ripped in two, but the police only found the lower half. They’ve been searching for the rest of her.

>Well, the search is over. Found her new grave, and it was the fucking creeper hermit.
>I knew the guy was insane, but I didn’t think he would actually be capable of that.

SR: Some people are capable of the most horrific things you can imagine.
SR: How did you identify the grave?

>It rained yesterday, and the area was sunk in about two inches. You can also smell the decay since she wasn’t buried that deep. He also left a marker for the grave, rope and flowers arranged around it.

SR: Did the area have significance to the murderer?

>It was his old house. His whole family died in a house fire, and only him, his sister and his uncle survived. His Uncle’s catatonic though, so they fled town after it happened. He buried her right next to the house, beside the porch.
>Actually, now that I’m thinking of it, it feels off. It feels more like an act of grief than a way to cover up a murder. Oh God. They haven’t identified her, but I bet it was his fucking sister. Like he found her and wanted her to be with the rest of his family. The fire was too hot and none of the bodies were recovered.
>Mini-Hacker, can you look up her estimated time of death and see if you can alibi her brother? I kind of hope that I’m wrong, but I’m starting to think I just desecrated a grave instead of found a murderer.

Mini-Hacker: Already on it.

Dark King: You should still treat him as a potential threat. Keep on alert until the cops get there.
Dark King: I would suggest you find some place you can be guarded, like a car.

>I sent my friend back with my jeep.
>Figured there was no point of us both getting our asses handed to us.

Mini-Hacker: He left you there?

>I told him to.
>Gotta go. I hear the sirens.

Mini-Hacker: Text me when you get home.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Stiles crept to the patrol car and made sure that the coast was clear before he ripped the door open and dove inside. Derek was slumped in the backseat, staring at his clenched fists. Stiles didn’t have the ability to smell emotions like Scott was getting, but he could tell by his body language that he had made a mistake.

Derek wasn’t sulking like someone that got caught, nor did he have any fear in his face for what was to come. Instead, he hung his head in grief and shame. He clenched his fists in desperate anger at his situation, and Stiles felt bile build in his throat as he thought of what he had just done. Derek looked up at him, and all of Stiles’ bravery fled him.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles had to take a deep breath at the look of confusion on Derek’s face. “I thought you killed her, but you didn’t. It’s Laura, isn’t it?” Derek looked away, grief taking over his frame. “You didn’t do it, and I got you in trouble. I’m so fucking sorry, dude–”

“Just go away.” Derek spat the words before he jerked his head towards the window of the car. “Go worry about your friend and his stupid need to play a game. Stop him from playing–chain him up if you have to–because if he shifts on the field, he’ll be the one in trouble.”

Stiles opened his mouth to say more, but was unable to as the door was flung open and his collar was grabbed. He was ripped from the seat harshly, left staggering in his father’s hold as the door was slammed shut once more. He didn’t have to look up to know the emotion his father’s face would hold.

“What the Hell are you doing?”

“I was just–”

“No, Stiles.” His father’s grip tightened on his collar, pulling him closer as he lowered his voice. “You are going to stay away from this. Do you understand? No more investigating. No more badgering people for answers. No more sticking your nose into places where it doesn’t belong.”

Stiles had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could stutter, “I’m sorry.”

“You damn well should be.” He didn’t release his grip as he turned and began to drag Stiles towards the other patrol car. “We’re going home.”

“Dad–”

“Shut up and get in the car.”

Stiles felt his breath hitch as he was shoved into the back of the patrol car, the door slamming after him. He hated being shoved in the back like a criminal, but he guessed he might deserve it for what he and Scott had just done. Derek was in one unjustly, and Stiles wasn’t even handcuffed.

His father climbed into the driver’s side and shut his door, but he made no move to start the car. It made Stiles shift restlessly in the silence.

“Dad, I–”

His father reached around, punching the metal grate between them. Stiles couldn’t help but flinch away and try to fold smaller in his seat.

“Do you have any idea how this makes me look?” His father’s voice was deathly calm, but his fist was still pressed to the grate, shaking in anger. “How my deputies see me when you constantly appear at crime scenes? When you intrude on their lives with theories that are useless? You are not a cop or an agent or an investigator.”

“I know.”

“No you don’t.” He didn’t look in the backseat as he spoke, just stared ahead out the windows as the others milled around the scene. “You defy me at every turn. You drag my name through the mud every time you do something like this. Every time you act like this. Every time you cause some new rumor to flood the town.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t care.” His father saw one of the deputies approaching the car and quickly waved him off. The other man hesitated, but nodded and walked away. “I’m taking you home, and you’re going to stay there. No school, no phone, no computer, and no Scott. For a week.”

“Please don’t–”

“You’re lucky I don’t tan your hide in front of the whole precinct!” His voice rose sharply before he took a breath and reigned it back in. “Your actions have consequences, and you’re going to realize that–even if I have to beat it into you.”

Stiles felt his blood run cold and his palms grow slick. His phone suddenly felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket, and he wondered if he would be able to get a message to Danny. If he would be able to tell him why he would suddenly be absent.

“Danny wanted me to text him when I got home.”

“Danny,” His father spat the name, “can live without you for a week.”

“I have a lacrosse game on Saturday.”

“Don’t act like you’ll actually be playing; you warm the bench.” His father quickly started the car and rolled down his window and Stiles’, reaching his arm out of the car and towards the backseat. “Phone. Now.”

Stiles took a shaking breath and carefully passed over his phone. It felt like a death sentence and he could feel his panic increase tenfold as the phone was snatched and the windows were rolled back up. He saw his father turn the screen on and grumble at the need for a password, flicking it back off and tossing it into the passenger seat.

“I’m going to drop you off at home and lock the door behind you. I have to come back until my shift is over, and you are to remain inside the house. If I find out that you left, or if you even unlocked the door before I get back, you’re gonna get it twice as worse. Understood?”

Stiles had to choke out the word, “Yes.” He was sure it still sounded like a sob. Though his father ignored it as he put the car in reverse and began to turn it around. Stiles tried to keep his head down as the car started off, but his eyes were drawn to the other patrol car as they passed it. Derek was staring at him in some mixture of shock and confusion, though it seemed to rapidly clear as they made eye contact. Stiles caught a glimpse of anger before he ducked his head once again.

It was a long, silent ride home.

Chapter Text

Black Queen: Howl!

Mini-Hacker: I regret that I made that a thing.

Black Queen: Mini-Me! Where’s my Future-Son-In-Law?
Black Queen: Wasn’t he gonna text you when he got home?

Mini-Hacker: He never did. He also didn’t show up for class this morning.
Mini-Hacker: I’m guessing he probably got grounded.

Dr. Chi: Are children normally kept from school when they’re grounded?

Mini-Hacker: He is. I asked him about it once and he said it was like taking away a kid’s video games.
Mini-Hacker: He wasn’t allowed to graduate early, and was only allowed to skip one grade, so school is pretty useless for him. He goes for the social aspect of it.
Mini-Hacker: Said he didn’t want to be a kid at college.

SR: I would very much not recommend it. Others are often intimidated and uncomfortable when faced with someone smarter than them, and that only multiplies tenfold when they are significantly younger.

Black Queen: My precious nerds.

Mini-Hacker: Anyways, I’ll keep you guys updated on what I know.

Just JJ: Please do. Don’t hesitate to contact us.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Black Queen: Howl!

Mini-Hacker: Still not at school. His Dad must have been pretty pissed.

SR: Will this punishment have any affect on his academics? Most schools are governed by an Attendance Law, stating that the student will fail the year if a certain amount of days are missed.
SR: Is his father not concerned with this?

Mini-Hacker: He probably called the school and said he was sick.
Mini-Hacker: Mr. Douche doesn’t like his Dad, but he’s popular in the town. People trust him. Think he can do no wrong.

Alpha Female: But you don’t like him.

Mini-Hacker: Just a gut feeling. Nothing more.
Mini-Hacker: I also have an aversion to law enforcement.

Black Queen: Understandable darling.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Black Queen: Howl?

Mini-Hacker: Nope. I’m gonna stop by his house after school.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Danny stared up at the second-story window with a small smirk in place, clutching the handful of pebbles he had grabbed from the neighbor’s rock garden. He felt no remorse as he gently tossed them at the pane of glass, but he did feel like their predicament was a little ridiculous.

Stiles was grounded, as Danny had inferred with the boy’s absence from school, social media and messaging. Which meant that he probably wasn’t supposed to be seeing his boyfriend, and led to a slightly stealthy operation of Danny sneaking into their backyard and hiding in the shadow of a large tree.

He had already been throwing the small pebbles for five minutes with no response, and the charm of playing the Knight in Shining Armor had worn off at minute three. After all, it was terribly rude for the princess–or prince–of the tower to ignore their would-be suitors. Danny had almost been tempted to start singing a serenade when his temper had won out.

He hefted the remaining pebbles, flinging them all at once to meet the window in a loud clatter of rocks on a mesh screen. It sounded like a horrid drumroll as they scraped their way down and fell to the small concrete landing that led to the back door. Danny was just about to try his hand at stealing another fistfull when there was a muffled clatter and the glass pane of the window squealed upwards.

“Danny?” Stiles’ voice was hushed and confused as he peered down, his face and form mostly hidden in the distortion of the mesh screen. “What the Hell are you doing?”

Danny gave a sigh of relief at hearing his boyfriend, but quickly curled a fist to his chest and held the other hand high towards the window. He tried to strike the goofiest pose that he could as he whisper-yelled, “Oh Rapunzel, Rapunzel. Let down your hair to me!”

“I’ll throw my weave if you don’t shut up!” Stiles’ voice was filled with restrained laughter as he quickly asked, “What are you doing here?”

“You never texted back.” Danny took a step closer to the house and tried to stand taller to get a better angle, but the other boy was still hidden by the dim light and distance. “I was checking up on you. Making sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, just a little bored.” He reached into the window’s edge and quickly pried the metal screen loose with practiced ease, twisting it and pulling it into the room. It didn’t help Danny see much more detail, but he could at least make out the small smile of glinting teeth. “I’m in Lockdown ‘til the game on Saturday.”

“So he’s letting you come to the game?”

“Yeah,” Stiles leaned his arms against the window seal and snickered as he explained. “It was gonna be ‘til Monday, but I reminded him I have the game and he changed it. Everyone knows I won’t be playing, but Coach would throw a fit if I was kept home.”

“He’s good like that.”

Stiles made a soft agreeing sound before he released a long sigh into the night. “Yeah. He’s harsh, but he’s harsh equally, ya know?”

“Yeah.” Danny glanced at the neighboring houses and frowned as he admitted, “I probably should get going. I don’t want someone to report my loitering and have you get in trouble.”

“Probably.” Stiles leaned a little further out the window, casting his eyes into a small patch of light as he gave a coy grin. “Do I get a token of my valiant Knight’s favor?”

Danny started to shake his head before he stopped and returned with his own grin. He then reached for the zipper of his jacket and quickly worked it down, tearing the garment off and balling it into his fist. He saw Stiles flinch in realization a second before Danny was hurling the jacket at the window. Though he was not the most dexterous, Stiles stretched for it and was able to snag one of the sleeves to stop it from plummeting to the ground.

“Danny?”

“I think,” Danny said, “that will have to do for now, but I can try to get you a proper favor after your imprisonment is over.”

Stiles stared down at him as he pulled the jacket inside, slowly tugging it on over his shirt and wrapping the sides to overlap at his front. He pressed his nose to the collar of the fabric and seemed to sigh into it as his shoulders dropped. “You know you’re not getting this back, right?”

“I’ll just have to steal one of yours if I get cold.” Danny glanced around them again before he started backing away from the house, sticking towards the long shadow of the tree. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Danny.”

“Anytime, Babe!” Danny gave him another goofy grin before he took off, slinking along the building’s edge and making his way towards his mom’s SUV.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Mini-Hacker: He’s alive.

Dark King: That’s not very reassuring, kid.

Mini-Hacker: Well, that’s all I could get.
Mini-Hacker: I talked to him a bit, but he's on Lockdown, Rapunzel Style.
Mini-Hacker: He’s still grounded and I couldn't stick around. Though, he said he’d be at our game tomorrow night, so I’ll see him then and make sure.

Dr. Chi: Please keep us posted.

Black Queen: Tell us if we need to sharpen our pitchforks!

Mini-Hacker: Will do.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

>I’m alive! :D
>Howl!!!!!

Black Queen: Yay!

Dr. Chi: Glad to see you back, kid.

Dark King: Punishment over?

>Yep. I’m a free man again, just in time for me to warm the bench at the game!

Black Queen: You don’t play?

>Not usually. I’m more of a last resort.

Black Queen: Well, here’s something for you to enjoy while you wait for a broken leg on the field.
Black Queen: Butcher_Solved_By_FBI-BAU

>Is that Agent Hotchner publicly thanking me?

Just JJ: Through gritted teeth. Apparently, someone spread the word that our breakthrough with the Butcher’s case was to be credited to an anonymous source.

Dr. Chi: Congrats kid. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone give him an aneurysm like that.

Mini-Hacker: He deserved it.
Mini-Hacker: Dude, where are you? You aren’t in the locker room.

>Already on the field. My Dad dropped me off early, said he would stay for the game.

Mini-Hacker: Okay. I’ll see you in a minute. Keep my seat warm. <3

>Bitch.

Black Queen: So, how does it feel to have your phone again?

>Feels pretty great. Swear I was going through withdrawals. Mostly kept myself entertained by bouncing a tennis ball off the walls.
>Also, I had some time to think while I was locked away.
>Are there any parts of the program I could do before graduating? Or do I need a GED for all of it?

Dr. Chi: There’s a class or two you could attend. You could also look through the other materials as well. You just wouldn’t be able to be tested on it.

Dark King: I still think you should take the IQ test. I wanna see if you beat Reid.

Alpha Female: He’s smart, but I doubt he’s that smart.

>Rude.

Mini-Hacker: Making my way out now. Will you protect my phone while I play?

>Course.

Mini-Hacker: Thx

Black Queen: Is it just me, or does that feel like the equivalent of “hold my earrings”?

Alpha Female: It’s not just you.

Mini-Hacker: I’m gonna kill him.

Black Queen: ?

Dark King: Who?

Just JJ: I feel like we missed something.

Mini-Hacker: You did because you’re not here. You can’t see him.
Mini-Hacker: I’m gonna hack him into pieces and spread the chunks throughout the preserve. Damn the consequences.

>No.

SR: I would normally discourage murder, but I feel the need to collect more information before casting judgment. Who are you wanting to kill?

Mini-Hacker: Mini-Reid’s piece of shit father.

>Don’t call my father a piece of shit. :(

Mini-Hacker: You have a split lip and a wrist brace.

>I fell down the stairs. Hit the banister on the way down.

Mini-Hacker: Don’t lie to me

>Don’t put me in a position to lie. Just come give me a hug.

Stiles turned his phone screen off as Danny approached him, his own phone hanging limp in his grasp. Stiles could feel his phone being blown up with messages, but he ignored it as his boyfriend collapsed onto the bench beside him.

“Hi,” Stiles couldn’t raise his voice above a whisper, but he refused to look away. Danny looked wrecked as he raised his hand to gently finger the healing bruise on Stiles’ jawline. It was a dull yellow and barely visible in the dim light. He doubted it would even be there by Monday.

“He hit you.” He didn’t ask it, just said it with a cold certainty. “I’ll kill him.”

“I fell,” Stiles gave a hollow smile and shook his head. “That’s all.”

"Did he push you?"

Stiles started to roll his eyes as he protested, "Danny–"

“You need to tell someone–”

“It won’t help.” Stiles leaned into the other boy and took a slow breath as he was hugged to the padded chest. “Someone reported him before, and it was just brushed away. The deputies laughed it off and said I was lying. No one would believe the Sheriff could ever break the law, but everyone believed his spastic son would lie.”

“We have a group chat full of Feds.” Danny didn’t release his grip as he said it, tucking Stiles under his chin and holding him tighter. “They could bring in someone that wasn’t local.”

“And it would still be the word of a Sheriff against the word of a criminal. I’d get torn apart.” He shook his head gently and settled closer. “I’ll just have to be more careful. Wait it out until I turn eighteen.”

“We could get you emancipated.”

“My Father knows all the Judges. None of them would sign.”

“We could run away.”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at the statement, gently pulling away to sit up straight. His ribs were killing him with how bad they ached, and laughing wasn’t helping.

“I’m serious. I could get funds. New identities.”

“Thanks, but no. We have to stay.”

“Mahealani! Get on the field!”

Danny flinched at Coach’s yell, but barely spared him a glance. He just kept staring at Stiles until the boy gave him a smile and gestured towards the field. He decided to table the subject as he handed his phone to the injured boy and placed a gentle kiss on the uninjured side of his mouth.

“We aren’t done talking about this.”

Stiles didn’t reply as Danny grabbed his gear and slowly walked to the circle of players. Stiles couldn’t fully relax as he felt his Father’s gaze on his back, but something deep in his chest did unwind. When he was sure he had his emotions controlled, he opened his phone and glanced back at the group chat.

Dark King: Kid? Did your Dad hurt you?

Black Queen: I need a name.
Black Queen: Just give me a name and everything will be fine.
Black Queen: I’ll make him pay, and Mini-Me can be the Future-Son-In-Law instead.

Alpha Female: If your father caused you harm, you should report it. We would support you in this endeavor.

Dark King: Kid? You still there?

SR: Based on his messages, I would say that he isn’t looking at his phone at the moment. He’s most likely interacting with Mini-Garcia.
SR: I would also like to say that he’s a 14–almost 15– year old male, who has skipped a grade, making him a sophomore. His father is some form of police officer and his mother is most likely deceased.
SR: Based on the timing of both their messages, we know that they get out of school at roughly 18:30, our time, meaning that they are most likely stationed in the PDT.
SR: Mini-Me’s town also has had a recent death from Bifurcation, and he was the one to find half of the body at 2 am on Tuesday morning, January 18th.
SR: Garcia, find them.

>Absolutely not.

Black Queen: Working on it.

>Even if you find me, I’m not going to say anything.

Dark King: Kid, you don’t have to protect him. If someone is hurting you, you should tell us.

>No. I’ve gone down this road before and it didn’t help.
>I was laughed at and everyone thought I was lying. I’m still treated like a criminal when I show up at the Sheriff’s Station, so no. I’m not saying shit.
>I fell.

Dr. Chi: We wouldn’t laugh at you.

>But everyone else did. They even sent a fucking Fed when the second report got sent in, and you know what he said?
>“If he was my kid, I’d beat him too.”

Alpha Female: No one should ever say that to a child.

>He didn’t say it to me. He said it to the Sheriff, and they both laughed.

Dark King: I’m so sorry, kid.
Dark King: I know it didn’t work the first time, but you can trust us. We’ll make sure this time.

>The answer is still no.
>If you pursue it any further, I’ll shut it down. My story won’t change, and I’ll never reply to your messages ever again.

Dark King: Kid.

>I said no, so stop digging.

Dr. Chi: Okay. We’ll stop, but we’re here. If you ever change your mind, tell us and we’ll have you out of there in a heartbeat.
Dr. Chi: And the second you turn 18, you’re getting thrown on the team.

Black Queen: I don’t want to drop this.

>I’m not one of your cases.

Black Queen: I know, but I care about you.
Black Queen: I barely know the both of you, but I’m not joking when I talk about adopting you.
Black Queen: I don’t like that you’re being hurt.

>I’m fine.

SR: I’m beginning to understand why the other members of the team grow uncomfortable when I say that.

>Me or the case. Those are your options.

Black Queen: Oh Honey. It’s gonna be you every time.

Dark King: Of course, kid.

>Then you need to trust that I can handle it. I’m okay and I don’t need any help.
>Now, I’m gonna turn my phone off and watch my boyfriend kick ass on the field.
>I’ll message you guys later.

He did just that, powering his phone off instead of simply turning it to silent. He then tucked it away and focused on the game. He noticed the stiffness of Danny’s shoulders as he played, and tried to cheer extra loud when he passed or blocked a shot. He didn’t think it helped, but it made him feel better to cheer on his boyfriend.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

You messaged AH.

>Hey again.
>I just wanted to apologize again for the whole ‘hacking you guys’ thing.
>And for whoever made you give that public announcement thing. Didn’t mean to step on any toes.

AH: While I still do not approve of your methods, I meant what I said. Your information helped us to see the mistakes that we had made, and there are now two killers who are being held accountable for their actions.

>Well, you said it through gritted teeth, so I didn’t think you actually meant it.
>You looked like a child that was forced to apologize to another kid.
>Not that I’m calling you a child, or anything! Sorry!

AH: There was no insult taken.
AH: Now stop messaging me.

>Right. Yep. Sorry again!

Chapter Text

Stiles tried to ignore the feeling of encroaching dread as he thought of the newest murder. Well, almost murder. The guy was still technically alive, or it probably should fall into the category of unintentional maiming. Honestly, he was just relieved that he hadn’t been the one to first discover the bloody bus or the victim.

The poor topic was actually a little easier to ignore with Danny sitting beside him, resting his hand on Stiles’ leg and noisily munching on an apple. He had a coy little grin on his face, the bastard. Probably knew that if he moved his hand there was a good chance that Stiles would combust.

“So,” Lydia spoke up suddenly as she attempted to change the topic. “Where are the six of us going?” She turned her question on Allison and raised an eyebrow when she received a stammering question. “The date. You were talking about hanging out with Scott, and I refuse to sit at home watching lacrosse videos again, so Jackson and I are going. Danny and Miles are welcome to come too, seeing as they’re a thing now. Yeah?”

Stiles ducked his head and tried not to let his irritation show on his face. He didn’t know why Lydia had suddenly decided they didn’t know each other, and now that he had a different love interest it was actually beginning to piss him off. They had known each other since they were little kids. She knew his fucking name.

Danny’s grip on his thigh tightened and he quickly interjected, “That sounds like a great idea, Leila. We haven’t been able to actually go on a date yet.”

Lydia’s face quickly froze as she stared at Danny, refusing to allow her face to contort in irritation or disgust. She didn’t acknowledge the insult, or retaliate. Instead she quickly turned back to Allison to confirm if bowling would suit for the activity.

Stiles listened to the conversation with half an ear, trying to hold in a snort of amusement when Scott said he was a great bowler. He wasn’t about to call him out in front of the others, but he knew he would be telling Danny no matter what. He didn’t even wait, deciding to whip his phone out under the table.

>He’s shit at bowling.

Mini-Hacker: I figured that was why you were trying not to laugh.
Mini-Hacker: You’re literally shaking with repressed laughter.

>I love him, but he can be a dumbass.

Black Queen: Hello my lovelies.
Black Queen: Who’s a dumbass?

>My best friend. He just got forced to agree to a double date and lied about being a good bowler because his girlfriend was taunting a jackass.
>My friend is a dumb, innocent Puppy Dog.

Mini-Hacker: Triple date. We got roped in as well.
Mini-Hacker: I’m sorry about her, by the way. I could tell you were upset.

>You got her back pretty well, so thanks for that.

Black Queen: Oh? Tell Momma how Mini-Me protected my Son.

>Not your son.

Mini-Hacker: She called him by the wrong name, even though she’s known him for years.
Mini-Hacker: I know she knows his name because we’ve talked about him a lot recently, so I called her by the wrong name as well.

>It was incredibly hot. Especially with that smug little grin you gave.
>I should also warn you, I’m horrible at bowling as well.

Mini-Hacker: I’ll give you a few pointers.

>Do you mean that you’re gonna do that cliche-romantic thing where you put your arms around me and guide me while I throw the ball?

Mini-Hacker: ;)

>*swoon*

Black Queen: You guys are my OTP

Alpha Female: Seconded.

SR: I would suggest you look up the physics of bowling before you go, and try to think about the actual math behind the movements. It might help you hit the pins if you can visualize and know how your throw affects the movement of the bowling ball.

>I will. Thanks.

Mini-Hacker: Can I still do the thing?

>Yes, you can still do the thing.

Mini-Hacker: :]

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Mini-Hacker: I’m sorry.

>Shut up.

Mini-Hacker: I didn’t mean to laugh.

>Yes you did. Don’t lie.

Dark King: What did Mini-Garcia laugh at?

>My attempt at bowling. I got a strike.

Black Queen: Sweetems, I don’t see how that’s laugh worthy.

Mini-Hacker: It wasn’t in his lane, the one he was aiming for.

>Well, it’s your fault.
>I was focusing on the math of how I should throw the ball and he grabbed my waist. I panicked.
>He laughed along with the Jackass and the Airhead.

Mini-Hacker: I’m sorry.

>You’re still laughing. You’re not sorry.

Mini-Hacker: It was adorable. I wish I had it on video.
Mini-Hacker: Next time, I’ll give you some warning before I grab you.

>Thank you.

Just JJ: How’s it going besides the first attempt?

Mini-Hacker: His friend, Puppy, is just as bad as Mini-Reid said.
Mini-Hacker: Jackass is just as good as he said he was.
Mini-Hacker: Puppy’s girlfriend is a literal Angel and also has bowling skill.

>Airhead is failing just as badly as I thought she would in an attempt to look attractive to her pig-headed alpha-male of a boyfriend.
>Although, Puppy is getting a dopey look on his face from whatever Angel just said to him, so his luck might change.

Mini-Hacker: I doubt it’ll help.
Mini-Hacker: Shit, nvm.

Dark King: What happened?

>He just got a strike. Hell yeah! I have no clue what she said, but it was awesome.

SR: There’s a high probability that her advice was something along the sexual line. It’s shown that partner’s perform to a higher degree when properly motivated by sexual rewards.

Mini-Hacker: No shit?
Mini-Hacker: Oh look at that. It wasn’t a strike, but you did a lot better.

>Shut up.

Black Queen: :O
Black Queen: Did you just proposition my son so you could win at bowling?

Mini-Hacker: I have no shame. It worked.

Alpha Female: Whatever wins the war.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

>Oh God. Did I just hear that right?
>I must be misinterpreting what that bitch just said.

Mini-Hacker: You heard her right. Please don’t call her a bitch.

>She just flirted with Puppy, in front of Angel and Jackass–her own boyfriend.
>She’s going down.

Mini-Hacker: Please don’t break the lane.

>I’ll break her face.

Black Queen: This is the moment when I truly regret not knowing who you both are.
Black Queen: I need pictures and videos.
Black Queen: Messages just aren’t enough.

Mini-Hacker: Okay, he grabbed the ball.
Mini-Hacker: Glanced back over his shoulder and winked. Nice view.
Mini-Hacker: Lining up the shot.

Black Queen: The suspense. How did my baby do?

>He’s too busy laughing again.
>I tripped and broke the bowling ball.
>On the plus side, it made Angel laugh and stop glaring at Airhead, so win?

SR: Are you measuring the length the ball will have to travel and the rotations it will make?

>Yes.

SR: What about the friction of contact with the lane? The spin and curve of the ball?

>Yes and yes. I’m not stupid.

SR: Are you factoring in the tilt of the lane?

>Holy shit, one sec.

Mini-Hacker: You may have broken my boyfriend.
Mini-Hacker: He’s currently laying on the floor and dripping water with extreme concentration.
Mini-Hacker: Oh look, he just shouted in triumph.

You set SR’s Nickname to Sensei.

>The left side of the bowling alley has sunk about two inches since it was built two decades ago, most likely having shifted from the flooding in 2004, combined with an earthquake shortly after. I needed to factor in the uneven plane to my equations.
>I got a STRIKE!

Mini-Hacker: Jackass is my friend, but it is nice to show him up sometimes.
Mini-Hacker: Thanks Babe.

Stiles smiled at his phone as Danny leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek. He felt his face heat and tucked the phone away as his boyfriend stood.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom real quick. Do you want me to grab anything while I’m gone?”

“Oh,” Stiles glanced over at their small table and nodded towards his empty bottle. “Can you grab me another drink? The red one, if they have it?”

“Sure.” He ghosted a hand down Stiles’ back as he turned and walked away. Stiles watched him swing his hips and could almost picture the smirk on his face. There was no doubt that Danny was currently strutting away, putting on a show for his watcher. It made his face flush as he was reminded of Danny’s earlier incentive to bowl better.

“So,” Lydia stared at Stiles as she reached up and twirled a strand of her hair. “Kyle.”

Stiles couldn’t keep the smile on his face as she misnamed him again. “It’s Stiles.”

“Hm.” She rolled her eyes gently and gave him a fake smile, ignoring the fact that she didn’t even try to hide her lack of interest. “What was the whole lane-whispering, voodoo thing you just did?”

“I was checking the level of the lane.” Stiles glanced towards the bathroom and had to grit his teeth as he saw Danny just entering it. “The building shifted, so the lane is actually on a slight tilt–”

“And that somehow helped you get a perfect throw?” Jackson asked with disbelief. He seemed to stretch out further, widening his legs in some display of manliness.

“I wasn’t factoring in the tilt of the lane to my equations.” Stiles glanced to his right and sighed as he saw Scott up to bowl, Allison right beside him. He was happy Scott was enjoying himself, even though he had been the one to be guided through bowling. It didn’t seem to be wounding his pride as Allison embraced him and walked him through the movements. “But I got a handle on the ball now.”

“You must have some skill with them.” Jackson gave an absent glare his way as he muttered, “I can’t think of any other reason Danny would actually agree to date a freak like you.”

“Maybe because he likes me?” Stiles crossed his arms and glared at his shoes. “Apparently he would have said yes a lot sooner, but he thought I wasn’t into guys.”

“Oh please,” Jackson rolled his head along with his eyes and tossed an arm around Lydia to pull her into his side more. “Just admit you’re only letting him screw you so you can get closer to my girlfriend. You’ve been stalking her since fifth grade.”

Lydia shrugged off his arm and stood to take her turn. Though not before she rolled her eyes again and said, “Leave it, Jackson. It’s just a phase. Besides,” she threw a dismissive glance Stiles' way as she said, “He’ll get over it soon and trade up. Just let him have his fun with the new toy.”

Stiles stared after her as she grabbed her pink bowling ball and flounced to the lane, passing by a confused and worried Scott and Allison. Stiles was starting to question why he ever thought he liked her, and found it was getting harder and harder to breathe. His vision was blurring and his nose was stopping up, and he just knew that he was a minute away from bursting into tears. He knew the warning signs and he did not want to stick around and let them see him cry.

He ignored Scott and Allison as they asked after him, abruptly standing and striding towards the bathrooms. He didn’t care who he crossed in front of, and kept his head down as he pushed the door open and leaned against it once it closed behind him. Danny was standing at the sink drying his hands, and jumped to alertness when Stiles burst in.

“Stiles? Did you need to go to the bathroom too?”

Stiles shook his head and glanced around, noting the open and empty stalls before his vision blurred further. His voice was soft and choked as he asked, “Can we leave? I know it’s rude to bail, but I don’t think I can…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Danny quickly advanced on him, running his hands up and down his arms and trying to make eye contact. “What happened?”

Stiles just shook his head again and hiccupped, “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Okay.” He reached back towards the sinks and grabbed a paper towel, gently brushing it over Stiles’ face and under his eyes. “We can leave. We don’t have to stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” He quickly wet the paper towel and repeated the process, cleaning his suddenly sticky face. “Do you want to tell me what happened? Was it something Jackson said?”

“He implied that you were only with me for the sex.” Stiles took a deep breath and tried to clear his nose. “And Lydia called me Kyle, and said you’d dump me. And that I was just a toy–”

“Oh, no, Stiles. No.” Danny pulled him against his chest, tightening his arms around the boy. “You’re wonderful, and they just…can’t see that. But it’s okay. I’m not gonna dump you.”

“I know. It was just a little overwhelming.” He tucked his head into Danny’s neck and tried not to think of the snot he was probably leaving behind. “They’ve been making comments all night, and I think I’ve just hit my limit. I don’t want to be around them anymore.”

“Then we’ll go.” He ran a soothing hand up and down his back as he said, “We’ll come bowling another night, without them, yeah? It’ll be okay.”

Stiles nodded and allowed himself to be led from the bowling alley, skirting around the sides to avoid the others. It was surprisingly easy to avoid Scott, as he was distracted by Allison, who seemed to be laying into the other couple. Stiles couldn’t hear what was being said though.

“Do you want to leave your jeep for Scott?”

Stiles nodded and smiled as Danny corralled him to his car and opened the passenger door. Stiles climbed inside, and then released a small groan of frustration as he looked at his feet. He didn’t feel like stealing the bowling shoes, but he refused to go back inside. Danny seemed to see the dilemma as he knelt and began to untie them.

“I’ll grab our stuff and tell the others we’re leaving. You can wait in the car and I’ll be right back.” He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over Stiles shoulders before he planted a kiss to his temple and gently closed the door. He then turned and marched back into the building, shoulders set like a man going to war.

>I hate bowling.

Alpha Female: Who do I need to fight?

Black Queen: Who do I need to ruin?
Black Queen: You were literally having fun five minutes ago.

>Yeah, well, that was five minutes ago.
>Now I’m making my boyfriend bail on his friends because I got my feelings hurt.

Dr. Chi: What happened?

>His friends just said some things.
>It was kind of the last straw and I tucked tail and ran.
>I just wanna go home now.

Black Queen: What did they say?

>Well, Airhead called me the wrong name again and said my boyfriend would “trade up soon”.
>Jackass implied he was only with me for sex, and called me a freak.

Black Queen: Tell me who they are and I can make their credit records tank to the negatives.

Mini-Hacker: That’s my job.
Mini-Hacker: And I handled it. I’m coming out now.

>What do you mean you handled it?

Mini-Hacker: Nothing bad. I’ll tell you later.

Black Queen: I wanna know what you did too!

Dark King: Agreed.

Mini-Hacker: Too bad.

Danny climbed into the car and quickly started the engine before he turned to Stiles and asked, “You want me to take you home?”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed at his eyes and made for his seatbelt before he paused and turned back. “My Dad’s on the night shift. Do you think you could stay over?” His face then bloomed red and filled with mortification as he quickly corrected, “I don’t mean for–you know. I just mean, so I won’t be alone. That’s not to say I wouldn’t normally like…I mean, I wouldn’t say no, I just don’t–”

“Stiles, it’s okay.” Danny reached over and laced his fingers through Stiles, resting their hands on his leg. “Nothing has to happen for me to stay over with you.”

“I’m not saying no.”

“But I am.” Danny gave him a smile as Stiles slowly began to relax in his seat, gripping his hand back. “We’ll just sleep, okay?”

“Okay.” He released Stiles’ hand so he could throw the car in drive, but quickly reclaimed it as they headed out. “What did you do to Jackson and Lydia?”

“Nothing as dramatic as what you’re thinking.” He gave a small grimace and said, “I politely told them to go fuck themselves. Needled at their insecurities a bit and told them to leave us alone.”

“Oh.” Stiles didn’t feel disappointed, but he was kind of hoping it would be something more caveman-esk. “Good.”

“You can be disappointed I didn’t punch them, Stiles.”

“I’m not, not really. I’m just,” he searched for a word and finally settled on “tired.”

“Then let’s get back to your place and go to sleep.”

Stiles nodded in confirmation and shifted closer to the center console to be closer to Danny. He let the car fall into silence, but it didn’t set him on edge. It was a peaceful silence, and God knew he needed a little peace once in a while.

—--- —--- —---

Dr. Chi sent you a message.

Dr. Chi: Here’s the links for the courses you can take.
Dr. Chi: Course_Registry_Ignoto
Dr. Chi: A name is required for the course, so I registered you under “Piccolo Ignoto”. Don’t worry about the fees or tuition.
Dr. Chi: Once you step forward, we’ll change the name on the documents.

>Dude.
>I can pay for the classes.

Dr. Chi: Already done.
Dr. Chi: I also got you permission to have open access to the course, so just go through it at your own pace. You don’t have to wait for midterms or anything.
Dr. Chi: You’ll also be doing a remote internship with me, so text me once you’ve completed registration.

>I thought you didn’t do internships until you were done with the course? Like the physical part as well?

Dr. Chi: Typically, yes. But you’re a special case.
Dr. Chi: And while you’re my intern, I’m allowed to throw you cases that have gone cold, or that have already been solved.

>Are you saying that I can work on cases with you?
>Like, legally?

Dr. Chi: Yes. Though I also have some leeway with active cases as well.
Dr. Chi: Also, Internship with the BAU is paid.

>OMG
>You’re my favorite right now.

Dr. Chi: :)

Chapter Text

Mini-Hacker: How about dinner on Friday?

Black Queen: Just tell me when and where.
Black Queen: I’ll be there with bells and whistles.

Dark King: She actually will. I didn’t believe she would and she brought a kazoo to the bar.

Mini-Hacker: Shh, not you guys.
Mini-Hacker: I’m asking out my boyfriend.

Sensei: I don’t understand why you’re doing that in the group chat. It would be more productive to privately message Mini-Me. He would probably respond quicker and feel less pressured to agree.

Mini-Hacker: I felt like you guys were getting invested in our relationship, and he’d just jump into the chat and tell you anyways. Now…
Mini-Hacker: Boyfriend. Dinner? Friday?

>Sure! If you wanted, you could bring your homework and we could turn it into a study-date. I’m having trouble with the History paper.

Sensei: I was of the understanding that your grades exceeded Mini-Garcia’s? If you need references, or other insights into your assignment, I would be happy to lend my assistance.

Black Queen: Reid. Shhh!

Dark King: He doesn’t want our help with his paper, Pretty boy.

Sensei: But we could be valuable resources for whatever project he’s struggling with.

Black Queen: Sweetie, he’s not struggling with any projects.

Sensei: He just said that he was!

Mini-Hacker: Sure, I can help you out with it. Should I bring anything?

Sensei: Studies have shown that those who eat fruit and vegetables while studying are more likely to remember the information they reviewed. I would suggest carrot sticks since those are less likely to dirty whatever paper you’re working on.

>Just yourself. Puppy bailed on our last gaming night, so I’ve got plenty of snacks.

Black Queen: Reid, they don’t want your input.
Black Queen: Just let them be.

Sensei: Then I repeat, why say it in the chat?

Dr. Chi: “And here you will see the mating rituals of the Socially-Awkward Genius, the older of the species looks on in confusion.”

Mini-Hacker: Sorry. Next time he bails, just call me up and we’ll play together instead.

>I didn’t know you like video games.
>I don’t have many one-on-one’s, so I hope you can work a stick.

Dr. Chi: “Though he may appear innocent and helpless, he is the greatest threat and the first to pounce.”

Sensei: Flirting? Is that how teenagers flirt now?

Dark King: That’s how they’ve always flirted.

Mini-Hacker: I feel the need to defend my boyfriend because he’s turning bright red and stuttering as he tries to write a message.
Mini-Hacker: He has an Atari and was literally meaning a joystick controller.
Mini-Hacker: You broke him.

>That wasn’t what I meant, but I don’t regret it.

Black Queen: Sweet, sweet child.

--- --- --- --- --- ---
You messaged Mini-Hacker.

>Hey. I have to cancel.
>Something important came up and I don’t know when I’ll be free.

Mini-Hacker: That’s okay. Anything I can do to help?

>Not at the moment, but I’ll message you if I think of anything.

- - - - - -

You messaged Sensei.

>How do I treat a bullet wound?
>Also, I promise it wasn’t me.

- - - - - -

Sensei messaged You and 6 others.

Sensei: It depends on the wound and which type of bullet. Was it a through-and-through, a ricochet, or is the bullet still lodged in the wound?

Dark King: Who’s asking you about bullet wounds?

Mini-Hacker: Babe, please tell me you did not get shot.

>Dammit dude. -.-

Sensei: Sorry, wrong chat.

Mini-Hacker: Boy you better answer me before I send the Black Queen your location.

Black Queen: Do it.

>I didn’t get shot.
>But I still need the answer, and it was a through-and-through.
>Though it doesn’t look like a normal bullet wound. It’s bleeding less and swollen, with dark gray around the entry. I don’t know what to do.
>He’s weak, breathing labored, and getting close to a wheeze. Skin diaphoretic and slightly cyanotic. Heart rate is rapid and weak. I don’t have a BP cuff. Vomiting and fever.

Black Queen: Call an ambulance!

Mini-Hacker: Gotta agree with the Queen dude. You aren’t a doctor.

>And if he goes to a doctor, the shooter will kill him in his sleep, just like the fucking bus driver.

Mini-Hacker: I thought he succumbed to his wounds?

>That’s what they say, but I fucking doubt it. He was alert and healing the day before. I’m guessing it’s a cover up since he wasn’t expected to survive.

Alpha Female: What attack? What shooter?

Mini-Hacker: Babe, where are you?

>Safe, and I’m not telling.
>And I still need that bullet wound info.

Sensei: I would highly recommend an ambulance, but I doubt you’re going to call one.
Sensei: Look in the wound and see if you can see any foreign substances. If the patient is conscious, ask him if he has any allergies that might be contributing to his condition.

>He’s conscious, but not super there.
>Oh my God he’s an idiot. Why didn’t he fucking tell me before?
>He said he’s been poisoned by the bitch. She knew his allergies and laced her bullets with a special plant oil.

Sensei: Okay. What do you have available?

>I think I can find some Epinephrine in the cabinets, but they’re locked. It’ll take me a minute to get into them. Do you know the dosage?

Stiles stared at his phone and watched the info dump rolling in. After reading through the information, he set the phone down and ran to the cabinets. It took longer than he liked, but the lock was unlatched and he had a vial and syringe in his hand as he turned back to Derek.

“What the hell are you doing?” Stiles stared at him, wondering exactly how crazy the poison was making the werewolf.

“You’re gonna have to cut off my arm.”

“Absolutely not,” Stiles denied, racing over and pulling the saw from his grip. He tried not to think about how worrying it was that he could wrestle it away so easily. Or that the veterinarian clinic had such a heavy-duty saw in the first place. “Getting rid of the wound doesn’t get rid of the aconite already in your system. You’d still die, it would just be minus an arm.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?” He swayed heavily and let his head roll as he stared down Stiles. “Scott’s not coming back. He doesn’t care if I live or die.”

“Well, I do!” Stiles grabbed him and tried to twist him fully onto the metal examination table. “Get on the table and lay down.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“I didn’t say you were, but you’re about five minutes away from collapsing.” He continued to shove until Derek hiked a leg up and rolled, flopping across the surface weakly. “Aconite is poisonous to Werewolves, but it’s poisonous to everyone too. You have the signs of anaphylactic shock, so that’s what I’m gonna treat you for.”

“It’s not an allergy.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles returned Derek’s glare and felt vindicated when he closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. “No harm in trying it.”

“Just do it.”

“Fine.”

Stiles quickly grabbed the vial and stuck the needle into it. He barely had the forethought to inject air into the vial before he was staring at the full syringe and trying not to faint. He did not like needles or blood, and now he had to inject someone.

“Okay, I don’t think I can overdose a werewolf with epinephrine, so I’m going with four times the adult dosage.” Stiles glanced down at Derek and felt his panic grow as he saw the slack face and closed eyes. He then sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t get punched in the face as he unbuttoned Derek’s pants and pulled them down to expose his thigh. “Oh God. I really hope this doesn’t kill you.”

He placed the syringe over the meat of Derek’s thigh and clenched his eyes shut as he lowered it. There was barely any resistance and he didn’t know if that made it better or worse. When he felt his fingers pressed against his skin, he blindly reached his other hand over to press the plunger. When he was sure it was done, he pulled the needle straight out and set it behind him on the counter as he tried not to heave.

Derek didn’t move.

“Fuck. How quick is it supposed to work?”

He began to reach for his phone to ask when there was a sharp growl from the unconscious patient, followed by deep breaths. He was still pale and sweaty, but his breathing seemed to be much easier. Stiles began checking him over again and felt an immense swell of relief. He didn’t waste any more time as he grabbed some gauze and alcohol to clean the bullet wound.

It still looked sickly, but the dark lines that ran up his arm seemed to be growing paler. They weren’t gone yet, but at least it looked like his body was fighting it now. He sent a quick text to tell Scott to not worry about the bullet, then took advantage of Derek’s unconscious state to scrub harshly at his arm. Best to clean it when there wasn’t a high chance of him being punched in the face.

He didn’t bother to even think about stitches, watching the skin already beginning to scab over and pull together. There was no doubt that it would scar, but he was alive and still had both arms. Stiles didn’t let the thought linger much longer as he taped gauze to the area and wrapped it firmly with a sticky bandage-thing. He then tossed the needle into the hazardous waste box and scrubbed the blood from his hands before picking up his phone.

>Thank you Thank you Thank you!
>Patient’s fine now. Breathing easier, heart rates coming back up, and color is rushing to his face again. He’s gonna be okay.

Sensei: It is still highly recommended that he see a doctor. There’s a chance that the reaction could happen again, or that his condition could worsen. He may also have a reaction to the Epinephrine itself.

Alpha Female: There’s also the fact that he was shot, and that’s a very serious crime. You should report it.

Mini-Hacker: Will you tell me where you are now?
Mini-Hacker: And what actually happened?

>I will, but not tonight. Are you free to come to my house tomorrow?
>I’ll tell you everything. Promise.

Mini-Hacker: Are you safe where you are?

>For now, yeah.
>And as soon as he wakes up, I’m outta here.

Mini-Hacker: Text me when you get home. I’ll be over early tomorrow.

>I’ll see you then.

“Ow.”

Stiles turned his phone off and shoved it into his pocket. Derek had his eyes open, but he still made no move to sit up. Though his condition seemed to be improving by the minute. He seemed to be testing himself, starting with moving his fingers and working inwards. However, he seemed to tense sharply and looked down along his body with confusion.

“Why are my pants down?”

“I had to inject the epinephrine in your thigh.” Stiles shifted warily and crossed his arms over his chest as he continued, “You aren’t supposed to inject things through clothing, since it can clog the needle with fibers or pull those fibers into your skin–”

“Don’t ever undress me again.” Derek glared at him as he slowly began to raise himself onto his forearms. His legs dangled awkwardly over the side of the table, but his threat still struck true as he growled, “Got it?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He nodded and carefully rolled himself to the side, wincing when his arm tried to collapse from under him. He eyed the wrapping on it, but didn’t comment on it as he got to his feet and pulled his pants back up. Once he had them rebuttoned, he looked around the room and frowned.

“Where’s Scott?”

“He didn’t come.” Stiles saw Derek stiffen and rushed to explain, “He tried, but he got held up by the Argents. When my idea worked, I told him to abort the mission.”

“Your idea.” Derek tested his injured arm, making a fist slowly and frowning. “It actually worked? The allergy thing?”

“Yeah. Though I was afraid I accidentally made you overdose.” Stiles shifted uncomfortably and watched Derek pick up his bloodied shirt, struggling it on over his head. “After I gave you the Epi, it looked like your body started fighting the aconite better. I scrubbed what I could from the wound, and it was already starting to heal when I wrapped it.”

Derek was silent for a few seconds as he studied Stiles. He didn’t know exactly what the werewolf was looking for, but he must have found something as he gave a shallow nod and a muttered “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He turned his back on the man and started tossing the bloodied bandages into the hazard trashcan in the corner of the room. “I don’t know if the normal dosage would work, but I’d suggest you start carrying an EpiPen–maybe multiples. I know I’m gonna be getting some for Scott. No telling when he’ll get poisoned dating a hunter legacy–”

“That’s a good idea.” Derek released a sigh and leaned against the counter beside Stiles. He looked like he was trying to decide if he should help clean up the mess. “Even if it doesn’t counter it completely, it might slow it down some.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He tossed the last wad of gauze and started scrubbing at the counter, praying it wouldn’t stain the false white marble. “You know, the healing is slow enough that we could probably report it. Fudge some of the details, and I could tell my Dad that she attacked you.”

“No evidence.” Derek seemed to eye him closer and shift in discomfort before he slowly said, “Your Dad.”

“What about him?”

Derek seemed to grow more uncomfortable by the second, looking like he was contemplating throwing himself from a twenty-story window. After a few tense seconds, he seemed to growl the words, “Are you safe with him?”

Stiles’ reply seemed hollow as he said, “He’s the Sheriff.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s the only answer.” Stiles paused in his scrubbing and took a deep breath before he sprayed the counter with more alcohol and continued, “He’s the only family I have, and he’s the Sheriff.”

“Someone’s occupation doesn’t mean they don’t abuse their kids.”

“No, but it does make it easier to get away with it.” Stiles felt a growl of his own build in his throat and turned to glare at his sickly companion. “Why bring it up? Why do you even care? I literally called you a murderer and got you arrested–”

“You apologized.” He shrugged one shoulder and began to fiddle with the bandage around his forearm. “And you’re just a kid.”

“A kid that just saved your furry ass,” he grumbled, though Derek chose to ignore him.

“You shouldn’t be hunted in your own den. You need a safe space.”

“Little hypocritical since you’ve been squatting in your old home’s basement. You sure that’s a safe space?”

“Stiles,” Derek growled it almost like a reprimand, but the anger was building in Stiles’ chest.

“How about we talk about your family? Seen your Uncle lately?”

Stiles didn’t have much warning before the collar of his shirt was grabbed, dragging him close as Derek glared down with flashing eyes. There was a constant rumble coming from his chest as he asked, “What do you know about my Uncle?” He said it like a challenge, and it made Stiles’ own hackles rise.

“I know you haven’t visited him. I know you and Laura took off before he was even out of surgery, and I know that you never intended to return while he was still alive.” Stiles gave his own glare, but he didn’t feel any satisfaction at the flash of pain on Derek’s face. “And I know that he was hurting this whole time without any kind of pack to support him. He was abandoned.”

“He was bait.” Derek released his grip on Stiles and took a step away. His growl had petered out, but he was still stiff. “Me and my sister would have been dead the second we went to him. None of us were supposed to survive the fire.”

“But you did.” Stiles squared his shoulders as he plowed forward. “You survived, and you shouldn’t have to hide what happened just because of your Lunar Problem. We can fudge the details and report it, find out who did it–”

“I know who killed my family.”

“Even better!” Stiles flailed his arms between them and winced at his wording, though he didn’t apologize. “Tell me and I can take them down. I have connections to get it done, and if they tried to claim you were a werewolf, they’d just look insane.”

“You can’t guarantee that. You’re just a kid–”

“With an FBI team on speed dial, one that specifically goes after serial killers and psychopaths. I also have a hacker boyfriend who would be more than willing to get any information I wanted. And–even though most people think I’m a delinquent–I’m still the son of the Sheriff. If you let me, I can take them down.”

Derek seemed to be warring between disbelief and confusion. His expression finally settled on pinched eyebrows and a clenched jaw as he asked, “Why should I accept your help when you won’t accept mine?”

“Because you can’t guarantee it’ll work, but I can.” Stiles shook his head as Derek scoffed. “All you have to do is tell me what happened. Tell me the truth about the fire, about the hunters, and I’ll make them pay. If they did this to you, then they’ve done it to others. Please, just give me a chance. If I can find more incidents, then I wouldn’t even need to use yours.”

Derek stared at him blankly, studying him as he twitched and shifted from foot to foot. Stiles felt on edge, cornered by a predator that was trying to decide if the prey was worth the fight. He doubted he would be attacked, but he still felt hunted.

“It started when I was 15.” Derek seemed to sag as a small frown worked itself onto his face. He turned to the side, avoiding Stiles’ eyes as he continued, “That was when Kate Argent came to town.”

--- --- --- --- --- ---

AH Sent you a message.

AH: Why is my team yelling about bullet wounds?

>I thought you weren’t talking to me?

AH: I wasn’t, however, your interactions with the team have now entered common occurrence in the office. It’s beginning to lessen our productivity, and I need to know why my agents are panicking over bullet wounds.
AH: Do I need to send an ambulance to your location?

>They’re just being dramatic.

AH: Agent Rossi does not do dramatic.

>He literally gives me a dramatic monologue before each case he sends me.
>If you think he–a published author–doesn’t do drama, you’re willfully ignorant.

AH: Kid, HAVE YOU BEEN SHOT?

>NO, I HAVEN’T BEEN SHOT.

AH: Was someone else shot?

>Statistically speaking, someone is shot every four ½ minutes.

AH: Is the person that was shot currently dying?

>No. He’s been patched up.

AH: Good. Now, tell me more about these cases Agent Rossi has been sending you.

>O.o
>Did I say cases? I meant puzzles. Riddles.

AH: So you aren’t the reason Agent Rossi has reopened five cases in the past three days, all with amazingly accurate and helpful insights?

>Absolutely not.
>Agent Rossi is just that good. He must be on a roll.

AH: Of course.
AH: On an unrelated note.
AH: Cold_Case_23-870317
AH: Happy hunting, Mr Ignoto.

> :D

Chapter Text

Mini-Hacker: I’m here. Open the door.

>Opening the door.

Black Queen: I want to say that’s adorable, but I’m still freaked out and confused from yesterday.
Black Queen: Will we also get an explanation for why you were playing Dr with a bullet wound?

>Probably not.

Mini-Hacker: You’ll get the SparkNotes version.

Alpha Female: You mean the edited version of events that do nothing to point towards what actually happened or the identity of yourselves and the victim?

>Yup.

Dark King: Any information is better than no information.
Dark King: Start talking.

Danny looked up from his phone, pointedly staring down Stiles as he seemed to try and sink into the couch. His face was pinched in concentration and his fingers were worrying at the hem of his shirt. Danny allowed a moment to pass, letting Stiles get the facts straight in his head before he started to explain.

“Okay, so, We’re basically dealing with a family of serial killers.”

“What,” Danny asked. Though his voice sounded more like a strangled exclamation than an actual question. “They all kill people?”

“Most of them, yeah.” Stiles found a loose thread on his shirt and frowned at it, pulling it further and making it worse in his anxiety. “But it’s not, like, a coincidence. They train together, choose targets, and kill together. Most of them.”

“Most?”

“Yeah. The family governs itself by a set of laws, and they only claim to kill those that break those laws.”

“Like jay-walking? Theft?”

Stiles made a so-so gesture with his head, bobbing it from side-to-side. “More like, killing others or attacking people. Those kinds of families keep the peace and police those that would normally fall under the radar.”

“Wait, wait, stop.” Danny sat forward and grabbed Stiles’ hand, forcing his attention away from the unraveling thread. “Do you mean there’s multiple serial-killer families?”

“Yeah,” the word was drawn out and hesitant, with the explanation steamrolling quickly after. “But most of them are okay. I mean, they still kill people, but they actually have standards–like, they don’t just do it ‘cause it’s fun to them. But there’s always an exception, you know?”

“Okay.” Danny loosened his grip on Stiles’ hand to weave their fingers together, pulling him closer and trying for a reassuring smile. “So some of these families aren’t terrible human beings, and some of them are.”

“Exactly!” Stiles shifted and scrunched his nose at their position before he forcibly moved Danny’s arm over his shoulder, allowing him to burrow into his boyfriend’s side. “And we have one such family that’s moved to town–well, back to town. I don’t think they are all in on it, but some of them kill because they enjoy it and I don’t think the others know about it. Some of them, at least one of them. Hopefully.”

“Stiles,” Danny gently chided.

“Right, sorry. Anyways.” He took a deep breath and seemed to deflate a little as he explained, “The last time the killer family was here, one of their members–adult members–befriended a teenager. They then waited until the teenager’s family was having a family reunion, sealed the family inside, and burned the house down.”

Danny tensed and tried to lock eyes, failing as Stiles focused on their joined hands and twitchily played with Danny’s fingers. He cut the silence with a soft, “You mean the Hale fire.”

“Yeah. Eight people–three that weren’t even in middle school–died. Nine and four if you count the fact that Peter Hale’s wife was pregnant at the time. Laura and Derek Hale had snuck out to a party, so they weren’t trapped. Peter Hale survived, but he’s catatonic so most people count him in the casualties.”

“I thought the fire was ruled as an accident?”

“It was. I still don’t have all the details, but I think that it was covered up. Through money or influence, they got away with it–’til now, at least.” Stiles closed his eyes as he continued, “Laura Hale was the girl they found in the woods–the one that was torn in half. Derek came back to town to find out what happened, and the serial-killer family is now gunning for him to complete the set. Meanwhile, someone else is picking off the people that helped cover up the fire.”

“Bullet wound guy?”

“Derek Hale,” Stiles answered. “One of the more violent family members came back to town. They saw Derek and shot him in the arm, but he was able to get away. He couldn’t go to the hospital, so he showed up at the school parking lot to find me. I already knew the situation and he couldn’t think of anyone else to go to. Especially not with the whole Bus-Driver-dies-unexpectantly thing.”

“Bus driver?”

“Yeah, Garrison Myers.” Danny’s face must have shown his confusion because Stiles quickly continued, “He used to be an insurance adjuster and was fired for fraud. He ruled the Hale Fire an accident, and no one ever reopened it. Derek was able to talk to him, but the guy recognized who he was and just kept apologizing–he didn’t say who attacked him.”

“Holy shit,” Danny whispered. “And you’re sure Derek isn’t the killer?”

“He’s a creeper and has a perpetual scowl, but he’s a good guy. I trust him. He doesn’t care about getting revenge, he just–” Stiles shrugged helplessly as he admitted, “He just wants to stop being hunted.”

“Fuck.” Danny fiddled with his phone and frowned in sympathy. “Did the family kill his sister? The one cut in half?”

“We don’t know, but it’s possible. I still need to do some more research, but it’s slow going since they seem to change their name in each town they visit.”

Danny nodded in agreement as he pulled out his phone and quickly opened the messaging app, typing what he could and trying to leave out any identifiers.

Mini-Hacker: Holy shit. This goes back a whole lot further than a few weeks.
Mini-Hacker: I’m gonna describe it as serial killers meet family feud.

Dr. Chi: Warring families?

Mini-Hacker: More like a serial killer family that targets other families, but some members of the last family escaped and are now being hunted down.
Mini-Hacker: woman cut in half was one of the survivors. Bullet wound guy is another.

Alpha Female: So the last family wasn’t eliminated, and now the killers are trying to complete their goal.

Mini-Hacker: And possibly cover up their crimes.
Mini-Hacker: The bus driver was a guy that worked the case and ruled the family’s death an accident.
Mini-Hacker: Bullet wound guy refused to go to the hospital since the serial killer family proved they could get into the hospital undetected.
Mini-Hacker: Bus driver was gonna live, but died suddenly and suspiciously.

Alpha Female: They could step forward. Go into protective custody.

Danny turned his head and saw Stiles glaring at his phone screen. He didn’t need to ask the question as Stiles opened his mouth and denied, “He can’t. The family works with the police and they’re pretty wide-spread. They could get the information easily.”

Mini-Hacker: The killers have ties to law enforcement.
Mini-Hacker: Damn our town is corrupt.

Dr. Chi: How many other families have been killed?

Stiles winced and muttered, “I haven’t confirmed, but I think I’ve found nine cases.” He lowered his eyes and leaned harder against Danny as he expanded, “Not to mention all the lone kills I haven’t found. There are some patterns that I’ve seen, and I think each member of the family has preferences for how they like to kill. Though, I don’t know what goes with who.”

Mini-Hacker: Mini-Reid found nine possible so far, but he hasn’t confirmed.
Mini-Hacker: I’ll be helping him out with that.

Black Queen: Use my name if you need to open any doors.

Mini-Hacker: Thanks.

Alpha Female: Does the family have a criteria for their victims, or is it seemingly random?

Danny turned back towards Stiles and lifted an eyebrow, noting the constipated look that suddenly crossed his face.

“It’s not random, but it’s also not a set pattern. There is a commonality between all the victims. I’d say you could classify it as behavioral, but it’s not very accurate. Some of the victims know how to hide their behavior.”

“But you know what it is? You know why they are being targeted?”

“Yeah.” Stiles frowned at the phone. “The Hunters–I mean, the serial-killer families–they see it as some kind of disease, passed on through families and some friends. They have ways of verifying if someone is ‘sick’, but some of them just don’t care. Association is damnation in their eyes.”

“What kind of behavior do they look for?” Stiles shook his head in denial, and Danny let the question drop. “But you know it? Could you find potential victims? Warn them?”

“Yeah. I know what to look for.”

Mini-Hacker: He says it’s not random. It’s some kind of behavioral trait, but he doesn’t want to share exactly what it is.
Mini-Hacker: He also said to liken it to a disease.
Mini-Hacker: Those close to the infected family are thought to be sick as well, and they get taken out too.

Dr. Chi: I hate it when people try to cleanse the world.
Dr. Chi: Was Mini-Reid seen with the survivors?

“Stiles?” Danny looked up from his phone and felt another bout of panic start to build. They had grown closer and closer with Stiles back pressed to Danny’s chest, but it didn’t provide much comfort given the topic. “The Hunters, are they gonna come after you?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles gripped the arm around his waist and pressed his head back against Danny’s shoulder. “But I do know that I’ll eventually be a target. They think Scott’s infected because he’s been hanging out with Derek Hale, and Scott has the behavioral markers. Where he goes, so goes my nation.”

Danny released a long sigh and turned back to the group chat that Stiles was pointedly ignoring.

Mini-Hacker: Not yet, but the family thinks Puppy is infected.
Mini-Hacker: He’s practically Mini-Reid’s brother, so it’s only a matter of time.

Just JJ: This is something that you need to bring to the authorities. Especially if the both of you are in danger.

“If you have everything, why not bring it to them now?”

Stiles bit his lip and turned away, hiding his expression from Danny. After a few deep breaths, he quietly admitted, “I’m scared. There’s a few things I still need to check, and not everyone in the family is guilty. Maybe. I hope.”

“Who is it?” Danny pulled them tighter together when Stiles remained silent. “Stiles, what family is it?”

“The Argents,” he whispered. “Allison’s Aunt Kate set the Hale fire, but I don’t think Allison knows about any of it yet. I think they’re waiting ‘til she’s older to tell her about the family business, but they’re still training her in archery and self-defense.”

“Fuck.”

Mini-Hacker: He’s bringing it to you guys. Getting the case together first.
Mini-Hacker: It’s delicate because the killer family works on a family tradition. They initiate the younger generation and pull them into the feud. They currently have a daughter our age, Angel.

Black Queen: You mean Puppy’s Girlfriend?

Mini-Hacker: Yeah. It’s complicated and delicate.
Mini-Hacker: If we make a wrong move, it could get a lot of people killed.

Dr. Chi: They’ve already killed a lot of people.

Mini-Hacker: But not this minute. They’re too focused on the survivors to go after another family.

Dark King: That’s still putting someone in danger.

Mini-Hacker: We don’t really have a choice. We’ll get the case together as quickly as we can.

Danny felt a reply in the chat, but didn’t get a chance to look at it as the front door was unlocked and swung open. Stiles had jumped up, putting distance between them, but Danny was still lounging across the majority of the couch with a confused tilt to his head. He winced when he saw the Sheriff walk in, sitting up straight and flattening his clothes.

“I didn’t realize you had company.” Mr. Stilinski’s voice was flat and held little emotion as he scanned over the boys. When there was no answer, he tossed his head towards the stairs and said, “Go get ready Stiles.”

Stiles nodded and hopped to his feet, skirting around the couch and taking the stairs two at a time. Danny was left staring after him in confusion before he turned to the Sheriff and asked, “What’s he getting ready for?”

“He broke the curfew last night, so he’s doing a ride-along until Melissa gets off shift.” Mr. Stilinski crossed his arms as he examined the boy still sitting on his couch. “If he won’t follow the curfew, then he gets a babysitter.”

Danny glanced back towards the stairs and slowly stood, beginning to collect his belongings. They didn’t do any studying, but he had still brought along his homework in case they got into the mood. The majority of their time had been taken up with depressive silences and stuttered explanations.

“Do I need to impress the importance of a curfew on you as well?”

“No, Sir.” Danny shouldered his bag and half-turned to the stairs. He almost thought Stiles’ Dad would kick him out of the house, but he seemed to be content with staring him down in the awkward silence. Danny was just about to head up towards Stiles’ room when he came tripping down them.

“Right, ready!” Stiles gave his father a strained smile and turned to Danny as he mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Danny let his hand brush against Stiles’ arm, but he didn’t press his luck. Instead, he allowed himself to trail after the Stilinski boys as they all made their way outside. Danny allowed himself a smile and a quiet, “text me later,” before he slid into his car. He had to grit his teeth and force himself to drive away, hoping Stiles would keep him in the loop.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

>Even when I’m being babysat by the cops, I still get into trouble.
>;-; I’m bad luck.

Mini-Hacker: I’m sorry.
Mini-Hacker: You wanna talk about it?

>Not really. I’ll tell you on Monday.

Black Queen: *tell the group on Monday.

>That’s what I said.

Chapter Text

Stiles was sitting beside Danny in Chemistry, trying to understand what fresh Hell they were supposed to be learning. The concept wasn’t that hard to understand, but it had been broken down into small segments and there lies the problem. He kept getting distracted and his brain didn’t want to slow down. It wanted to jump to the end and he hated it.

“You gonna tell me what happened on patrol?”

Stiles smiled at Danny and leaned into his side as he uncapped his highlighter. He set the yellow weapon to the page and began coloring as he explained, “There was another murder at the video store, which Jackson and Lydia were at. Don’t know if they told you, but anyways–my Dad got paged out to it.”

“They didn’t tell me anything about it, but that explains why they aren’t here.” Danny nudged him softly and ducked his head to try and meet Stiles’ glaze. His boyfriend missed the motion though, concentrating on the page in front of him as he rolled the highlighter cap around in his mouth. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just,” he cut himself off as he stuck the highlighter cap to one side of his mouth to talk. “The dude was Jordan Leveque; he used to be part of the forensic unit until he had some kind of mental break a few years back. He quit the force; said he couldn’t handle the death anymore. I couldn’t confirm it with anyone, but his mental break happened a few months after the Hale Fire. I’m guessing he had something to do with it, helping make it look like an accident or telling them what forensics would be looking for.”

“So the Argents could have killed him.”

“Maybe. We still don’t know if it’s the Argents cleaning up, or if there’s some kind of third party at play.”

After a few seconds of silence, Danny slowly eyed Stiles’ long sleeve shirt and asked, “Was your Dad mad? About finding me at the house?”

He nodded softly and made the cap clack against his teeth, pushing it to the side to talk around it. “He was upset, but he didn’t do anything. My Dad won’t lay a hand on me if he’s on patrol, or if I’m gonna see Momma McCall.”

“Afraid the nurse will see the bruises?”

Stiles just nodded absently again and leaned more heavily against Danny’s side. They stayed that way until the bell rang and Mr. Harris stalked along the rows. He made a small speech about the parent-teacher conference and the student’s shameful grades, making sure to glare holes into the side of Stiles’ head.

Stiles just kept his head down and focused on Danny’s grip on his knee, ignoring the pointed question of where Scott McCall was. Stiles knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn’t about to rat him out for ditching. Especially when he was ditching for a girl. It made Stiles wonder if Danny would be willing to ditch with him some day.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Mr. Harris’ voice was grating on his nerves, lilting with condescension. Stiles could feel his phone vibrate with a text message, but just looked up at their teacher, highlighter cap still in his mouth. “Perhaps you could stop defiling the lab materials? It’s Chemistry, not a coloring book.”

The class snickered around them and Stiles’ felt his temper begin to flare. Danny had a small grin, but Stiles’ suspected it was for what he assumed Stiles was thinking and not his boyfriend being humiliated in class.

“However, if arts and crafts are more your speed, I’d welcome you to leave and stop wasting my time.” Stiles shoved the cap to the side again, ready to reply, but he was quickly cut off as Mr. Harris winced and said, “If you truly wish to speak, please remove the highlighter cap first. I believe it will increase your IQ to the double-digits.”

Stiles felt his face burn with mortification and anger, reaching up to his mouth to remove the cap. However, his hand was quickly intercepted by Danny’s. His boyfriend then gave him an incredibly smug grin as his other hand took his chin and he swooped in for a kiss. Stiles was frozen for only a second before he surrendered to the tongue forcing his mouth open and delving inside.

He could vaguely hear the gasps and laughter around them, but Stiles refused to acknowledge it, leaning further against Danny and trying to hold back a moan. He could practically feel Mr. Harris fuming at the front, but he seemed to be in silent outrage. After a minute Stiles heard his name being spat by the teacher, and Danny finally pulled away.

Stiles didn’t doubt that he looked thoroughly winded, and studied Danny. The boy still had a wicked grin on his face, and it only grew wider as he opened his mouth to reveal the highlighter cap pinched between his front teeth. He had stolen it right out of Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles couldn’t hold in the unattractive snort that came out at the sight.

“Mr. Stilinski, you will refrain from such acts while in this school!”

“Sorry, Teach.” Stiles rolled his tongue around to get feeling back into his lips as he spoke. “Won’t happen again.” He made sure to throw in a wink and felt his goal was accomplished. He could practically see the man’s blood pressure skyrocket.

“Deten–” He cut himself off and corrected, “You can be assured that I’ll be bringing your behavior up this afternoon when I see your father.” Mr. Harris had a sneer and seemed to say something else under his breath. Stiles could see the front row grow tight with tension, but he didn’t catch what exactly was said.

“Hot.” Danny whispered the word in his ear, taking the highlighter from Stiles and clicking the cap back in place. “But I think we should practice more.”

“God, yes.”

Stiles felt his phone buzz more in his pocket and quietly pulled it out under the table. Mr. Harris was growling out his lecture, but Stiles wasn’t listening. He never really listened to this class anymore, and the only thing he could think of was Danny’s tongue in his mouth.

Mini-Hacker: Let’s play “Catch the homophobe on camera so he can be fired!”

Black Queen: Oh, I love that game!

Dark King: I’ve never played, but sure.

Sensei: It should be around the second period for your class. Is this in reference to Mr. Douche, your chemistry teacher?
Sensei: Also, how are you planning on provoking him? Are you recording visuals, or audio?

Dr. Chi: I doubt there will be much provoking. From what we’ve heard so far, the man is the one to begin their altercations.

Mini-Hacker: Audio only. Can’t give away our identities yet.
Mini-Hacker: How_To_Catch_A_Bastard

Black Queen: Highlighter cap?

Sensei: Oral fixation. Holding the cap in his mouth while he used the highlighter.

Dark King: Wouldn’t that make your tongue yellow?

Mini-Hacker: Looks more orange than yellow and It’s adorable.

Just JJ: I feel like I’m missing something.
Just JJ: What were the “acts” he was yelling about?

Mini-Hacker: I took the cap from his mouth, with my own mouth.
Mini-Hacker: He also said something else, but I wasn’t able to catch it on the recording.
Mini-Hacker: I texted someone who heard it though, seeing if they’ll tell me what he said.

>Did you seriously send a recording of the teacher screaming my last name?

Mini-Hacker: Babe, I’m a technical genius.
Mini-Hacker: I muted the mic when he said your name.

Black Queen: Can confirm.
Black Queen: ;-; I want a name.

>You’ll have to live with Mini-Reid for now.

Mini-Hacker: And I just got an answer and I’m even more pissed. Though not terribly surprised.

Black Queen: ?

Mini-Hacker: One of the girls who sits up front told me what he said, and it is not getting repeated in the chat.

>Will you at least tell me?

Mini-Hacker: Not the exact wording, but I will say that you aren’t allowed to have detention with him anymore.

>???
>I can’t really skip detention.

Black Queen: I don’t even know what he said, but just say the word and he’s done for.
Black Queen: If I can’t find any dirt on him, I’ll make some.

Alpha Female: Falsifying evidence will have problems later.
Alpha Female: Scum like him always have something if you dig deep enough.

Mini-Hacker: Agreed.
Mini-Hacker: And I don’t care. You are not allowed to have detention with him. Final.

>Fine. Whatever.

Mini-Hacker: <3

>Yeah yeah. <3

--- --- --- --- --- ---

>So my Dad messaged me. I’m not allowed to go to the parent-teacher conference tonight, and he’s given up on the curfew since I still got involved with a murder.
>Babe, do you want to get dinner?

Mini-Hacker: Sure. Do you want to get takeout and come to mine after school?

>I have a free period during eighth, so I’m gonna go check up on Bullet Wound guy, but I can head to your place after.

Black Queen: Oh! Tell us how he’s doing!

Mini-Hacker: I’ll grab us some food when I get done with school stuff.
Mini-Hacker: Text me when you’re on your way?

>Sure.
>I’ll keep you guys updated.

Just JJ: appreciated.

Chapter Text

Stiles carefully approached the Hale house, balancing two drinks and a bag of food in his hands. He was sure that Derek had heard him coming, so he didn’t bother to knock as he opened the door and stepped inside. The foundation boards seemed to be in decent condition, but the outer layers were charred and cracked.

“Yo!” Stiles looked around the lower level and smiled wide when he found Derek in one of the back rooms. He seemed to be struggling through exercises, bandaged arm tucked close to his side. “I brought food.”

He grunted as he stood, face set in a soft scowl as he approached Stiles. He seemed to be doing better, and didn’t appear to be in any distress. Though, Stiles wasn’t confident that he was completely healed since the wrap bandage was still firmly in place. He tried not to cringe at how dirty it looked.

“I brought two burgers and two sets of fries,” Stiles held out the bag of food and gave a large smile as he took it. “I also got you a soda. I didn’t know what you wanted, and I don’t actually know what they gave me because I just said to surprise me, but if you don’t like it, I also got a Root Beer for myself that you can have. I’ll drink pretty much anything, but I try to avoid caffeine.”

“Thanks.” He took the bag and the offered cup, walking over and sitting down on the main staircase. The boards creaked ominously below him, but they held strong and didn’t buckle. “I’m not picky.”

“Good.” Stiles eyed the charred stairs before he settled onto them beside Derek and gestured towards his forearm. “How’s the healing?”

“Slower than usual, but manageable.” He plopped the bag between them and grabbed one of the burgers, ripping the paper off of it instead of unfolding it like a sane person is supposed to. “I got a hold of some EPIpens, if you want a few for Scott.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” He took a swig of his drink before he asked, “Have you changed the bandage?”

“Do I look like I have clean bandages?”

Stiles shrugged and looked away as silence fell over them. When Derek gestured towards the bag between them, Stiles simply shook his head in denial and pushed the food closer to Derek in offering. Derek quickly made it through the burgers and fries, balling the bag up into a ball and tossing it into a corner of the room. Stiles opened his mouth to reprimand him for littering, but quickly thought better of it. The house was already full of trash.

Stiles could practically see Derek’s emotional shutters close before he asked, “Have you made any progress with the Feds?”

“They’re willing to help. I just need to put everything together and find a better motive than ‘They turn fuzzy on the Full Moon’.” He shrugged his shoulders before he said, “I also have to slog through a shit-ton of info. Found a lot of instances that I’m pretty sure were Kate’s handy-work, but I need to make sure before I tack them to the case.”

Derek grunted in some kind of confirmation before he stiffened and swung his head towards the front door. He then stood and pulled Stiles to his feet, beginning to shove him up the stairs. The boy tripped over his own feet and tried to be quiet as he was corralled up the steps and into one of the side rooms. The walls had large gaps and cracks in them, offering a good view of the main entrance. Derek didn’t say anything as he forced Stiles into a crouch and watched the door from their cover.

Stiles was just about to ask what the hell was happening when the lock on the door splintered and the door swung open on its hinges. The bottom one seemed to fail as the door hit the wall, leaving the wood hanging at an awkward angle. Stiles understood the danger they were both suddenly in as two men and a woman stepped inside, cradling guns in the crooks of their arms.

Derek’s hold tightened on Stiles’ shoulder as he leaned over and breathed the word, “Hunters,” in his ear. It was enough to still Stiles’ movements, encouraging him to sink lower and breathe softer as he tried to disappear into the woodwork.

You don’t see us. You can’t hear us. We aren’t even here. Yep. We already left.

One of the men looked around the entry hall and quietly asked, “No one home?”

The woman had a wicked smile as she answered, “Oh, he’s here. He’s just not feeling particularly hospitable.”

Derek breathed the name, “Kate,” to Stiles. He then quickly glared as Stiles fumbled for his phone and set the camera to recording the hunter’s actions. If they mentioned werewolves, he could always have Danny edit it out.

“Maybe he’s out,” The other man said, “burying a bone in the backyard.” He had a stupid grin on his face, and Stiles felt a little joy at seeing the other two turn to him with exasperated expressions. He could practically feel Derek’s Bitch-Face grow in intensity at the comment.

“Really?” Kate’s voice was flat and irritated as she asked, “A dog joke? We’re going there, and that’s the best you got?”

The man shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Stiles felt no sympathy for him.

“If you wanna provoke him, say something like,” Kate stepped further into the house with a cruel sneer on her face, “ 'Too bad your sister bit it before she had her first litter'.”

Derek tensed sharply beside Stiles, chest slowly beginning to rumble with an angered growl. Stiles tried to make a grab for him, but he was already gone - silently moving out of the room and towards the main staircase. Stiles had a brief thought of going after him before he remembered how much of a squishy human he was and ducked further, continuing to record what he could of the hunters in the entrance hall.

“I’m recording,” Stiles breathed the words quickly, hoping they wouldn’t be picked up by the phone’s microphone and reminding Derek of the footage. “Try to stay human, Dude.”

“Too bad she howled like a bitch–” Kate’s smile grew wider as her voice rose sharply, “--when we cut her in half!”

Stiles winced and kept up a soft chant of “Recording. Don’t shift. Fuck, sorry, be careful. Don’t shift. Don’t shift.” He felt a little better when the scream of anger that came from the stairs was completely human, only a hint of gravel to the call. He also couldn’t hold back the smile as he heard a high-pitched shriek from one of the hunters, the man sailing back into frame and falling to the floor.

Derek stepped forward then, keeping his back to the camera as he vaulted over the stairs’ banister and kicked the other man as he raised his gun. While the acrobatics were incredible, they weren’t truly out of the range of a human’s abilities, and there were no claws in sight.

Kate made no move to help the two downed men, watching passively as Derek kicked the man again. It sent him skittering into what used to be the living room, and - though she didn't intervene - her gaze turned calculating as she snapped out an arm and brushed the end of a baton against Derek’s side. Stiles could hear the electricity from his hiding spot, and grimaced as he saw it spark. Derek convulsed shortly, falling to the side and collapsing onto the floorboards. He seemed to jolt from the aftershocks, grunting out breaths as he tried to regain control of his muscles.

“Wow.” Kate stalked slowly around him, unconcerned for his pain or the danger. “This one grew up in all the right places. Don’t know whether to kill it, or lick it.” She said it with a small leer that only grew bigger at Derek’s own scowl.

Stiles zoomed the camera in slightly and had to focus on his breathing. He could practically see the shame weighing down Derek’s shoulders, and he had to keep reminding himself that he couldn’t help. He’d just get himself killed if he stepped in.

That line of thinking almost flew out the window when he saw Kate flicker the baton inches away from Derek’s back, smiling as he began to crawl away. She followed him, taunting him silently with the baton just shy of his skin. When he seemed to recover enough to get to his knees, Kate lashed it against his side and laughed as he convulsed and rolled away again.

She spoke softly and said something that Stiles couldn’t hear, before she threw her head back and laughed. “You never were good with electricity, were you?” She gestured around the room as she tacked on “Or fire,” like an afterthought.

Derek flinched violently and began to crawl away again, propping himself up against a doorframe. Kate’s profile was to the camera as she slowly crouched beside him and flicked the baton in front of his face. The werewolf cringed away, but stayed where he was. Stiles didn’t know if he didn’t have the strength to move yet, or if he knew he needed to be close for the camera to pick up what was said.

Kate leaned into his space and spoke softly again, before her voice rose sharply. “Yes,” she barked. “Your sister was severed into pieces and used as bait to try and catch you. Unpleasant, and frankly, a bit too,” her face screwed up in disgust as she said, “Texas Chainsaw Massacre for my taste-”

“Too much for you?” Derek’s words shook and stuttered, but he didn’t back down. “I thought it was a common occurrence with your family.”

“My father prefers the broadsword,” She leaned closer, bringing the baton up to gently caress Derek’s cheek as she said, “But you know that I prefer something slower. More show and flare.”

Stiles felt his unease grow as one of the men stepped back into the entryway, slowly approaching Derek and Kate. Though, he paused as he passed the stairs, shouldering his gun and turning to the charred steps. He bent to pick up something, and stood, revealing two takeout drinks in his hands. Stiles felt his already fast heart rate kick up to a new level, and saw Derek’s flinch as he flicked his eyes towards Stiles’ location.

“Kate.” The man favored his left leg as he made his way towards them, showing her the cups as he said, “I think we may have interrupted a play date.”

Kate turned back to Derek and tilted her head in consideration. After a few seconds, she leveled the baton at him and asked, “You have company, Sweetie?”

Derek bared his – thankfully human – teeth at her and said, “I wanted two drinks.”

Kate seemed to think about it for a few seconds before she grabbed one of the drinks and took a swig. She then tossed it to the side, not carrying that it splashed and soaked the floor and the wall. She took the other cup and tasted it as well before she gave him a fond smile and shook her head.

“Oh Derek.” She took another drink before she smacked her lips and said, “You don’t like Root Beer.” She waved the drink towards the recovered man and softly ordered, “Find them.”

“I’ve changed–”

“No you haven’t,” Kate flicked the baton into his shoulder and smiled as he convulsed again. “You’re just as protective as you used to be.” She didn’t take her eyes off Derek as she said, “Find the bitch and put them down. They said we couldn’t kill this one yet, but they said nothing about the others.”

The man didn’t ask for any further instructions as he raised his gun and started scoping out the rooms on the first floor. Stiles quickly ended the video and looked around the room for possible escape, feeling his stomach clench in anxiety. There was a window in the room that overlooked the front yard and porch roof, but he didn’t know how stable the roof was. Although, if he had to choose between bullets and falling fifteen feet, he’d throw himself from the window in a heartbeat.

“Derek,” he whispered the name and watched as the werewolf tilted his head. “I stopped the recording. There’s a window up here. Can you make a run for it? Can you get away?”

Derek jerked as if caught in an aftershock, but Stiles saw his head jerk up and down in a nod. He also saw that Derek had shifted his legs, getting his feet under him and against the wall. He looked ready to spring away, and Stiles winced as he saw the man heading up the stairs.

“Okay.” Stiles slinked over to the window and tried to drown out Kate’s voice from below. “I’m gonna make a break for it after three, so get ready to run.” He gently wiggled the window’s lock free and planted his hands against the frame. “One, Two, Three, Go!”

He threw the window up as he heard a roar below, followed quickly by gun fire. He had the vague impression of the wood by his shoulder splintering, but he didn’t stop as he flung himself onto the roof. His prayers seemed to be answered as the roof held his weight, allowing him to run to the left side and scale down the side post. He was immensely thankful for his practice of sneaking into Scott’s room, and Mama McCall's insistence that her son sleep on the second floor.

His feet had barely touched the ground before he was grabbed around the middle and thrown over a shoulder. He almost fought the hold, but stopped as he saw the bare skin beneath him and the large tattoo between the shoulder blades. He could hear gunfire from the house, but it quickly grew distant as they continued to make a hasty retreat.

Stiles was only placed down after another minute of full-on sprinting, Derek firmly setting him on his feet. Though he didn’t stay that way as his legs gave out and he ended up falling onto his but and clutching his hair.

“Are you okay?” Derek crouched beside him, breathing hard and grabbing his shoulders. When there was no response, he lightly shook him and repeated, “Stiles, are you okay?!”

“Fine!” His reply was choked and gasping as he tried to fight off the panic. “I’m not hurt.”

“Did you get the video?”

Stiles took a few deep breaths and fumbled the phone up as he tried to slow his breathing. He didn’t even try to keep his grip on the phone as Derek took it and played the video. He watched it intently and sighed in relief.

“My shift didn’t show, and no one was talking specifically about werewolves. I don’t think it needs editing.”

“We just got shot at!” Stiles jerked his head up to stare at the man in front of him. “How are you not more freaked out about that?”

“I didn’t smell any wolfsbane on them, and bullets are less permanent to me than they are to you.” He pressed the phone back into his hand and raised his head high in the air. His nostrils flared as he scented the area and asked, “Where did you park your jeep? I can’t tell.”

“By the Fox Trail.” Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and looked around. He knew the preserve pretty well from his nightly trips after his mom passed. He pointed vaguely to the left as he said, “It should be that way. Hopefully, you won’t be able to scent the jeep until we’re closer. I got some of that hunting-scent stuff. Thought it might help keep the Alpha away.”

Derek didn’t comment on him knowing the preserve, or his idea of scent. He just nodded and offered a hand to help him up. Once they were both on their feet, he turned and began trudging through the leaves in the direction Stiles had indicated. Well, Stiles trudged. Derek’s footsteps seemed to have a magical silence as he nimbly stepped around leaves and twigs.

Stiles didn’t try to stay silent, trusting that Derek would hear anything coming before it heard them. He just fell into line and pulled out his phone to open his messages.

You messaged the group chat BA[Fuck]U

>;-; I’m not canceling.

Chapter Text

>;-; I’m not canceling.

Mini-Hacker: That’s not reassuring.
Mini-Hacker: What happened?

>Good news - I got more evidence against the Murder Family.
>Bad news - I might be a bit late.

Dark King: Kid, I don’t have to be able to see you to know that you just omitted a whole lot of important information.

>Well, I would prefer to be in front of my boyfriend when I give the other news.
>But I am completely uninjured and safe, so…

Mini-Hacker: You will turn on your location sharing with me, right now. And I want a message every thirty minutes or I’m coming after you.

>Deal.

Stiles ignored the other voices in the chat as he shared his location with Danny and glanced at Derek. He didn’t seem to be shivering, but Stiles doubted he was very comfortable without a shirt.

“Hey,” He waited for Derek to turn to him, but got no response. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Little hard to buy a house when you’re being hunted.”

Stiles winced and nodded before he asked, “Did you stash anything somewhere else? Another shirt conveniently tucked into a hollowed tree?”

“I’ll just wait a few hours and head back for my things.”

“Dude, I doubt they’ll still be there.” He saw Derek’s shoulders stiffen as he gait slowed, coming to a quiet stop to reveal a darkening scowl. Stiles ignored the way his eyes were tinted red around the edges. “Do you have any other go-bags?”

“Not with clothes.” He crossed his arms and glanced down at his bare chest. “I’ve got a stash of cash in my car, but I’ll have to wait till it gets dark to get it.”

“I have a place.” Stiles saw his pinched eyebrows and quickly corrected, “Out here, I mean. In the Preserve. I’ve got two actually. They aren’t exactly comfortable, but they’re better than nothing, and they’re kind of hidden. They don’t have any money, but I can get you clothes and a sleeping bag. Should still have some food too.”

“There are no other houses in the Preserve, Stiles. It’s private property.”

“I didn’t say houses. Just–” He waved his hands around them and grimaced as he explained, “Places I could go. Spend a few nights.”

“I’ve been all over the Preserve since I got back.” Derek stared at him, though it seemed more in confusion than anger. “I haven’t smelled you anywhere.”

“Vinegar.” He shrugged as Derek’s shoulders fell in surprise. “It helps mask my scent and keeps coyotes and foxes away.”

Derek slowly nodded and said, “Show me.” Stiles pretended he heard the word ‘Please’ and turned to begin walking again. He carefully skirted around the Fox Trail they had been walking towards, allowing himself to be drawn forward. He had never been able to chart or mark the path to his preferred hideout, but he had always been able to find it. After a few years he stopped questioning it.

The walk was brief, only lasting a few minutes before the giant stump appeared. It always seemed to come from thin air, as if he were rediscovering it all over again. Though as he took a step towards it, Derek grabbed his arm in a hard grip. His nails were shifted into claws and his eyes were glowing bright blue.

“Not here.” He shook his head and seemed to shy away from the dead tree. “Where’s the other?”

Stiles slowly nodded and said, “Not too far. Let me just grab some stuff and I’ll take you to it.” He waited for Derek to release his grip, gently encouraging his fingers to let go. He then stepped towards the stump and slid down between the roots. He didn’t linger, simply grabbing the sleeping bag he had stashed there and filling it with cans of food and clothes. He didn’t bother to grab the lantern, but he did remember the can opener.

When he crawled from the den, Derek was staring with a sense of unease and confusion. His eyebrows seemed to pinch further together as he was presented with the sleeping bag and a set of clothes in a large plastic bag.

“You sleep in there?”

“Sometimes.” Stiles didn’t look at him as he pulled out the clothes and tried them on. “I stumbled across it a few years back. Now I use it when I need to get out of the house for a bit.”

“You mean when your Dad kicks you out.”

Stiles didn’t reply, simply waiting for Derek to throw on the clothes before he turned back around and handed him the heavy sleeping bag. The shirt looked ready to rip and the cans clanked with each movement, filling the silence as they continued walking.

“You should stay away from that place.”

“Pot, meet the fucking Kettle.”

“I’m serious, Stiles.” His voice took on a sulking, graveled edge as he stomped beside him. “Bad things happen there.”

“Bad things happen everywhere.”

They continued on in silence with Stiles leading them through the trees. He made sure to send off a message to the group chat when the thirty minutes had elapsed, but didn’t say much in it. The adrenaline rush, followed by the weird concern of Derek, was quickly draining his energy. He was just contemplating asking for a piggy-back ride when his second bolthole came into view.

“Welcome to vacation house, Numero Dos.” He spread his arms in front of the tall tree and ignored the glare Derek sent him. Instead, he reached up into the tree and grabbed at a loose piece of rope, pulling it down sharply. There was a clatter of wood before a bastardized rope ladder came tumbling down to their level.

“You found a treehouse.”

“I made a treehouse.” He grabbed the ladder and carefully made his way up it, chattering away as he climbed. “Although I usually call it the Tree Attic. I call the other place the Basement. I was–like–eleven when I built it and I made a sign, so I can’t just easily rename the place. Plus, It’s been improved over the years so it’s actually relatively stable. Pretty proud of it, really.”

“I’m not calling it that,” Derek said from above him. Stiles looked up to the top of the ladder and almost lost his grip as he saw Derek standing on the edge. His face was still set into a scowl, but Stiles could see the asshole’s amusement. “Need a hand up?”

“I should have known you’d just scale the tree.” Stiles reluctantly accepted the hand as he pulled himself onto the platform, turning and pulling the ladder up after himself. “You better not mark up my tree with your werewolf claws.”

“I just found some hand holds.” He carefully stepped around the platform, inspecting the boards and the tarps tied above it. Stiles didn’t think it actually counted as a Treehouse, but he didn’t care. He was just proud he had made it and didn’t kill himself in the process.

“Well, there’s two levels. The other level is higher up and I usually use it for sleeping. Though, it’s a little small so you may want to stick to this level unless it rains. I tried to make a ceiling with some old tarps, but the rain still comes in the sides.”

“It’s fine.” He went over and tested one of the tarp posts, tugging on the rope and nodding to himself. “Better than sleeping on the ground.”

“More hidden too.” Stiles smiled and shrugged as Derek gave him a questioning gaze. “I once had the deputies and dogs out looking for me and they didn’t find this place. Walked right underneath and never looked up.”

“Lucky.” His voice was neutral, but his shoulders seemed to tense as he began to inspect the tree. “How did you find this place?”

“Stumbled on it. I liked the tree, so I stayed. Built it with boards I found or bought.” He strolled over to the edge of the platform, leaning against one of the large limbs of the tree. “I mean, this tree was just begging for a secret hideout to be made on it. I didn’t even have to nail it to the tree!”

Derek seemed to freeze and look closer at the boards he was standing on. “You didn’t use nails?”

“Well, I did to piece the boards together, but not with the tree. I found grooves in the bark and it’s all tied down. No trees were harmed in the making of Casa de Stiles.”

Derek’s stare was boring into the side of Stiles’ head, but Stiles refused to acknowledge the awkwardness that was slowly taking over the area. Stiles liked this tree, and he refused to back down on his Don’t-Hurt-My-Tree stance.

“So yeah, have fun with that, don’t hurt my awesome tree. Buy a phone when you’re able and give me the number so we can stay in touch. Just tell me and I’ll bring you food or clothes or whatever.” Stiles lowered the ladder and slowly began to descend, ignoring the incredulous stare from the older man. “I’ll see you later!”

He heard his name being called, but he didn’t stick around, bolting as soon as his feet touched the ground. It felt like no time at all before he was climbing into his jeep and pulling out his phone.

>Hey. Still alive, and I’m on my way.

Mini-Hacker: I ordered us Pizza. Stop and grab it?

>Sure.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Mini-Hacker: A man looks 10 times sexier while holding pizza.

>OMG why did you put that in the chat?
>I am literally standing right here.

Mini-Hacker: I felt it needed to be said.

Black Queen: You aren’t wrong. I think If I saw my chocolate Adonis holding a double pepperoni I’d swoon.

Dark King: Noted.

Mini-Hacker: Also, he wasn’t lying. Mini-Reid is unharmed.
Mini-Hacker: I take that back. He’s looking shifty.

>I’m not hurt.

Mini-Hacker: Prove it.

Stiles looked up from his phone and pinned Danny with a glare, willing him to meet his gaze. His boyfriend, however, continued to stare at the screen of his phone. When he didn’t meet Stiles’ challenge, Stiles tried to keep his tone even as he asked, “Did you just tell me to take off my clothes in the group chat?”

Danny’s face was perfectly blank, but his voice was higher than normal as he hesitantly said, “No?”

>*Slowly unbuttons shirt with a wink

Mini-Hacker: Oh Shut up.

Black Queen: Normally I would encourage such flirtations, but I’m more worried about your actual physical condition.
Black Queen: Future-Son-in-Law. Check my Future-Son for injuries please.
Black Queen: Tell us what you find.

“Oh Good God.”

“Did she just give me permission to strip you?” Danny glanced between Stiles and his phone, but it had an excited-puppy edge to it, the horny bastard.

“I mean, not romantically, but yeah.”

“Can I?”

“Dude.” Stiles leveled his boyfriend with a look he stole from Derek. “If you strip me, there will be consequences. There is no getting naked without equivalent exchange.”

“Was that an Alchemy reference?”

“Yes, and it still stands true.”

Danny stared at him for a few seconds longer before he stood and grabbed the back collar of his shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it onto the floor. When Stiles made no move to reciprocate, he crooked a finger and raised his eyebrows in challenge.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Mini-Hacker: He’s good. No new injuries.

Black Queen: That took a while.

Mini-Hacker: Yeah it fucking did. :D

Sensei: I’m still concerned with the events leading up to the need to check for bodily harm. Do we get told what happened?

Mini-Hacker: His brain is toast for a bit, but he said the killer showed up at Bullet Wound guy’s house and threatened him.
Mini-Hacker: He hid and got a video of it, but he won’t let me watch it or post it in the chat.

>Stop texting and snuggle me.
:[

Mini-Hacker: More details later. For now, everything is good.

Danny put down his phone and turned over to obey his boyfriend’s wishes, wrapping his arms around Stiles and pulling him to his chest. Stiles made a small happy noise as he cuddled closer and closed his eyes.

“Do you need to go home tonight?”

“Nope.” Stiles didn’t open his eyes as he answered. “My Dad’s working another night shift and is going to the station right after the Parent-Teacher Conference.”

“Well, I wish you could, but you can’t stay here.” Danny ran his hand up and down Stiles’ back as he began to shift. “My parents will be back late, but they refused to let any boy but Jackson spend the night after I revealed my preferences. Technically, I’m not supposed to have any over while they’re out either.”

“Hmm. Don’t tell them then.” Stiles rolled to the side, throwing a leg over Danny to straddle him. His smile turned wicked as he flicked his tongue over the boy’s nipples, watching him shiver with each pass. “I still don’t get how you’re so sensitive there.”

“Good breeding, I guess.”

Stiles belted out a laugh as he pressed himself against the boy, grin turning wicked as he asked, “Up for round two?”

“Fuck yes.”

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Derek laid on the platform with the sleeping bag curled around him. It smelled like dirt and blood and so overwhelmingly Stiles, but it was warm. The boy’s scent itched at his nose, but it also seemed comfortingly like his more vague memories of his family. There was no doubt in his mind that the boy could be Pack, and that was a dangerous thing. There was also the nagging suspicion that the boy was not entirely human.

Yes, Stiles wasn’t a shifter or waving a magic wand, but there was too much evidence to be found. His scent held a flare of cinnamon that he remembered from his mother’s meetings with the Hale Emissary, though Stiles’ scent was more wild and chaotic. He may not have been aware of it, but the kid was soaked in chaos magic.

He wondered if it came from the Tree Basement–the damned place that reeked of pain and suffering. The vinegar around the area had covered his scent well, but Derek didn’t need to smell the root cellar to know the kid had been there often. The kid had slept there, unaware of the tainted magic that surrounded the place. Unaware of the death that had happened there.

But he wasn’t tainted with it. Stiles had chaos in his magic, but it wasn’t twisted as he would have suspected. Instead, it felt more settled in the kid, like it had always been and would always be. Colored glass instead of painted, the chaos folded in at his creation. And although he wanted to run from the decaying stump, he couldn’t deny that the taint was almost gone. It still held painful memories and made his hackles rise, but the feeling in the air was thinner than he remembered. The ley lines under the root-system had felt scrubbed free of the black magic, cleaner than he could ever remember them being.

The Tree Attic was even more of a surprise when he had finally paid attention to it. He could feel the magic coursing through it, building and circulating through the limbs and the ground. He could almost feel the ley lines shifting below, tangling and weaving together beneath the tree’s base. Which was another big check mark in the column of Stiles having some kind of magic.

He found the dead nemeton and then created a new one.

From what Derek could gather, Stiles had stumbled across the decaying nemeton in the preserve. Instead of running the other way like a sane person would do, he cleansed it–unknowingly–and accidentally chose a new one. There was no way that Stiles could have known what he was doing, or that the ley lines were shifting to his will, and that scared Derek.

It scared him because that would mean that Stiles was powerful without being trained, and he would make an amazing Emissary. It scared him because Derek’s wolf was already starting to see the damn boy as Pack, which would only put him in danger with the hunters on his trail. It scared him because the boy wasn’t even aware of his power, which made it even more dangerous to control.

Derek couldn’t help but glare at the swaying limbs above his head as he thought through his options. He refused to abandon the kid, which meant he would have to be the one to teach him. His mother had an Emissary, but she hadn’t liked the guy and Derek didn’t trust him. Though, he also couldn’t even find him, since his mother hadn’t trusted him with the Pack.

He spent the rest of the night trying to mentally catalog the items that were stashed away in the family vault, thinking of the texts and artifacts that could be used in the boy’s training. Derek wasn’t a magic user of any kind, but he doubted Stiles would even need a teacher. Simply tell the boy of his magic and he’d be laying triple-layered wards by the end of the week.

Derek felt himself relax and fell asleep, snickering to the image of Stiles’ waving a wand and screaming “Avada Kedavra, Bitch!”

Chapter Text

Mini-Hacker: Babe. Why did I just see you try to accomplish acrobatics to get away from me?

Black Queen: ?

>I wasn’t trying to get away from you.
>Puppy is avoiding Angel.

Dark King: How does that translate into acrobatics?

Mini-Hacker: He tried to vault a chair to take her spot in the class.

>It was originally my spot. I have a prior claim to the seat and can take it back whenever I want to.

Mini-Hacker: So you have one foot out the door?
Mini-Hacker: :’(

>No!

Black Queen: Is my OTP having trouble in paradise?

Sensei: With the growing amount of danger and murder, I don’t think I would call their location paradise.

>Puppy asked me to sit there because he’s avoiding Angel.
>Except Angel is very fast and scary when she makes eye-contact.

Mini-Hacker: She’s a literal ANGEL.

>With a proficiency in archery. Not to mention that she’s the heiress to a large gun company, and the youngest of the murder family.

Mini-Hacker: Fair enough.

Alpha Female: Women should be feared.

Dark King: Agreed.

>And now she’s looking at me like I’m the weird one.

Mini-Hacker: At least you can hold my hand during class. :)

>Swoon~

Black Queen: OTP restored

Stiles shot Scott an apologetic glance as he turned to sit in his seat sideways and blatantly offered his hand to Danny. His boyfriend graced him with a large eye roll, but he did take his hand and link their fingers together on top of his desk.

He heard an unattractive snort come from the other side of the room and didn’t even look up as he said, “Shut up, Greenberg.”

Coach Finstock stormed into the room in a flurry of activity, loudly proclaiming, “Let’s get started! Can anyone summarize–” and then he turned to the class and broke off his question. He stared at Stiles and Danny. Danny was ducking his head and trying to look smaller, but Stiles just let his grin grow even wider as he stared down the teacher. “Stilinski!”

“Yeah, Coach?” He didn’t let his grin waver.

The Coach stared at him for a few more seconds before he said, “How in the Hell do you pronounce the Scrabble-Reject that is your name?”

Stiles felt Danny’s hand tighten on his, but he didn’t need it. Coach wasn’t cruel, just socially awkward. “No one knows. That’s why they call me Stiles.”

Finstock frowned and grumbled a little before he turned away and continued on with class. He seemed to then turn his ire onto Scott as he asked about the reading, escalating his energy of wild chaos when Scott couldn’t answer. Stiles was staring at the heart monitor and halfway to jumping out of his desk to intervene when he suddenly calmed. Allison’s hand was clasped to his under their desks.

Mini-Hacker: You wanna get curly fries after school?

>You have no idea how much it physically pains me to turn that down, but I already promised I’d help Puppy with something.

Mini-Hacker: What about after?
Mini-Hacker: I don’t think he’ll keep you all night.

>It depends on how long it takes.
>I’m helping him with his grades, so he doesn’t get kicked from the team.

Black Queen: My poor selfless son.
Black Queen: Such a good friend.

Mini-Hacker: Now if only Puppy was a good friend.

>Now if only Jackass was a good friend.

Dr. Chi: I believe that’s a draw.

Dark King: More like a stand-off.
Dark King: I can practically hear the whistle as it tolls high-noon.

Mini-Hacker: How about we don’t comment on each other’s friendships?

>Agreed.

Black Queen: True Love.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

>So, I know you said no Detention anymore, but…

Mini-Hacker: No.

>Yeah, that’s not really gonna work. I can’t just say ‘no’.

Mini-Hacker: I don’t care. I don’t want you alone with him.

Dark King: I agree with Mini-Garcia.
Dark King: See if you can take it with another teacher.

>The office said no.

Mini-Hacker: Give me 5 minutes.

>Babe, no. It’ll be fine.
>Puppy got detention too, so I won’t even be alone with him.
>He’ll be my guard dog for whatever threat you think is looming, okay?

Mini-Hacker: Why does he also have detention?

>For fighting.

Mini-Hacker: ???

>He got jumped in the parking lot.

Dark King: Wait.
Dark King: Puppy got attacked, and got detention for it?

>Mr. Douche broke up the fight and the guys said Puppy keyed their truck.
>He gave us both detention for being idiots.

Mini-Hacker: One sec. Pulling up the footage.

>I don’t think you’ll be able to see the truck, but you should see the dogpile that happened.
>Puppy is tough though.

Alpha Female: Did he win?

JustJJ: Were the other students punished?

>Double nope.

Mini-Hacker: Imma put it in the Get-The-Douche-Fired folder.
Mini-Hacker: And you can go if he's with you, but leave when he does.

>Can you at least tell me the general idea of the comment he made?

Mini-Hacker: Threatening.

>Physical? Verbal? Academic?

Mini-Hacker: Drop it.

Black Queen: Did you also add the threat to the GTDF Folder?

Mini-Hacker: yep.
Mini-Hacker: Have fun in detention. See you tomorrow?

>Course.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

Danny stared at his computer screen, waiting for the English paper to magically pop into existence. It wasn’t due yet, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t having anxiety over the fact he couldn’t pick a topic. He was just about to switch tabs to watch funny videos when his phone chimed.

You received a message from Unknown.

Unknown: Meet me and Stiles at the school, ASAP. It’s important. –Scott

>Why are you and my boyfriend at the school? I thought Detention ended.
>Hello? You gonna answer?
>Whatever, OMW.

Danny shook his head and grabbed his wallet, jogging down the stairs and calling out, “Mom! Dad! Can I take the car to go see a friend?”

Chapter Text

Mini-Hacker: Howl!

Black Queen: Hooooowl!

Sensei: Arhooooo

Dr. Chi: Ululare!

Dark King: Howl

JustJJ: Wooooooof!

Alpha Female: HOWL!

>Now is really not the time for howling jokes.

Mini-Hacker: I can’t find you. Where u at?

>What do you mean you can’t find me?

Mini-Hacker: I mean that I’m here and I can’t find you. Angel and I are just wandering around looking, but no luck.

>Please for all that is holy, tell me that you are not in the school.
>Tell me that you’re curled up at home and just happened to check my location and decided to prank me.

Mini-Hacker: No, I’m at the school. Angel and I are in the pool room.

>WHY ARE YOU AT THE SCHOOL?!

Mini-Hacker: I got Puppy’s message, saying to come here? Said it was important.
Mini-Hacker: Angel got the same, so she showed up with Airhead and Jackass.
Mini-Hacker: What’s going on?

>Run
>Get out and fucking run

Mini-Hacker: Why am I running from you?

>Because Scott broke his phone last night and he hasn’t gotten a new one

Mini-Hacker is calling…

Stiles cursed as his phone began ringing, ignoring Scott’s frantic look of horror and accepting the call.

“Stiles, what the Hell–”

“You need to leave.” Stiles tried to keep his voice down, but he doubted the Alpha wasn’t hearing every word he said. “You both need to run. Get the Hell out of here, and–”

“Why? Stiles, tell me what’s going on.”

“The killer is in the building,” his words were rushed as he tried to quickly explain. “The one who killed the video-store clerk and the bus driver. For some reason he’s focused on Scott and he’s been playing fucking deadly hide-and-seek with us for the past thirty minutes. He’s the one that sent the messages–” He cut himself off as a thought suddenly came to him. “He sent you a message. Why did he send you a message?!”

“Stiles, I need you to calm down and take a breath.” Stiles did as instructed and tried to slow his racing heart. “Now, meet us in the main lobby and we’ll go from there. Okay?”

Stiles barely choked out an affirmative before the line was going dead and Scott was dragging him down a hallway. His mind was flying through the implications of the Alpha luring in Danny along with Allison, and it made him sick. Was Danny here because he was associated with Scott through Stiles, or was the Alpha focused on Scott and Stiles.

He didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings until he was suddenly engulfed in firm arms, Danny whispering reassurances in his ear. He could vaguely hear Scott confirming Allison’s unharmed status, along with Lydia and Jackson’s complaints at the situation. He was just about to try and summarize what had happened when there was an alarming creek above them.

Stiles and Scott were hyperaware with fear, but the others only stared up in confusion. It wasn’t until Stiles and Scott were screaming that the others realized something was horribly wrong. They had just begun to run out the doors when there was an earth-shaking crash and the ceiling gave way. The figure that fell out was obscured by drywall dust and insulation, shaking itself and preparing to pounce.

He went from being at the front of the group to being dragged behind. Danny, Jackson and–surprisingly–Allison were quickly outpacing the group, forcing their significant others to stumble along behind them. Stiles saw the room he was being shoved into and tried to stop them, but no one was listening. They were all fueled by their panic, not thinking of the rest of the environment that had just hunkered down in.

“Guys!” Stiles made wild gestures towards the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the wall, becoming increasingly hyper as he was ignored. When the others finally wheeled to hear his protests, seemingly done with the small barricade, Stiles gave a small clap and said, “Okay, nice teamwork. Now, what should we do about the twenty-foot wall of windows?!”

He saw the others wince and let their predicament sink in before he scrubbed at his face. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew they couldn’t stay here. The others knew it too, but they were much more concerned with why they were being chased through the school.

“Scott’s phone got broken last night.” Stiles took Danny’s hand and squeezed it tight as he explained, “He didn’t send any messages to you guys. The killer did.”

“Killer?” Jackson stared at him like he was an idiot. “What, you mean the guy who killed the store clerk?”

“And the bus driver.” Scott shifted, wrapping an arm around Allison’s waist. “He locked us in here with him, and he killed the janitor.”

“Brian,” Stiles interjected. The others gave him a strange look, but Danny just increased his grip. “His name was Brian.”

“I don’t care what his name was!” Lydia glared at Stiles as she crossed her arms and said, “I want to know who’s out there. I want to know who we just had to run from!”

Stiles caught the shift in Scott before the others, and he knew it was a bad thing. Scott wasn’t dumb, but he always got that look right before he decided he had a clever plan. Spoiler? The plan was never clever. It usually ended with them both in trouble, telling more lies to support the last.

“We don’t know!” Stiles shouted the claim as Scott began to open his mouth. He didn’t want to give Scott a chance to dig them into a pit they couldn’t get out of. “We have no clue who it is, and we haven’t stopped long enough to ask. All we know is that he’s focused on Scott for some reason, and maybe me?”

Lydia was incredulous as she spat the word, “Maybe?!”

“Probably!” Stiles rolled his shoulders and shot a guilty glance Danny’s way. “I haven’t been threatened by him like Scott has–”

Allison wheeled on Scott to repeat, “You were threatened?”

“--But he sent a message to Danny as well, so he might be after both of us, and we don’t know why. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry you got dragged into this!”

“Hey,” Danny wrapped him in a hug again, rubbing a hand up and down his back as the others turned their questions to Scott. “It’ll be okay.”

“I got you put on a serial killer’s shopping list–”

“No, you didn’t.” He got pressed firmer into Danny’s chest as his breath began to shake with aborted sobs. “This is related to the Family Feud case, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Then I would have been involved anyway.” He leaned back and said, “It’ll be okay,” before he firmly pressed his lips to Stiles’. He felt his breathing hitch before he slowly relaxed into his boyfriend’s hold.

“While that’s all very romantic,” Jackson’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as she said, “now isn’t the time for a make-out session. We need to call the cops!”

“No.” Stiles shook his head and ignored the glares from the others. “My Dad would come barging in and he’d get killed too.”

“Then how about the FBI agents you two have in your pocket?” Lydia tossed a hand towards them and almost gave a scowl, before she remembered the possible wrinkles and smoothed her face back to dumb neutrality. “Call them!”

“No,” this time it was Danny that interjected. “They’re too far away. Wouldn’t do any good.”

“Then we need to call the police!” Jackson made up for his girlfriend, scowling twice as hard.

“No!”

“I’m calling,” Lydia stated, pulling out her cell phone. She turned her back to Stiles as he stepped towards her, him being quickly blocked by Jackson. Stiles didn’t even try to listen to her complaint, staring at Danny as he stepped between Stiles and Jackson in turn. The two friends seemed to be in some silent challenge, neither of them backing down. Although it was interrupted when Lydia turned back to them and incredulously said, “They hung up on me.”

“What?” Allison was just as disbelieving, stepping closer to stare at the now blank phone screen.

“They said they got an anonymous tip about prank calls to the school.”

Stiles vaguely heard her mention something about her phone being traced, but was quickly distracted as his phone began to ring. The caller ID was unfamiliar to him, sending a lace of panic through him.

“Stiles?” Danny shifted back to look at his screen and frowned. “That’s the number that texted me.”

Allison jogged over to them as the phone rang a second time, checking the number and confirming it with a nod. She then cleared her nose and ordered him to, “Answer it.”

Stiles stared at the others before he took a breath and accepted the call. He quickly put it on speaker, angling the phone more toward Danny as his boyfriend whipped out his own phone and opened a recorder app. Stiles almost expected to hear a chipper greeting, but the caller remained silent, and the kids just listened and waited. They seemed to be in a frozen state of anticipation, staring at the phone as if it would suddenly teleport the killer into the room. They could all tell there was someone on the other end of the line, grunted breaths being recorded and carried through.

The person on the other side seemed to grow impatient, breaking the silence with a graveled, “Come out.”

“No?” Stiles was too shocked to remain silent, ignoring the others slowly shaking their heads. “Are you serious right now? You literally killed Mr. Brian, and now you think we’re just gonna waltz to our doom? Fuck you!”

“Stiles,” Danny hissed. “Don’t antagonize the psychotic killer.”

“He’s a psychotic Dumbass if he thinks we’re really gonna–” Stiles felt himself getting wound up again, but he was quickly cut off from his rant as there was a distant metallic clang. It was quickly echoed by the phone’s speaker, followed by a rumbling growl. When the voice sounded again it held an almost sarcastic tinge to it.

“Language, Mischief.”

Stiles’ fingers spasmed at the moniker, fumbling the phone and not even trying to stop its descent. He saw Jackson make the Star-Player catch he was known for before Danny was shoving his own phone at Allison and taking up his vision, rubbing at his shoulders in an attempt to soothe. The world around them felt dull as he tried to focus on his boyfriend and anchor himself to the present.

“Stiles.” Danny crouched a hair to be on his level and made sure to catch his eye before he continued. “Are you okay?”

He opened his mouth to try and say something, but just shook his head when the words escaped him. He could feel the panic attack closing in as he thought of the Alpha knowing that name. Of him using that name like his mother used to. It made him sick to his stomach.

Jackson looked just as confused as the others over Stiles’ reaction, but he also seemed to grow defensive as he raised the phone to his mouth and harshly asked, “What do you want?”

“Mischief,” The voice seemed to suddenly grow more graveled and strained as it spat the word, “Pack.”

“You talking about Stilinski? That he’s Mischief?” Jackson looked over at the panicking huddle forming and frowned. He seemed to be warring with himself before his face screwed up in displeasure and spat, “You can’t have him back.”

Stiles heard a strangled laugh bubble from Scott, and he felt he would have echoed it if he had enough air. The word Pack had been said, but it had been hard to understand. They were the only two who knew the significance of that word. Though the reaction could have also been due to Jackson not throwing Stiles out the door to the slaughter.

“Mine.”

“Hell no!” Jackson was glaring at the phone as he said, “Stilinski is a spaz, but he sure as Hell isn’t yours. So fuck off!”

There was a metallic crunch over the line before the phone beeped, the screen flashing as the call ended. It was followed by close banging and splintering wood before time seemed to skip. Stiles came back to himself being aggressively cuddled by Danny in the Chemistry lab. Lydia, Jackson and Allison were huddled around a table as Lydia poured liquid into a triangular bottle, and Scott stood awkwardly to the side with Stiles’ phone held loose in his grip. The screen seemed to be flashing with silent notifications.

“Hey,” Danny caught his attention and gave him a weak smile. “You back with us?”

“Yeah.” Stiles worked his mouth gently, trying to ease the feeling of pins and needles. “What happened?”

Scott stepped forward and held out his cellphone as he answered, “He broke down the door, so we ran. The Chemistry Lab has rooftop access, so I’m gonna go find the key. The janitor should have it.” He gave a grimace as the phone flashed again. “And I think the feds are blowing up your phone.”

Stiles grabbed it and quickly unlocked the phone to open the messaging app.

Dark King: Who is Scott? Is that Puppy’s real name?

Black Queen: My main concern is that they were apparently lured to their high school at night.
Black Queen: Kids? What’s going on?

Sensei: Nothing good. Garcia, now is the time to find them.

Black Queen: I can’t just pull it out of a hat.
Black Queen: Kids, please answer us and tell us what’s happening!

Dark King: You’ve found people with less.

Black Queen: They don’t want me to pry

Sensei: And we don’t want them dead.
Sensei: At least three children have been lured into an isolated area at night by an unknown entity, at a time where there have been multiple murders in their town.
Sensei: They are in danger and they need to be found.
Sensei: You can alert the authorities to the situation.

Alpha Female: You don’t have to share their identities with us, just send them help.

JustJJ: Agreed.

Dark King: Work your magic Baby Girl.

Black Queen: Fine.
Black Queen: But I’m not the one who gets to tell Hotch.

Dr. Chi added AH to the chat.

Dr. Chi: Kids have been possibly led to an isolated location by a murderer. Garcia is tracking them down to send reinforcements to their location.
Dr. Chi: Intervention time.

Chapter Text

Dr. Chi added AH to the chat.

Dr. Chi: Kids have been possibly led to an isolated location by a murderer. Garcia is tracking them down to send reinforcements to their location.
Dr. Chi: Intervention time.

--- --- --- --- --- ---

AH: There’s no need.

Black Queen: All due respect, I highly disagree and will be ignoring that message.

Dark King: Hotch you better not have meant it the way you just said it.

Sensei: I know you may not like the kid, but there is no reason to ignore the danger that they are in. They need immediate help and Garcia will continue her search.

AH: There’s no need for Garcia’s search, as I already know the identity of Mini-Ried.
AH: Have they said where the possible murderer led them to?

Dr. Chi: Their High School.

Black Queen: School

Dark King: Local High School

AH: I will contact the local authorities and the boy’s father and tell them of the danger.
AH: Garcia, you do not have to search for his identity.

Black Queen: Thank you!

Dark King: Although now I’m concerned as to how you found out who Mini-Ried is.
Dark King: How long have you known?

Dr. Chi: He found out shortly after the press release for the Butcher update.

Alpha Female: Do you also know his identity?

Dr. Chi: No. Mini-Ried did not wish to share, so I saw no need to personally know.
Dr. Chi: However, a background check was needed for him to be accepted into the classes and for the internship with the BAU.
Dr. Chi: We negotiated and came to an agreement. Aaron will not be pursuing legal action against Mini-Ried, and I will remain on the team for five years after Mini-Ried is adopted.

Black Queen: How did he even find out who Mini-Ried is? I’m his Tech Goddess!

Dr. Chi: We received an invitation to investigate the bifurcation murder. It held similarities with the Midline Murders, but was ruled out since there were inconsistencies.
Dr. Chi: Aaron turned the case down, but not before he investigated and found the identity of the kid.

AH: Authorities have been notified.

JustJJ: I can see you brooding in your office. Why do you have an angry face?

Alpha Female: Can confirm. He looks like someone just proved why he lost faith in humanity.

AH: The local Sheriff took some convincing about the current threat. Apparently their dispatch had received a tip that there would be prank calls to direct police to the High School.
AH: I had to stress the urgency of the situation, and explain that an anonymous tip telling them to ignore multiple non-anonymous calls was never to be trusted.

Dr. Chi: How hard was it to not call them idiots?

AH: Extremely. The Sheriff in particular was not concerned with the situation and had the audacity to claim that Mini-Ried had lied to us in an attempt for attention.
AH: I still do not believe he understands the seriousness of the situation, however I also informed his deputies and they assured me they would make haste to the school.

Black Queen: OMG you know the identity of Mini-Ried’s Dad.
Black Queen: I want his head on a pike.

AH: I can understand the sentiment, but I must ask why.

Black Queen: Come to my lair.

Dark King: Don’t forget to tell him about Mr. Douche as well.

Black Queen: I will spare no detail.
Black Queen: Messages just switched to read, which means that we are getting an explanation over what has been happening?

Stiles took a few deep breaths before he cleared his nose and said, “Police are on their way.” He would deal with Agent Hotchner knowing his identity later, at a time when they weren’t about to be brutally murdered by an Alpha werewolf. “Running lights and sirens and raising Hell.”

“Oh thank God.” Allison clasped a hand over her eyes and seemed to sag against the group's table. Lydia’s shoulders also lost some of their tension, but she didn’t stop mixing the chemicals on the table. “How soon will they get here?”

“No more than ten minutes.” Stiles stared at the blinking cursor on his phone and frowned. “Knowing how my Dad is, he’ll make it in five.”

“Good.” Scott slowly nodded and glanced at the Lab door as he planned out loud. “I’ll go get the key and we can get outside; meet them in the parking lot.”

“Absolutely not.” Stiles shook his head and ignored Jackson’s noise of irritation. “You are not going out there alone. It's Horror Movie one-oh-one, do not split the party. You go alone, you die alone.”

Scott’s jaw was set in a stubborn line as he glared at the floor. He seemed reluctant to voice it, but firmly said, “He won’t kill me.”

“Well, apparently he won’t kill me either.” Stiles felt his gut clench as Danny looped an arm around his waist, firmly holding him as if to stop Stiles from bolting out of the classroom. “So how about you stay in the classroom and I’ll be the self-sacrificing moron.”

“Hey,” Danny gripped him tighter and shook his head. He made sure to make eye contact with both Scott and Jackson as he said, “No one is leaving the classroom. Stiles is right.”

Lydia’s voice was high and condescending as she mocked, “Yes, let’s just stay here like good little prey and wait for the slaughter.”

“Like the roof would be any better,” Danny said. “The door doesn’t lock from the outside, and that guy can make it outside a lot faster than we can. We head to the fire escape and he’ll meet us at the bottom.”

“We stay here, and we keep the door locked.” Stiles returned Scott’s glare, grabbing two stools and noisily pulling them over for him and Danny to sit on. “And if he breaks down the door, we set him on fire and roast marshmallows on his corpse.”

Stiles turned back to his phone as the room lapsed into silence, ignoring the bitter looks from Jackson, Lydia and Scott. If Scotty continued to copy the Idiotic-Duo, Stiles would have to kick his ass.

>Someone chased me and Puppy into the school and killed the janitor, Brian.
>And I guess I typed Puppy’s real name, so that secret’s out.
>We thought it was a random thing, but turns out it’s not since the guy also texted Angel and my boyfriend to lure them into a trap along with us.
> Jackass and Airhead are also along for the ride because they were hanging out with Angel.
>And yeah. Airhead tried to call the cops but they hung up on her because of the whole “we got a tip” thing. You guys got an ETA?

AH: I was told the majority of the force had been tied up with calls to a nightclub, a theater, and a skating rink.

>In the exact opposite direction of the school. Great.

Stiles leaned heavier against Danny’s side and looked over to see his boyfriend scrolling through the chat. He hadn’t made it to the most recent messages though. He had probably been tied up with dealing with Stiles’ stupid panic attacks. God, he felt weak.

Dr. Chi: Do you know the person that is in the school with you?

>No, but he knows me.
>He called my cell phone a while ago, and he called me by an old nickname.

Sensei: Statistically speaking, nicknames are fairly common and easy to guess. It may also be common knowledge, or he may have overheard the nickname used by someone else.

>While that may be true, the nickname is extremely unique and hasn’t been used since I was seven.
>There’s only two people who called me that, and the killer isn’t either of them.

Alpha Female: You’re sure?

>One of them is dead and the other is my father. It’s not them.
>But it narrows down the list of who it could be, and he implied that I knew him.

And it did. It narrowed the list down to an extreme, appearing to almost be nonexistent. There was no one close to the family that would have heard the nickname, but it grew more complicated with the addition of werewolf-hearing. They wouldn’t’ve had to be in the same room to hear his name. Maybe not even the same building.

But Pack? To be claimed as the Alpha’s own, that took some kind of connection. He didn’t just choose him from a crowd. Stiles had met the Alpha at some point, and had probably interacted with him quite a bit when he was younger. However, he didn’t recognize the voice over the phone. Though that may have been due to the growl-distortion to the words.

“Maybe you should call your Dad,” Allison’s voice was hushed, but not timid. Though her hands seemed to have a slight shake, her eyes not straying from the distorted window on the door. “See how far away he is.”

“Sure.” Stiles didn’t want to call his father, but he also didn’t want to start another argument. His father was already pissed and on the way to the school, so he didn’t hesitate to type in the number and let it ring through. He set the call to speaker phone and turned the volume down as the others crowded around the table.

“Stiles, I swear to God that if this is a joke–”

“Not a joke.” Stiles cut off the threat, refusing to think about how much of a bad idea it was to antagonize his father. From the recent messages, Stiles doubted Agent Hotchner would let the whole possibly-abusive thing drop. “We’re trapped in the school with a murderous psychopath. Me, Scott, Danny, Allison, Jackson and Lydia.”

“Jackson? As in Whittmore?”

“Yeah.” Stiles flinched and glanced towards the door as he heard a sharp clacking sound. Though no one else seemed to react, so it may have just been his hyped up imagination. “And the guy killed the janitor on duty. His name was Brian, but I don’t know his last name.”

His father’s tone still held irritation, but it seemed to have a new seriousness to it as he replied, “We’re still three minutes out. Just passed the Northern Bridge. Are you guys safe?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if he’s still there?”

“No, I mean–” Stiles ran a hand over his short hair as he searched for the right words. He could feel the others staring at him as they listened to the conversation. “I don’t think he wants to kill us. Not yet, anyways.”

“Are you serious, Stilinski?” Jackson screwed his face us in frustration, but he also kept his voice low as he said, “This guy has literally chased us through the fucking school and kicked down doors to get to us. He might not want to kill you, but I think he sure as Hell wants to kill us.”

Stiles heard his father begin to respond, but quickly cut him off. “Exactly!” He gestured towards the Lab door and gritted his teeth as the shadows danced in the corner of his eye. “He’s kicked down fucking doors, and has been nipping at our heels the whole time. Just because he talked to me, doesn’t mean he wants me alive!”

“You talked to him?” His father was quick to interject himself before a true argument could brew. “Did you get a name?”

Stiles couldn’t hold back his eye roll as he spat, “He didn’t exactly knock on the door and introduce himself.”

He shouldn’t have said it. He knew he shouldn’t have said it the second it came out of his mouth, because it was followed a second later by three soft raps on the door. The others all whipped their heads towards the locked door, freezing in disbelief and terror. He could practically see the others hold their breath in an attempt to play quiet.

“Stiles–?”

“He just knocked on the door.” Stiles didn’t bother to lower his voice, ignoring the panicked looks from Lydia and Jackson. Allison seemed too shocked to admonish him and Danny seemed to also have the realization that the killer knew exactly where they were. “The killer just knocked on the fucking door like we’re gonna open it and let him in–”

His voice broke and failed as shadowed fingers appeared in the foggy glass of the door and gently tapped on the small pane. After another second the silence was swept away with a low, graveled humming. The fucking Alpha was humming a song to them and it made Stiles’ shoulders tight with tension.

“Stiles? Are you guys okay?” The humming grew louder and Lydia and Jackson scrambled to the other side of the table, placing it between themselves and the Chemistry door. “Is he still there?”

“He’s singing–well, humming actually.” Stiles kept his voice low, but refused to take his eyes off the door. Something about the tune tugged at his memories, and the longer he listened the clearer it became. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t remember–”

“Two minutes out Stiles. Take a breath and try to stay calm.”

He did as his father said, taking a deep breath and leaning into Danny’s side. His arm was still firmly wrapped around his waist, and he couldn’t help the small part of him that was thankful he was stuck here with Stiles. His presence helped to calm him slightly, but he still felt the urge to cover his ears as the melody dragged on. The fingers tapping on the pane seemed to have a hidden rhythm with the humming, and it reminded him starkly of someone playing a piano.

Everyone seemed frozen in the dark classroom, all staring and waiting for the next move. The Alpha seemed to be finding joy in tormenting them, but something about the action seemed to be growing frustrated. The tapping of the fingers was becoming harsher against the glass, and the tune was growing sharper and louder with a growl. The tension grew thick in the air as the humming warbled and notes were barked louder.

“One minute out. Stiles, talk to me.”

He shook his head where it was pressed against Danny’s shoulder. He didn’t fight it when Jackson reached around them to pry the phone from his grip. He also didn’t try to pay too much attention to the ensuing conversation, focusing entirely on the door of the classroom and the sporadic tapping. Focusing on the shift of the doorknob as it was turned and caught on the lock.

The Alpha’s humming fractured and broke as the knob was turned again, this time quick and forceful. When that failed once again, he began pounding on the door, shaking it on its hinges. The others released varying cries of shock and a few sobs, but Stiles bit his lip to stay silent.

The glass in the door cracked loudly, but the noise of the rattling door was quickly overtaken by the sound of sirens in the distance. They had always brought a feeling of impending doom to Stiles, but he couldn’t find anything but comfort in them. Especially when the battering of the door stopped and the growls grew quieter and further away.

“He’s gone,” Jackson’s voice was rough and soaked with relief, one arm thrown tight around Lydia’s shoulders. “He just took off.”

“Good. Stay where you are.”

Stiles couldn’t help but mutter, “No shit,” before he glanced towards the windows. He couldn’t see the lights, but he could hear the sirens beginning to echo in the distance.

“We’re here. I need my hands free.” His father’s voice was gruff and clipped. “Still in the Chem lab?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” The line quickly ended, his phone’s screen flashing on to show the call had dropped.

Stiles didn’t bother to look at the others' expressions of relief as he snatched the phone and reopened his messages. The others swarmed over to the small side windows to watch the line of cruisers pull into the parking lot, lights flashing and sirens loud. Danny breathed a sigh of relief, but didn’t move away from him as they both looked at the group chat.

Alpha Female: You better tell us the moment you’re safe.

Dark King: Agreed. Keep us updated.

AH: I will keep you updated on the situation as I know it.

BlackQueen: Ditto. I’m showing him the files now.

>Please don’t

AH: Too late.
AH: When everything is settled, we will be having a conversation.

Mini-Hacker: Good.
Mini-Hacker: Also, I think we’re safe now.
Mini-Hacker: Cops got here and the guy ran off.

>I intend to make a cup of hot chocolate and mute my phone after this.

AH: And I intend for the talk to be in person.
AH: I’ll be at the Sheriff’s station at 1400, tomorrow. I expect you to be there.

>With that glowing invitation, how could I refuse?

AH has left the Chat.

>Great
>Fucking great

BlackQueen: Scene secured. No suspect in custody though.
BlackQueen: And the Hound has been loosed on Mini-Reid’s unsuspecting father! :D

>Congrats
>Let’s all pop champagne and give a toast to the end of my fucking life as I know it

“Stiles, hey.” Danny wound his arm around Stiles’ side, pulling him close and frowning at their phones. “They’re just worried about you.”

“They need to mind their own business.” He quickly muted his phone and stuffed it in his pocket, burrowing deeper into his side. “I don’t know why they think shoving me in foster care would be so much better. Uprooting my whole fucking life–”

“They just want you safe.” Danny frowned and tilted his head down to rest his chin on Stiles’ head. “I can’t fault them for that.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna roll over and let them.” The flashing lights were beginning to make his head ache and he quickly closed his eyes and turned his face into Danny’s neck.

“I’m not telling you to ‘roll over’, but I want you safe.” Danny’s voice grew hushed as he ran a hand over Stiles’ short hair. “I want to know that my boyfriend isn’t gonna be hurt in his own home. You need a place to feel safe. You deserve one.”

Stiles found himself breathing the words, “Hunted in my own den.”

Danny seemed to falter for a moment before he scoffed a breathless laugh and said, “You sure are rocking the wolf vibes lately, but yeah. If you need to put it through a wolfy-filter then go for it.”

“No, no. Sorry.” Stiles cleared his nose again and listened to the echoing of voices in the halls getting louder. He could hear the officers shouting to one another, but they weren’t close enough to make out the words. “It’s just something that Derek–”

He reared back from Danny and had to fight to keep his breathing even. This whole night was turning into one unending panic attack. Danny’s presence was helping, but it also didn’t help that Stiles knew he was probably going to be grounded again. And his jeep–

“Shit, sorry.” Stiles reached a hand up to rub at his eyes as he explained his renewed agitation. “Derek was here too, and he got hurt. I don’t know what happened to him, ‘cause we ran, but he got a message to meet here like we did.”

“They’ll find him.” Danny glanced past Stiles and gave a nod to someone, but made no other comment to the others in the room. He just pulled Stiles back in and hugged him tight to his chest. “For now, we’re safe and whole and calm.”

“Right. Calm.”

They listened as the shouting grew closer and began to form actual words instead of toneless battle cries, doors opening and closing from down the hall. It seemed in no time at all that the voices were suddenly flooding the room and asking questions they vaguely answered. Stiles paid no mind to the increased action and allowed himself to be swept along in the wake, burrowing into Danny’s side and baring his teeth at any that tried to part them.

Sheriff Stilinski didn’t even try to pull them apart, simply sighing heavily and waving them both off towards Danny’s car. He gave brief instructions for the students to come to the sheriff’s office the next day, but didn’t deny Stiles as he crawled into Danny’s passenger seat and buckled himself in.

Chapter Text

The drive was a blur that Stiles willingly ignored, only allowing himself to focus on the hand clutched in his own. He assumed Allison must have caught a ride home from Danny, since Stiles remembered seeing Mr. Argent’s gloomy expression in the dim light from the house’s doorway. Though the glare was lost on the teen as he closed his eyes and turned away.

He didn’t fully come back to himself until he was being passed a hot mug filled with marshmallows, given by an older woman who perched herself on the couch cushion beside him. Her small hand rubbed gently at his shoulders as she spoke quiet nonsense, and Stiles examined her with confusion before he realized she had Danny’s nose.

“There you are.” Her voice was quiet and soothing, hand coming up to run over his bristled hair as if she were brushing back imaginary bangs. He wondered if she was used to the motion from caring for Danny. “You back with us, Pearl?”

Stiles quietly nodded as he turned away from the woman to take in the details around him. The couch was a horrid shade of blue that clashed with the butter-yellow of the walls, but it was well-worn and indented with use. Two mismatched recliners sat opposite the couch with a low coffee table in between, a light wooden surface dented and scratched and discolored by drink stains and what looked to be smears of paint. One side of the right-most recliner had pockmarks in the fabric, telling of some kind of cat that had claimed it as a scratching post.

“Stiles?”

“A blue stain on the table, probably from paint.” Stiles mumbled the words, more to himself than to her. “Crayon marks on the wall near the baseboard. A red lego-brick under the scratching-post recliner. Burnmark on the flooring beside the fireplace. Mother of Pearl charm on your bracelet.”

He didn’t look at her face again, but she made a soft understanding sound as she continued to smooth her hand over his shoulders and back. She waited for him to take a deep breath before she asked, “Four things you feel?”

He tapped his fingernails absently on the mug as he answered, “Smooth ceramic from the mug. The rock in my left shoe. The rough fabric of the couch, but it’s also soft. Weathered? It was rough, but its a little thin and worn down–”

She gently shushed him and moved her hand down his opposite arm, drawing him gently into her side as she encouraged, “Keep going, Pearl. What’s one more?”

“The calluses of your hand at the knuckle line, baseball bat?”

She made a small noise of acknowledgement, but neither confirmed nor denied it as she stated, “Three things next.”

“Water running behind us, fish tank?” He didn’t turn to look, or wait for confirmation before he continued, “Muffled footsteps and voices from the hallway, Danny laughing.” He tilted his head slightly to the side as he strained his hearing, searching for another noise in the quiet night. “You have an owl outside.”

“Good. Two?”

“Your perfume. I can’t quite name it, but it reminds me of salt and some kind of flower.” He turned his head down and stared at the mug in his hands as he said, “Chocolate and sugar, with some kind of spice added that makes me want to sneeze.”

She gave a small giggle as she gestured to the mug with a quiet, “One?”

He lifted the drink to his lips and took a slow, cautious sip. The steam from the liquid convinced him to gently slurp the drink in an attempt to cool it down. He knew it probably sounded annoying, but he didn’t care as he got the first taste of the rich chocolate.

“Cinnamon and dark chocolate, maybe with some caramel.” He took a few more deep breaths before he sheepishly turned towards her with a quiet, “Thanks, Miss Mahealani.”

“It’s no problem, Pearl.” She gave him a sharp - yet kind - smile, gesturing slowly towards a hallway to the right of them. “Do you want me to get Danny for you?”

Stiles hesitated in sending her away, but eventually nodded in agreement. He felt slightly guilty as she stood up and quietly stepped down the hall, but he didn’t call her back or change his mind. He knew he had made the right choice when Danny fell onto the cushion beside him, seeming to chase away some of the clouds that lingered over his thoughts.

“Hey, Babe. You feeling better?”

Stiles fell into the boy’s side and took a pointed sip of his drink before he muttered, “Your Mom is awesome.”

“She’s pretty great, yeah.” Danny threw his arm around stiles’ shoulders to pull him tighter into their sideways embrace. “Dad didn’t like the idea of you spending the night, but she made him compromise. They’re getting the blow up mattresses and we’re gonna have a sleepover with the Little Terrors.”

Stiles gave a snort of laughter at Danny’s nickname for his siblings. He knew Danny was the oldest of four, but he was still clueless on their names and ages. Any time they were brought up, they were spoken about like a cautionary tale with dramatic pauses and descriptions.

“Mom and Dad are gonna take the recliners, and we get the pull-out couch. The Terrors have staked claim on the ‘sea cave’, so Mom’s gonna set up the mattress under us.”

“Good chastity system,” Stiles mumbled, ignoring the surprised punch of laughter that left Danny. “Could we have the TV on tonight? Would that mess with you guys? We could mute it–”

“It’s fine. The light won’t keep any of them up.” Danny looked like he was going to say something else, but froze with a suddenly hunted look. He slowly turned towards the hallway at the pounding of tiny footsteps, graving stating, “Prepare for battle.”

“Bubby!”

Three children rounded the corner and came sprinting down the hallway, equipped with pillows, stuffed animals and small blankets. The eldest of the three trailed behind the pack, quickly picking up a stuffed sea star that had fallen and absently reached out to settle a wobbling side table - though her smirk was just as sharp as her mother’s with a dash of mirth. Stiles could already tell that she was going to grow up to be snarky and dangerous.

The two younger siblings - a boy and another girl - wore matching smiles that were wide and bright. Though he hadn’t seen Danny’s father yet, Stiles could guess that the two children had gotten their father’s smile instead of their mother’s. It seemed softer in their excitement as they crashed into the living room, babbling at Danny in a language Stiles didn’t know and making impatient gestures for the boys to get off the couch.

Stiles had to do a rather quick double-take as Danny began muttering back in the unknown language, the words slipping and rolling from his mouth with a natural flow. It left Stiles breathless with wonder as he discovered just how much he liked the words that Danny effortlessly pronounced, almost losing his grip on the hot chocolate in slack-jawed awe. He could tell the moment Danny noticed his interest, a grin flashing into view.

He had his mother’s sharp smile as well.

“Makos!” Their mother’s voice was gently chiding and humor-filled as she stepped into the hallway with an armful of blankets. “English, please. Alek's Pearl doesn’t know your sea-speech.”

“Mom!” Danny whined and ducked his head in embarrassment, avoiding Stiles’ gaze as he pouted - though Stiles couldn't tell if it was due to the name she called Danny, or what she had called Stiles.

His mother gave a twinkling laugh as she dumped her load of blankets on the scratching-post recliner and stepped around it to the table. She said something chidingly in the foreign language before she gripped the table’s edges and hefted it up onto her shoulder.

“Lolana!” A man quickly rounded the corner and made his way down the hall, a large bow carried in front of him and stacked high with pillows. “Wait for me to help–”

“Oh, hush! You’d just throw your back out trying.” Mrs Mahealani, Lolana, balanced the thick table in her grasp and expertly maneuvered through the children. “Help the little makos set up the couch and leave the heavy lifting to me.”

The man gave a huff of laughter as he watched his wife march off towards the kitchen. He quickly set his stack of things down on the cat-free recliner before he marched towards the older boys, hand extended in greeting as he said, “I’m Markus, Danny’s father, and that was my wife Lolana.”

“Stiles,” he returned, standing from the couch and accepting the handshake offered. Danny stood along with him and they quickly shuffled out of the way as the three small children descended on the couch, pulling off the cushions and tugging at the metal frame within. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Though it would have been nicer under different circumstances,” Markus laughed at his small joke, humor strained as he absently reached out to clap Danny’s shoulder. Stiles saw how the grip was shaky and slightly too tight, as if to confirm that Danny wouldn’t break away and crumble under the touch. “I don’t suppose my other children have introduced themselves?”

“If they did it was lost in the…sea-speech?”

“Ah, Olelo Hawai’i.” He lisped the W into a V as he explained, “The children treat it as a secret language since none of their friends speak it, and they’ve insisted on calling it the Secret Language of the Sea. I don’t know much of it myself, since I’m a few generations off the boat.”

There was a harsh scrape from the kitchen, most likely from the sound of the table being dropped to the ground. It was followed by a chiding remark in the ‘sea-speech’. Stiles didn’t understand what was said, but he had heard the tone before from his own mother when she had caught him misbehaving.

“Sorry, Honey!” Markus scratched his nose self-consciously and he explained, “She doesn’t like it when I make comments that I’m not ‘Hawaiian enough’.”

“We are a culture, but we are also a people.” Lolana stepped back into the living room as she flicked her long dark hair over her shoulders. “It is not your fault your family assimilated to a different culture, and it makes you no less of the sea.”

“Yes, Love.”

“Now,” she huffed the word as she stopped beside her husband and planted her hands on her hips, staring down the small children that had paused at their mother’s words. “You are all little sharks, but you are sharks with manners. Introduce yourselves.”

“Koa Nichole,” the eldest girl said. She waited another second before she nudged her younger siblings.

“Mahina Gwenivere. ‘Vina is cooler though.” The little girl bounced in place as she sped through the name, slurring them together in her haste.

“Haoa Gerald,” the boy said his name carefully, but was quick to correct, “I prefer Harry!”

“And this,” Lolana reached for Danny’s head, ruffling his hair harshly as the younger children went back to their task, “is Alekanekeio Daniel.”

“Oh my gosh,” Stiles whipped around to face his boyfriend with a small glare, watching as Danny seemed to wince and deflate at his mother’s betrayal. “You’ve been holding out on me!”

“No I haven’t!” Danny batted at his mother softly until she removed herself and went to help the Little Terrors. “Lots of people go by their middle name.”

“But not usually because their first name is unpronounceable!” Stiles paused in his rant, turning to both the adults with a quick, “Sorry, no offense.”

“None taken,” Lolana chirped as she wrenched the metal framework from the couch. “I often find American names that are nonsensical to me as well.”

“It’s why we agreed on an English name for the kids too.” Markus tried to help his wife, but quickly backed off when she swatted at him.

“And speaking of holding out,” Danny turned on Stiles, flashing him another grin as he reached out and stole the mug of hot chocolate. “You haven’t actually told me your name.”

“I thought it was Stiles?” Lolana released the bed frame, letting it thump to the ground as she straightened the thin mattress it revealed.

“Stiles is short for Stilinski,” Stiles glared at Danny, darting a hand out to try and steal back his drink. He was quickly disappointed as Danny evaded him with his stupid Goalie precision. “My first name is a crime against nature, and even my father can’t pronounce it right.”

Danny took a drink of the hot chocolate before he said, “And it can somehow be shortened to Mischief–”

“Don’t.”

Stiles’ denial cut through the light-hearted atmosphere, making Danny’s smile freeze on his face as the others around the room paused in their actions. He stopped trying to battle for the ceramic mug, taking a minute to breath and backtrack over his harsh response.

“Don’t call me that. It’s not for you.” Stiles’ winced at his wording and tried to explain, “I mean, it’s not for anyone anymore. I haven’t heard it in years and I don’t–”

“Stiles,” Danny ducked slightly as he tried to catch his eye, rubbing a comforting hand down his arm. “It’s okay.”

“It was my Mom's.” Stiles felt his face flush harshly as his eyes watered. “I don’t know how he knew it, or why he said that, but it wasn’t his - it was hers. And maybe I’ll be okay with it in the future, but not right now. Not tonight.”

“Okay.” Danny muscled the mug back into Stiles’ hand and pulled the boy in for a hug. “That’s okay.”

“I think,” Markus pointedly interrupted, “that what we need is Hallmark. I think they were having a Royal Marathon tonight.”

Lolana made a soft comment in Hawaiian as she handed him the remote, and that’s what they did. Lolana took the scratching-post recliner and Markus took the untouched one, the mysterious gray cat slinking out of hiding at some point to materialize on Lolana’s lap. Harry, Vina and “Cole or Koa” were huddled under the tall bed frame, gently kicking upwards when they shifted or made too much noise. Stiles was honestly surprised he and Danny were allowed to share a bed, even with the others in the room.

The TV had been muted and subtitles had been turned on, though Stiles was the only one watching the current movie. Lolana and Markus had crashed pretty early, and the kids had stopped kicking the mattress half a movie ago. Danny was more focused on his phone, giving a vague - yet still running - commentary on the BAU group chat. Stiles had muted the group chat in retaliation, but he still wanted to be kept in the loop.

Garcia had been groveling and worrying in equal measure, sending apologies and reassurances for the future. If she was to be believed, she could probably open a bakery with the amount of cookies and cake she had baked since returning home. She also made some vague promises of defamation of his father’s character, though she was smart enough to not put anything in writing.

Morgan and Prentiss had both offered moral support before backing off the issue, and Jareau had sent links for self-help guides and online support groups. Ried did much the same, sending along links to articles that detailed the emotional and physical aspects of abuse - explaining the effects on the body and discussing possible reasons for the behavior of the victim and abuser. He also made vague comments about sneaking Stiles into Vegas casinos and getting him college tuition. Stiles had made Danny forward a few of the links to him so he could review them later.

Rossi made no noise in the group chat, but instead messaged Stiles privately. He didn’t take the time to read the message, but he noted an apology and multiple links to files labeled by date and location - most likely cold cases for Stiles to puzzle over. Along with some links that looked to be pasta recipes and DIY jeep repairs.

The most surprising, however, was from an unknown number, and it had Stiles going boneless in relief.

You received a message from Unknown.

Unknown: I got a phone
Unknown: you still alive?

>Yeah. Everyone’s okay. We’re supposed to go to the Sheriff’s station tomorrow to give our statements.
>I kept Scott from mentioning you were there.

Unknown: good
Unknown: think you can keep it that way?

>I can try.

Stiles felt Danny’s hold tighten, the boy snuffling softly into the crook of his neck. He had tried to stay up for Stiles, but had crashed between Chloe finding the royal wedding ring and Chloe being mistaken for the Prince’s betrothed. He felt reassured by the boy’s presence at his back, and vowed pain on the Alpha who thought to use their relationship against him. Danny was in danger, and he needed to know what enemies he was facing.

>I need to talk to you about what happened at the school.

Unknown: Im stilling healing but I can meet you tomorrow night
Unknown: anything that cant wait?

>I talked to the A

Stiles preemptively turned his phone on silent, smiling when the Unknown number tried to call him. It barely popped up the notification before Stiles was waving it away.

Unknown: pick up the phone

>I have my boyfriend at my back, three nosey toddlers under our bed and two Guard Mode parents ten feet away.
>Now is not the time for a phone call.

Unknown: what do you mean you talked to the A

>I mean that the bastard called my phone and proved that he knew exactly who I was.
>He said he wanted ME in his boy-band, and he specifically lured my boyfriend to the school.

Unknown: did you recognize his voice?

>Too much growl.
>The point I’m getting at is that I’m on his recruitment list, and that put my boyfriend in danger.
>He’s not incapable of protecting himself, but he needs to know what he’s protecting himself from.

Unknown: you want to tell him

>Yeah. I think he can handle it.

Unknown: relationships dont always last

>He’ll have a target on his back even if we break up.

Unknown: well talk about it tomorrow night
Unknown: keep my name out of the reports
Unknown: stay safe

You set Unknown’s nickname to Big Bad.

>You too.

Chapter Text

Stiles couldn’t stop his knee from bouncing as he and Danny sat in the Sheriff’s station. Danny’s hand had originally been placed on top of the shaking knee to keep the jumping at bay, but a quick glare from one of the deputies had downgraded them to holding hands instead. The others were also lined up on the segmented bench, every last one of them looking worn and tired. Even Lydia seemed to have more concealer caked under her eyes than was normal.

The only one not in the lineup was Jackson, though he was visible through the large windows across the way. The deputies had all agreed that the interrogation room may have been too intimidating for the shaken teens, and had commandeered the conference room–or break room, as it was most often used. There was an actual break room further back in the building, but the deputies and sheriff had taken to using the conference room for its bigger table and better phone signal.

Each of the teens had been made to walk through the events of the previous night on camera, and then asked to write them out and verify them aloud once again. Stiles and Danny had gone first since they had arrived the earliest, but Stiles had been heavily encouraged to remain in the station until everyone’s statements had been taken. Danny was staying for solidarity, and the others probably just felt awkward about leaving before they did.

Jackson interrupted Stiles’ thoughts by shouldering the door open and stomping towards the bench. Lydia didn’t even bother to rise, simply recrossing her legs and giving a dainty sniff of disapproval of his attitude. He could practically see the hackles rise as Jackson opened his mouth to comment, but was interrupted by Agent Hotchner as he stepped out of the room and over to Stiles.

“Thank you for waiting.” He straightened the cuffs of his suits and gave no trace of a smile as he stated, “If you’re ready, please choose a deputy to be present and we will begin.”

“What?” Scott leaned forward slightly to look at Stiles over Allison, who was perched between them. “I thought you already gave your statement?”

He couldn’t bring himself to respond, simply nodding in agreement. Agent Hotchner seemed to catch the motion and answer for him.

“This is about a separate, private matter.” After another moment of silence, he turned back to Stiles and gestured towards the now frozen deputies that had been loitering around the area. He could see at least two of them reaching for their phones, most likely to inform his father of the ‘private meeting’.

“Deputy Carick,” Stiles stated numbly. “He’s only been here for two months. Everyone else has been here for over a year.”

Agent Hotchner nodded in agreement as he turned towards the police force, clearing his throat pointedly when no one made to move towards them. It took another half minute of silence before a lanky man stumbled around the others and stopped in front of the teens.

“Yes, sir. I’m Gregory Carick–though most people call me Greg.” He seemed to be just as lost as the others as he glanced between Stiles and Agent Hotchner. “What–uh–What can I do for you?”

Agent Hotchner seemed to grow three inches as he stood straighter and gestured towards the conference room, stating, “You’ll be sitting in on a questioning. You may ask questions if you believe they are relevant, though you will mostly be acting as a proctor to ensure I am not leading Mr. Stilinski’s answers.”

“I don’t actually have much experience yet.” Deputy Carick hesitantly gestured back towards the other officers, who were no longer trying to hide their interest in the conversation. “Wouldn’t you rather have Deputy Graeme? Or Gonzales?”

“You have been selected specifically for your limited time in Beacon Hills. You will have less of a bias than the others, and Mr. Stilinski has chosen you.” Agent Hotchner tilted his head down slightly in deference as he stoically proclaimed, “You are someone he has chosen to place his trust in, and that is a great honor.”

Stiles wouldn’t say he trusted Deputy Carick, but he couldn’t help but notice how the tall man stood a little straighter–took the act with more severity. Though ‘Greg’ hadn’t gotten an actual answer about why he was about to sit in on a private meeting, he seemed more confident about it and readily accepted the order. He gave a firm nod before he marched into the conference room to take one of the available seats and check the video camera setup.

“Did you just knight him?” Stiles remained seated as he stared up at a blank-faced Fed that radiated smugness. “I didn’t see a sword, but he looks fit to fight a dragon now. Save a princess from a tower. Not die of lead poisoning.”

“I simply stated the truth.” Agent Hotchner glanced between Stiles and Danny’s joined hands and quickly amended, “You may also have Mister Mahealani present if you think that would help.”

“That–” Stiles glanced at Danny and stopped himself from automatically agreeing. Though he didn’t even need to ask, watching Danny set his jaw and give him a shaky nod. Having his approval, Stiles slowly continued, “Would be great. Yeah.”

“Of course,” Danny agreed.

Agent Hotchner backed away from them and slowly gestured towards the open door of the conference room, ignoring the murmured questions and hesitant protests from the others. He kept most of the questions quiet with his glare and waited for the boys to tromp inside the room before he firmly shut the door.

He took the chair beside Deputy Carick and gestured towards the other side of the table with a quiet, “Sit, please.” Once both of the boys were seated he turned towards the camera and quickly set it to record, stating the date, time and location before he began questioning the boys.

“Daniel Mahealani and Stiles Stilinski are present, along with Deputy Gregory Carick and Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. Anything said or discussed here today will be documented and recorded, and may be used as evidence in a court of law. Do you have any objections to being recorded?”

“No,” Stiles stated.

“You have requested Daniel Mahealani to be present. In addition, is there anyone else you would like to be here–such as a lawyer or social worker?”

Stiles could see the tension bleed through Deputy Carick at the ‘social worker’ comment, spine straightening with dread. “No, Sir.”

“If that changes at any time, please do not hesitate to ask for their presence. The same goes for the removal of any person present, myself included. If you need to take a break, or if you need a drink or a snack, tell us and we will accommodate. If you feel uncomfortable with any question I ask, you may have the option of not answering. Simply state that you do not wish to answer the question and we will move on.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, simply nodding in understanding and squeezing Danny’s hand in his own. Deputy Carick had begun shooting looks out the window of the room, scanning the others who were curiously watching the meeting. Stiles knew the deputies couldn’t hear what was being said, but he was also acutely aware of the werewolf that was sitting amongst the gossiping teens.

“Mr. Stilinski–”

“Stiles.”

“Apologies.” Agent Hotchner quickly corrected himself, “Stiles, can you please describe your relationship with your father, Noah Stilinski?”

“Familial,” Stiles snapped.

Agent Hotchner seemed to take his attitude in stride, quickly sliding into the next question of, “What activities do you and your father do together when you both have free time?”

“Familial ones.”

“How often do you spend time with your father?”

“Often enough.”

Agent Hotchner released a small sigh as he sat back in his chair and stared at the teenages across from him. “I believe there has been a misconception. You are under the impression that this matter will disappear if you stay silent, but that is not the case.”

“You got nothing without me.” Stiles released Danny’s hand to cross his arms over his chest. “Any case you made would be laughed out of court if I said nothing happened.”

“Except I have video proof of Noah Stilinski verbally threatening you,” Hotchner said. “In time, I’m confident we can prove our case, with or without your testimony. It would certainly make it easier if we have your cooperation, but it is not necessary to press charges. No matter what you tell me today, Noah Stilinski will be arrested under the suspicion of child neglect and abuse, and you will be moved to a temporary placement in the foster system.”

“So, what? You don’t care what I want?” Stiles had to blink hard as his eyes began to burn. “You’ll just ship me out of Beacon Hills with a fucking rucksack?”

“You will not be leaving Beacon Hills.”

Stiles couldn’t help but numbly ask, “What?”

“Beacon Hills is not a very large town, but it has quite a few foster families. I have been in contact with one that I believe will be suitable and it is being approved through your new social worker–who will reach out to you by Monday with further details and proper introductions. Until then, I have reached out to Melissa McCall and got permission for you to reside there in the interim.”

“Seriously?” Stiles felt himself sag forward as he studied Agent Hotchner, looking for any indication he was lying. “I was always told I’d be shipped to Redding.”

“In certain circumstances, you may have been.” His neutral face seemed to take on a fake innocence as he commented with mischief, “These are not those circumstances.”

Stiles numbly stared at the smug Special Agent and the shocked and horrified Deputy, feeling more and more detached from his anger as hope seemed to fill his chest. He blindly reached for Danny’s hand once more, thankful when it was presented to him without fuss or hesitation. It helped anchor him.

“I don’t have to leave?” Stiles asked.

“You don’t have to leave,” Agent Hotchner confirmed.

“You actually think it will work? It won’t just get swept away again?”

“I am highly confident we can build a solid case. If not, I can guarantee an unbiased judge who would be willing to hear your case for emancipation.” Agent Hotchner gave a small, but warm smile as he asked, “Now, can you tell me about your relationship with Noah Stilinski?”

“I don’t have much of one.” Stiles glanced at Danny and leaned into his side when his hand was squeezed.

He forced himself to talk and answered Agent Hotchner’s questions, even though each one felt like a betrayal. Each word felt like poison as he said it, burning him from the inside out - but he didn’t stop. He let it pour from him in stuttering bouts of pain, leaning into Danny’s side and allowing him to sooth the burn.

— — — — — —

Scott stared in horror at the large window, listening as Stiles confessed the Sheriff’s sins. He had known that his friend didn’t get along with his father, but he had never known just how far their relationship had fallen.

He had never realized just how similar they were in that regard.

“Scott?” Allison squeezed his hand gently, studying his face with open worry. “You okay? You’re getting kind of pale.”

“I can read lips.” The excuse slipped out of Scott’s mouth absently, he and Stiles already having discussed the excuse they would use if his wolfish nature slipped.

“Well?” Jackson gestured leadingly when Scott remained silent. “What are they saying?”

“Why do you care?” Scott asked the question with a disbelieving laugh as he saw Lydia also waiting for an answer. “Why are you even still here?”

“My mother is picking us up,” Lydia gave a small sniff of annoyance as she turned back to her phone.

Jackson ignored Lydia’s explanation and instead asked, “Does it have anything to do with that psycho?”

“He doesn’t have to tell you, Jackson.” Allison hooked her arm through Scott’s, pulling him closer to her as he shuttered at something they couldn’t hear. “Just leave it.”

“It’s private,” Scott reiterated, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. He had to fight not to release the growl that was building in the back of his throat. “As in, none of your fucking business.”

“Whatever,” Jackson spat the word and let the subject drop, but he didn’t leave or turn away. Instead, he took a few steps to the left so he could lean against the wall beside their row of benches, keeping the room and large windows in his line of sight.

Meanwhile, Scott felt himself winding tighter and tighter. The deputies that were milling around them seemed to be aware of the tension, some with accurate guesswork as to the nature of Stiles’ questioning. He had to close his eyes multiple times to keep the flare from showing, especially when one of the women made a comment about the previous investigations.

And that was a fucking trip. Previous investigations, meaning that Mr. Stilinski had been reported multiple times. Scott had either been too young to notice what had been happening, or the station had purposefully kept it quiet. He vaguely remembered a time in early middle school when he was questioned by one of the school’s guidance counselors, but he had always assumed it had been in relation to his own father.

It made him wonder if his mother had seen any of the signs. If Melissa McCall, Nurse Extraordinaire, had spotted some kind of sign and brushed it away. Or if she had a little black book with Stiles’ name on it, filled to the brim with suspicions and dates and evidence - like the one she had kept for him.

“Where is he?”

Scott’s gaze flickered to the right, watching the front doors of the station for movement. He could hear the Sheriff’s footsteps, turning from the crunch of gravel to the soft taps of a concrete walkway.

“He’s in the conference room with the Fed.”

“And no one stopped him?”

“We called you as soon as he started talking to Stiles.”

“Next time,” the Sheriff’s voice was a growl of annoyance as he said, “call me first.”

“Scott?”

Scott found himself standing without thought, shaking free of Allison’s hold on his arm and turning towards the front doors as they opened. Noah Stilinski marched through the room with a God-given purpose, a short and stout deputy following behind in his wake.

“McCall?”

Scott ignored Jackson and Allison’s interjections, stepping forward past the windows with sure movements and planting himself in the Sheriff’s path - out of sight from his brother in all but blood. He didn’t know exactly what expression was on his face, but he was grateful for whatever it was because it made the Sheriff falter in his steps.

“Scott.” His voice was rough with frustration as he greeted the boy. He stepped to the side to go around him, but Scott quickly matched his steps to block his path once more. “Move aside.”

“No.” He squared his shoulders and for once thanked the Alpha for giving him the bite; giving him the physique to intimidate and the power to back up his threats.

“I’m here to see my son.”

Scott balled his hands into fists at his side, hiding the sudden sharpness of his nails. He was sure his teeth were on the verge of fangs as he denied, “I won’t let you.”

“You won’t let me?” The sheriff rested his hands on his belt and tried to puff out his chest. The gesture used to work on Scott when he was in trouble, but it lost most of its authority when he gained two inches on the older Stilinski. “I’m not asking permission. Stand aside.”

“I’m not moving.”

Sheriff Stilinski scoffed at Scott’s remark, grabbing his shoulder and trying to pull the boy out of his way. His frustration seemed to grow when Scott didn’t even shift, the man taking a half step back to study the boy in front of him. He could tell the Sheriff was surprised by the strength and size of the lanky teen, not having noticed the wolf-assisted growth spurt over the last few weeks.

The stout deputy that had entered with the Sheriff tried to dart past, but Scott quickly blocked his path with an outstretched arm. He didn’t even try to check his speed and strength, showing no remorse as his palm loudly cracked the drywall. All conversation died around them, both the bullpen and the conference room growing quiet at the sharp sound. He could see that more than one gun had been unlocked from their holsters, though none had been drawn just yet.

“Scott.” The Sheriff glared at the boy. He tried to seem unaffected by the display of violence, but Scott had already seen him take a step back. “You need to take a step back, son.”

“And you need to leave before I make you.” Scott’s voice carried in the quiet room, seeming to echo off the walls around them.

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m giving you a choice.” Scott leaned forward slightly as he glared daggers at the Sheriff. “You can leave the station peacefully or I can throw you out on your ass.”

“How dare you–”

“How dare you?!” Scott took a step forward, feeling a small bit of vindictive glee as the Sheriff retreated a step. “You hurt Stiles!”

“Scott?” Allison’s voice was soft and hesitant as her hand wrapped around his outstretched wrist, gently bringing it away from the wall.

“You hurt him because you could, and you used your position to cover it up.” Scott felt the anger twist in his chest, turning to disgust as he stared at the man in front of him. “Mama Stilinski would be ashamed of what you’ve done.”

The Sheriff’s face flushed with anger as he stepped up chest-to-chest with Scott, voice loud and booming as he shouted, “You don’t talk about my wife!”

“Scott!” Allison’s grip on his arm tightened, trying to reel him back from the Sheriff. He felt another hand on the opposite shoulder, accompanied by a shocked, “McCall!” He vaguely registered the door to the conference room opening, but he didn’t turn to look.

“I’ll talk about whoever I damn well please.” Scott said the words through gritted teeth, refusing to back down as he threatened, “And if you ever touch my brother again, I’ll kill you. I’ll send you off without hesitation because I know Claudia will be waiting on the other side to carve her own pound of flesh for hurting her son!”

“That’s enough!”

A large hand grabbed the back of Scott’s jacket hauling him back a few feet with startling ease, handling him like a scruffed kitten before he was deposited behind the large frame of Agent Hotchner. He was too stunned by the action to properly fight the movement, and quickly found himself hidden behind Hotchner and - surprisingly - Jackson.

The older lacrosse star had seemed to plant himself beside the Fed in solidarity, arms loose and ready to intercept any who tried to pass. Allison had been quick to turn her back to the sheriff once the barrier was in place, caging Scott’s face between her hands and whispering reassurances. He didn’t really process what she was saying in the moment, too caught up in listening to the arguing men and the frantic beat of Stiles’ heart from the conference room.

“Sheriff Stilinski, you were ordered to vacate the station until sixteen hundred hours.”

“You didn’t say you were going to be interrogating my son.”

“I didn’t have to.” Agent Hotchner’s voice was low and unfaltering as he explained, “Your parental rights were revoked this morning, barring an investigation into your relationship with Stiles Stilinski.”

“You have no right–”

“I have every right to investigate a claim of child abuse, given with evidence by a high-standing individual of whom I respect.”

“That doesn’t make it a federal issue.”

Agent Hotchner’s voice seemed to take on a smug tint as he responded with, “It does when the abuse is suspected to have happened in more than one state. Not to mention Stiles' current position with the BAU as an intern, and the prior investigations that have been thrown in the past.”

The man’s voice was weak with disbelief as he muttered, “I’m the Sheriff.”

“Which does not mean you are above the law.” Agent Hotchner waved to Deputy Carick, who jumped to attention and slowly approached the Sheriff with his handcuffs outstretched. “Noah Stilinski, you are under arrest for suspected Child Abuse.”

— — — — — —

You messaged the group chat: The Team.

>It’s done.

Rossi: Good job.

Garcia: You met Mini-Ried?
Garcia: Is he just as cute in person as I imagined he was???

>He has much less hair, but more prose with sarcasm.

Morgan: Did you get to punch his father?

>No. I actually had to step in to stop someone else from doing it.

Prentiss: Was it a woman?
Prentiss: Tell me it was a woman.

>It was a man.
>Boy, actually.

Ried: You had to stop a child from punching a law officer?

>Yes, though I believe it would have been well deserved.

Jareau: Agreed, but please refrain from putting such things in writing.

>Apologies, JJ.
>The boy referenced Mini-Ried as his brother, though there is no blood relation.
>Apparently he could read lips and knew what was being said during my questioning of Mini-Ried.

Ried: Was the kid named Scott?

Rossi: Did he seem Puppy-Like?

>Yes and yes.
>I don’t believe he is very adept at strategy, but I think he would score fairly high in protective instincts.
>I had to scruff him to get him to back down, though he had already threatened to kill Mini-Ried’s father.

Morgan: Hotch

Prentiss: Oh no

Garcia: Yes!

Jareau: Would you like me to send you a copy of the internship forms?

>That would be appreciated, thank you.

Chapter Text

Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner was watching a children’s show. Stiles was still a little confused as to how that had happened, but he couldn’t deny that the man was stoically watching an animated children’s show about a fish exploring the ocean.

They had been quickly herded out of the station after the Sheriff was arrested - Stiles being directed to the front passenger seat while Scott was muscled into the back like a misbehaving puppy. They had then driven to the McCall house in silence before Agent Hotchner had stated he needed to speak with Mama McCall, and Scott pointed out that she was on shift and wouldn’t be back until after five.

Thus, all three of them had silently piled into the living room and the TV somehow got set to the overacting monstrosity. Stiles hated to admit that the plot was actually decent, catching himself snickering softly at a few of the jokes. Hotchner had also laughed along, which brought Stiles to finally give in to the BAU.

You messaged the group chat: BA[fuck]U

>Agent Hotchner is now my babysitter.
>I hope you all are happy.

Alpha Female: Very

Dark King: He’ll keep you safe.

>He’s laughing at an animated octopus learning to count past 8.

Dr. Chi: Pics or it didn’t happen.

Stiles stared at his phone screen for a moment before he quickly switched over to the camera app. He tried to be discreet as he aimed the camera towards the agent, tilting the phone and keeping his movements slow.

“Don’t.”

Stiles jerked the camera away from the Agent, frowning as Scott laughed while he fumbled the phone in his surprise. Hotchner hadn’t even looked away from the screen when he said it, nor did his expression of polite interest change. Though his voice was low with unyielding authority and Stiles felt truly chastised as his gaze flicked down to the chat.

>I got caught.

Sensei: Hotch has amazing spatial awareness.

Black Queen: He sees and hears all.

Stiles frowned and quickly sent a text to Danny before he switched back to the group chat and waited. He knew he had the best boyfriend because he didn’t have to wait very long.

Mini-Hacker: My boyfriend said “I have too many watchdogs. I don’t need another.” with a cringe emoji.

Dark King: what

Dr. Chi: It looks like some of us may be in time out.

Hi Rossi. Thank you for the lasagna recipe.

Dr. Chi: No problem kid.

Black Queen: :(

Mini-Hacker: Also, your jeep should be done by Saturday.
Mini-Hacker: My mom said it wasn’t gonna be pretty, but it would run.

>Your mother is awesome.

Mini-Hacker: Agreed.

Black Queen: What happened to your jeep?

Do you think she’ll give me her hot chocolate recipe?

Mini-Hacker: Not a chance.

Dark King: What happened to your jeep?

>Damn.
>Do you think I can bribe her into making me some more?

Mini-Hacker: There’s a pretty good chance.

Dark King: I think I’m in the dog house too.

Sensei: Mini-Me, what happened to your jeep?

>Glad you asked.

Black Queen: :[

Dark King: rude

>The dude who was chasing us last night attacked my jeep so we couldn’t leave.
>He bashed in the hood and tore out some of the parts.

Sensei: There are much simpler ways to sabotage a vehicle.

Mini-Hacker: Dude sounded a little too crazy for simple.

Sensei: Fair enough.

“Who are you texting?” Scott plopped down on the couch beside Stiles, flopping sideways and laying his weight against the lanky boy. Stiles almost buckled under the strain and Scott quickly backed off some, holding his own weight up as he mumbled, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just not used to the muscle mass.” Stiles leaned into Scott’s side, refusing to let him retreat as he showed him the phone screen. “I’m just messaging the Feds.”

“Which I know nothing about,” Agent Hotchner cut in shortly, “as they are all supposed to be finishing up the paperwork from our last case in Florida.”

Stiles stared a little wide-eyed before he sputtered, “Yep. Totally.” He then turned back to the phone, not bothering to hide the screen from Scott.

>Opps…

Mini-Hacker: What did you do?

“Who’s Mini-Hacker?” Scott squinted at the screen as he guessed, “Danny?”

“Yeah.”

>Hotchner knows you kids aren’t doing your homework.

Sensei: I finished mine. I’m not in trouble.

Dr Chi: Already turned mine in.

Alpha Female: Same here.

“You named someone–”

“Yes, Scott.” Stiles cut him off quickly, darting a look at the Agent seated in the recliner. “Danny set her nickname, and I had no say. I couldn’t exactly change it or argue against it without looking a little insane.”

Scott gave a large sigh before he nodded in acceptance and settled back into cuddling Stiles. Stiles knew exactly what Scott had heard in the police station, so he allowed it. He didn’t even comment when Scott stuck his nose to Stiles’ collar and sniffed him.

Dark King: I’m almost done with mine.

Black Queen: Now two people are mad at me.
Black Queen: :’(

Dr. Chi: Hotch said to tell you both to get back to work and stop messaging a teenage boy.

>Baby. Sitter.

Stiles sighed as the group chat seemed to go silent. Meanwhile, the animated fish seemed to have moved on in his exploration and was now trying to get some kind of crab to interact with his different-specied friends. He didn’t need to check the guide to know the episode would be called some kind of pun about coming out of one’s shell.

“You scared away my friends,” Stiles huffed. Hotchner didn’t even look away from the TV as he replied, nor did he sound anything but smug.

“You ignored them all of yesterday, leaving me with an emotionally compromised team while we investigated a serial killer.” He finally glanced at the two boys, throwing them a perfectly arched eyebrow as he said, “I feel no remorse about setting my team back to work.”

Stiles was quiet for another minute before he asked, “Did you catch them?”

“No.” Hotchner frowned and fiddled with his unbuttoned suit jacket, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles. “Unfortunately, some people are too smart -or too lucky- and they manage to evade us. As you know from the files you’ve recently been helping with.”

"Tell me about it?" Stiles probably sounded a little pitiful, but he didn't take back the question. The files weren't formatted for his phone, so he had been resorting to using his laptop.

"Bifurcation, actually." Hotchner gave a small grimace as he admitted, "This isn't the first time we've seen the killer, or the first that they evaded us. We actually wondered if the recent murder in the preserve was related, but there were inconsistencies. You may be getting another case file."

Stiles felt his heart leap to his throat as he thought of the things Kate had said. He didn't really register what he was saying until he had already asked, "Broadsword?"

Hotchner's gaze turned sharp as he studied Stiles, taking in his suddenly green appearance. He looked as if he were going to question it, but stopped as his gaze flickered to Scott. His expression was easy to read and Stiles just knew he was going to pay for the question later with a long conversation. He was even more sure when the Agent agreed with a quiet, "Yes."

“Dude!” Scott whipped around to look at Stiles, almost falling into his lap in excitement. “You’ve been catching bad guys?”

“Catching them? No.” Hotchner cut in quickly before Stiles could reply. “Though he has given multiple insights which have led to multiple arrests, or at the very least given us something new on the unsolved cases.”

“That’s awesome!” Scott gave Hotchner a large grin before he turned back to Stiles and smacked the boy harshly on the arm. Stiles didn’t have to fake the wince he made as he rubbed at the area, glaring at the werewolf who hadn’t yet figured out his strength regulation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did. Multiple times even.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest as he said, “Allison takes most of your attention.”

“Sorry, bro, but she’s just so–”

“I know. I know.” Stiles shoved the boy softly as he pitched his voice high, mockingly. “Perfect! Wonderful! She sneezes so gracefully, like a Princess! The sun shines out her ass!”

“Like you haven’t been the same way with Danny!” Scott pushed a hand through his hair to hold it away from his face, tight to his scalp in an imitation of Stiles' buzzcut. His voice was similarly falsetto as he proclaimed, “Danny holds the door for me! Danny hacked the FBI with me! Danny can bench-press twice my weight and knows how to pronounce my name!”

“Dude!” Stiles grabbed Scott’s arms with a serious air, holding him in place as he told him with grave importance, “Danny’s name isn’t Danny.”

Scott paused in his rant, releasing his hold on his hair in confusion as he said, “I know? It’s Daniel–”

“No, dude!” Stiles forced Scott to meet his eye before he solemnly said, “Daniel is his middle name, but his first name? It’s like mine.”

“What?”

“It starts with something like ‘Alec’, and it’s gonna take me some time, but I will learn how to say that name.” Stiles sat back some as he absently asked, “Think he’d like that?”

Instead of answering, Scott turned the question around and asked, “Would you like him to learn your name?”

“Yeah.” He gave a hesitant nod and said, “Not yet, but yeah. I think I’d really like that.”

Scott chuckled as he pointed out, “You really like him, yeah?”

“And you really like her.”

Both boys grinned at each other, wide and star-struck together over the fact that they both had someone. Their lives were falling apart, but they both had someone to hold on to and that was one of the most trippy feelings. Last year they had been the losers of their grade without prospects, and now they were both working their way up the latter with people who enjoyed their presence. They seemed to be in life-threatening danger every other day, but they had something to be happy about.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the front door opening. Mama McCall stalked into the room with an exhausted air. She shouted an absent greeting before she saw the man sitting in her recliner and made a quick move to place herself between the Agent and the boys.

“Melissa McCall?” Agent Hotchner slowly stood, buttoning his suit jacket and holding out his hand in greeting. “We spoke over the phone last night. I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.”

She made no move to take his hand, instead demanding a stern, “ID?” He made quick work of passing her his badge and allowed her to inspect it.

“I was hoping to speak with you–”

“Scott. Stiles.” She shrugged off her purse and dug her phone out before she tossed the hulking bag at the boys. Stiles flailed away from the projectile while Scott caught it easily, giving her a pinched look of confusion. “Go get us some pizzas from Jenny’s. I need to speak with Agent Hotchner, privately.”

Stiles glanced between the adults and a dumb-struck Scott before he grabbed the purse from the werewolf and stood. When Scott made no move to follow, Stiles grabbed him roughly by the collar of his jacket and hauled him to his feet. He had remembered seeing Agent Hotchner do the same move earlier at the station, and he couldn’t believe how easy it was to move the strong werewolf by the nape.

His mind instantly wandered to animal behaviors, thinking of older animals scruffing the younger ones in reprimand or to carry them a distance. Scott seemed to go with the move instinctively, but it required more testing. For now, he knew that parental stance from Mama McCall and he wasn’t gonna stand in her way.

“You can also get dessert, but side salads are mandatory.”

“You got it, Mama McCall!”

Stiles dragged Scott from the house using the same grip, smiling as he pictured moving the Big Bad Derek like a small unruly kitten. It might get him punched, but it also might be worth it. In the meantime, he climbed into the McCall van on the passenger side and sent a quick message to Derek. Scott made no protest as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.

You messaged Big Bad.

>Hey. Scott and I got rid of the minders.
>Meet us at Jenny’s?

Big Bad: im at your house

Stiles felt his brain blue-screen as he stared at the message, numbly buckling up when Scott chided him. He felt like he was in a fugue state as he slowly texted back.

>Why are you at my house?

Big Bad: i needed clothes
Big Bad: the A ripped the ones i borrowed and Kate destroyed what i had at my house

>Okay

Stiles could accept that, though the man could’ve conveyed that message with a bit less creepiness. He could think of at least five separate ways he could have worded it to not sound like he was committing a B and E.

>Do you want to meet us at Jenny’s? I’ll buy you a pizza.

Big Bad: 20 minutes
Big Bad: you want anything from the house?

“Derek is gonna meet us at the pizza place.”

“Derek’s alive?!”

Stiles winced at Scott’s tone, but slowly nodded in agreement as he said, “Yeah. Sorry about that. He texted me late last night to let me know he had made it out. I didn’t really have a way to tell you, and I honestly forgot about it with everything that had happened today.”

“I really need to get a new phone,” Scott muttered darkly. He then gave a large sigh as he caved and agreed, “That’s fine. Hell, let’s buy him a pizza.”

Stiles smiled as he saw they were on the same page and quickly turned back to the screen. He didn’t mind wearing Danny’s clothes, but he would have to return them eventually. Well, Danny wasn’t getting the hoodie back, though he had a strong suspicion that the goalie already knew that. And the excuse of them stopping at Stiles’ house for some things would give them time to talk to Derek before they returned.

>There’s a duffel under my bed.
>Can you grab me some clothes? Do you need a list?

Big Bad: i think i can manage

>Thanks.
>Can you also grab my toothbrush, phone charger, laptop and my adderall?

Big Bad: where do you keep the adderall

>Left desk drawer.
>And I noticed something interesting today.
>Can werewolves be scruffed?

Big Bad: If you touch my neck, I WILL break your arm.

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at that response. He must have seriously meant it, considering he took the time to use proper punctuation to get his message across. Though all Stiles could see was a confirmation of his question, and all he could picture now was Derek scowling as he was scruffed like a misbehaving puppy.

Chapter Text

Stiles sat outside Jenny’s Pizzeria as he played with his phone, wooden planks creaking under his light weight. The bench looked questionable due to its weathered state, but it was that or the concrete and the ground looked even worse. They had decided Scott would order and wait for their food while Stiles met with Derek, Scott agreeing to keep an ear out for trouble.

The whole thing felt rather clandestine and Stiles felt too worn out to really appreciate it. Normally he’d be cracking jokes about cigarettes and newspapers, requesting a password or some such nonsense. Instead, he simply remained silent and inclined his head when Derek settled onto the bench beside him, heavy duffle bag thunking gently to the ground at their feet.

“You smell like blood.”

Stiles didn’t smile, but he did hear the unasked question and quickly reassured, “Just a few scratches. Nothing serious. You?”

“Mostly healed.” Derek shifted to lean against the bench’s back, hissing out a breath as he made his movements slow. “Hurts, but that’s to be expected when an Alpha plunges a hand through your chest.”

“Fair enough.” Stiles shifted forward to grab the duffle, hauling it onto his lap to unzip the bag and examine the contents. “Were you able to catch a scent or something?”

“It was too saturated with anger.” He shifted again and brought a leg up, ankle hooking over the top of his opposite knee. “If he got angry, I could pick him out, but it’s harder without the proper emotional signatures.”

“It’s something, at least.”

“You said you talked to him?”

Stiles poked in the bag and felt relieved when he saw underwear and more than one outfit. “He called me while we were running from him in the school. Apparently, he also sent text messages to Allison and Danny. He pretended to be Scott and told them to come out to the school.”

“That’s not what I would have expected.” Derek scowled when he saw Stiles’ confusion, but quickly explained, “He’s an Alpha without a pack. From what we’ve already seen of him, I wouldn’t have expected him to be mentally stable enough to plan something like that.”

“You’re saying insanity is normal for Alphas?”

“Those that don’t have pack bonds to support them? Yeah.”

“Pack,” Stiles mumbled. “That’s what he called me.”

“What?” Derek’s word was hissed with surprise, turning fully to face the boy as he desperately grabbed for the sleeve of Stiles’ stolen hoodie. “He called you ‘pack’?”

“Yeah.” Stiles kept his movements slow as he nodded, not trying to pull away from Derek’s grip. “Jackson asked the Alpha what he wanted, and he said he wanted me - Pack.” He read the small amount of panic that settled over Derek and quickly reassured the man, “The others didn’t realize what he’d said. They thought he had said he wanted me ‘back’.”

Derek’s stare turned incredulous as he asked, “How is that any better?” His head then tilted sharply before he released a huff of breath and rolled his eyes. “It implies a history, Scott. They’ll look for a connection that isn’t there–”

“He also,” Stiles interrupted, “called me…” The word failed him, sticking behind his teeth and refusing to slip over his tongue. “He called me by an old name. Something my mom used to call me before she died. My Dad hasn’t used the name since - no one has. So it wouldn’t be entirely false to think I know him somehow. Or at least, he knows me.”

“We could use that to track him down.” Derek slowly uncurled his fingers from Stiles sleeve, releasing his grip finger by finger. “If he’s going after you and Scott–” he broke off, tilting his head again as he listened to the other boy in the restaurant behind them. “Oh.”

“What?” Stiles didn’t like the expression of realization and alarm that crossed the werewolf’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Scott said–what? No.” Derek’s expression quickly closed off in another scowl as he began muttering half-insults and denials. It was strange to see only half of an argument, and Derek quickly decided it would be best to ignore the other werewolf. He set his jaw tight and quickly explained, “Scott said the Alpha didn’t talk to him at the school, and he thinks that you were the main focus of his attention.”

“So, what? It was my fault he was in danger?”

“No.” Derek rolled his eyes again, though Stiles couldn’t tell if it was at him or whatever Scott had said. “The Alpha would have gone after him no matter what, he’ll have a compulsion to draw Scott into his pack since he bit him. But if you were the main target, then you could still be in danger. It’s even possible that you had been his original target.”

“His original target.” Stiles felt his insides grow even colder, understanding was setting in slowly like a rising tide. “You think he bit Scott by accident. That he was after me.”

“You and Scott have spent a lot of time together, and it mingles your scents.” Derek reached over slowly to zip the forgotten duffel bag closed, lifting it back to the ground and out of Stiles’ lap. “It’s not enough to normally affect anything, but he wasn’t stable and it may have confused him. The point is that he may still be seeking you out to give you the bite.”

“Right.” Stiles took a deep breath and forced the numbness down, focusing on the few cars that were parked along the street. He had a flash of memory -of chocolate on his tongue- and slowly nodded as he grounded himself. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good.” Derek sank back against the bench again as he agreed, “I’ll try to keep an eye out, and Scott will too.”

“Thanks.” Stiles ground his teeth together and debated his next question before he rescinded the conversation to be a lost cause anyways. “Kate Argent said her father favored the broadsword. Do you know anything about him?”

There was a long pause before Derek seemed to deflate even more. “Gerard Argent. I never met him, but my parents mentioned him a few times. They said that if I ever met him, I was to run the other way.”

“There’s a serial killer that the BAU is investigating,” Stiles felt the need to explain why he was bringing up the subject, filing the name away for further research. “They cut their victims in half with a broadsword.”

“You think you can send the Feds after him.” He made it a statement, no question in his tone. “They may get suspicious if you solve it too quickly.”

“They’re already suspicious.” Stiles gave a strangled laugh as he admitted, “I fucked up. Agent Hotchner told me the victims were cut in half, but I was the one to clarify if it was with a broadsword. It had been stuck in my head since she said it, so it was my first thought. But most people don’t think of medieval weapons first. I could see it in his face, as soon as I asked. He knows that I know something.”

“Then tell him something.” Derek shrugged at Stiles’ incredulous stare. “He already knows you know something, and he also knows you’re investigating a family of serial killers.”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say.”

“Less is more.” Derek slowly crossed his arms over his chest, careful to not put too much pressure on his ribs. “Tell him a little and let him infer what he will, but don’t confirm or deny. That thing Kate said, the broadsword comment; did it show up on the video you took?”

“Yeah. It’s audible.”

“Then show him that.” Derek blinked his eyes harshly in realization before he said, “You’re hesitating in handing over the Argents because you can’t think of a reason other than ‘Werewolves’, so use it.”

“What?” Stiles felt like he had missed a stair, on the verge of tumbling. “You want me to tell the BAU about werewolves?”

“No. I’m saying tell them the Argents are going after those they believe are Werewolves.” There was a smug silence before he pointed out, “Lots of people have killed for weirder delusions, and it wouldn’t be hard to convince them that the Argents are delusional.”

“I don’t know.” Stiles frowned at the idea. “They’re smart. They may put it together.”

“Not many people look at the evidence and jump to ‘Werewolves’.”

“I did.” Stiles shifted awkwardly as he quickly changed the subject. “I’ll think of something, but I want to tell Danny. He’s in danger because of me.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it, but I can’t stop you.”

“Well,” Stiles conceded, “It’s your secret.”

“And yours.”

“I’m not a werewolf.”

“Not a werewolf, no,” Derek confirmed, though his words were hesitant and leading. The silence following that statement seemed to fill the air with tension and confusion.

Stiles felt like laughing as he said, “I’m the squishy human, Dude.”

Derek made a rough dismissive sound as his mouth pinched in distaste. After another moment he bluntly stated, “I remember your mother.”

“What?”

“Claudia, right?” Derek didn’t wait for confirmation before he continued, “She smelled like cloves and ozone. Took me a while to really remember her, since I didn’t talk to her or anything. She’d just come by the house sometimes to talk to my mother, or Laura. Alpha business, I assume. You’ve got a similar scent about you.”

“Cloves and ozone?”

“Cinnamon and lightning,” he corrected. “I don’t know what she was, but she wasn’t normal. She was human, even Werewolves are, but she was more than that. She would show up to the house and the flowers would bloom more, and I swear we would get shocked every time we touched a piece of metal.”

Stiles watched Derek as the man slowly closed his eyes, focusing on the memory as he described it.

“I remember I’d know when she came to the house because I’d go to open the door and I’d get shocked back a foot. After she left, the wards around the house and the preserve would always be stronger - recharged. The leylines wound feel crisper, cleaner. And you’re the same way.”

“Is this where you give me a magic wand and an owl?” Stiles’ voice was choked and breaking, but he still forced the sarcastic question out into the open. “Tell me I’m some kind of wizard?”

“I don’t know what you are, but you’re something. Just like your mother was.” Derek seemed to shift awkwardly before he grimaced and looked to the heavens for patience. When none was thrown down on him, he gently untangled his arms and clapped a hand to Stiles’ shoulder in comfort. “As far as I know, there’s not some magical test you can take, but you’re powerful. Without training, that could be a very dangerous thing.”

“I’m dangerous without knowing how to Avada Kedavra someone?”

“You still have power. You just don’t know how to wield it.” Derek tightened his hold on Stiles’ shoulder as he tried to explain. “You created a new nemeton without meaning to.”

“What the Hell’s a nemeton?”

“A collection point of leylines in an area. They cross each other and tangle together, acting as a focus point for the latent magic in a territory.”

Stiles gave a strained laugh as he said, “I think I would remember weaving a fucking spider web of magical twine.”

“More like rivers, actually.” Derek finally released his grip as he explained, “You found the old nemeton and cleansed the leylines below it, purifying the natural magic that was in the area. You’ve also molded the leylines and focused them onto a new point.”

“And where is this magical center of the web?” Stiles made a sharp gesture towards his person as he commented, “I think I’d notice if I was carrying something like that around.”

“The tree attic, actually.” Derek smirked at the dumbfounded expression Stiles shot him. “I don’t know how you did it, and I may never know, but you did do it and you do have magic.”

“Ha!” Stiles felt a little hysterical, but he still raised his voice pointedly as he said, “You hear that Scott? I’m a fucking wizard.”

“Wizards require education before they can access their magic, and most require focal points to cast properly. You’re not a wizard.” Derek tapped the duffle bag with his foot and said, “I brought you some things that might help though.”

“Dude,” Stiles once again grabbed the bag, hauling it back onto the bench between them as he ripped open the zipper. “Did you actually bring me a wand?”

“Once again, no. You aren’t getting a wand.” Derek made room for the bag and rolled his eyes as Stiles began shifting aside the bundled clothing, reaching in to halt his search and gesture towards the clothing itself. “My family’s Pack Vault is hard to get to, but we had a secondary one in the preserve. I grabbed some things that I thought might help. Some books, herbs, anything that smelled of power.”

Stiles smiled as he found the hidden items, wrapped and hidden in the clothing. A worn leather journal in one of his shirts, various jars and bags of dried plants and materials tucked into his socks. He found two lengths of leather that had been rolled around some kind of equipment, but he didn’t unroll them to investigate. It reminded him of an artist’s kit or a packet of lockpicks.

“I also found something that smelled like Claudia.” Derek smiled as Stiles’ jerked his head up, and he quickly intervened before the boy could start tearing apart the bag. He gently batted away the boy’s hands and dug through the bag, revealing a wooden hexagonal box with faded paint over shallow carvings. “It looks like a jewelry box, but it has multiple layers. I didn’t look too closely, but it has a journal in the bottom layer and some pictures. There’s one necklace in it that smells the most like her, a locket with some kind of black flower on it.”

Stiles stared at the box, not daring to reach out to touch it. “Dad locked most of her stuff in a storage unit.”

Derek sat there beside him in awkward silence for a few seconds before he asked, “You know where it is? Want me to break in?”

Stiles’ laughter seemed to boom around them, making a small family of three jump from where they were walking along the street. They looked away again when they saw only humor, Stiles almost hunching over the bag as his laughing petered off into giggles. Derek didn’t laugh, but he did allow a corner of his mouth to curl up in a satisfied smirk. The man allowed another minute of laughter before he placed his hand to the back of Stiles’ neck, rolling his eyes when the boy smacked his hand away.

“Don’t scruff me,” Stiles said. “And don’t deny that that’s a thing! I tried it on Scott and it was like moving a puppy.”

“It doesn’t always work, so don’t rely on it.” Derek allowed his hand to be moved away, though he seemed to relax more as his expression shifted to contentment. “It’s a thing between pack and family, showing trust and protection.”

“You saying you trust me?”

“I’m saying,” Derek reached out again to pointedly grab Stiles’ nape as he said, “you have my protection. You and Scott both.”

Stiles slowly nodded and allowed the movement, settling himself further against the bench when the werewolf released his grip.

“If you trust him, you can tell your boyfriend.” Derek’s face closed off again as he continued, “You’re right that he may be in danger, and we’re stronger in numbers. Read the journals I brought you and try to learn what you can. Text me if you see the Alpha, or if you need help with the Foster shit.”

“Thanks, Dude.”

“Don’t call me Dude.” Derek didn’t smile as he said it, but he also didn’t deny he would call. Stiles decided to take the win, and not press the man to verbally agree. For now, they would be okay and just take it a day at a time.

- - - - - -

The woman narrowed her eyes as she watched Derek approach the teenager, passing over a red bag and sitting to talk with him. She hadn’t intended to track the werewolf down, but found small-town coincidences to be a blessing. She took a bite of her burger as she watched them talk and examine whatever was in the bag, turning her phone to silent before she used the camera to take some quick pictures of the two together.

She sent the pictures off in a quick text message before she saw Derek clasp a hand to the boy’s nape. She continued to watch them until another boy emerged from the pizza place at their backs, presenting a stack of pizzas and passing one of them off to the older man. The boys split off from Derek then, getting into a large soccer van as Derek walked off in the opposite direction. She waited another few minutes before she quickly dialed her brother.

“Why are you sending me photos of my daughter’s friends, Kate?”

“Because he just had a meet-cute with one of the only werewolves in the area.” She gave a sharp grin, even though he couldn’t see it. “You know him?”

“Sheriff’s son. Best friend of Allison’s boyfriend. They’re on the lacrosse team together.”

Kate made a small considering noise as she asked, “That night you came across those two betas, you said one of them was smaller?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, was he just smaller, or could he have been younger too?”

“He’s the Sheriff’s son.”

“That’s not a denial,” she pointed out. “And town gossip says he’s known for getting into trouble. He’s been caught wandering the preserve before.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s a werewolf.”

“I’m just saying it’s a possibility. We could look into–”

“Even if he is a werewolf, that doesn’t mean we need to do anything about it. We’re only after the rogue Alpha.”

“The betas will go feral without him.”

“Which is why we’re planning to reach out to the Ito Pack.” Her brother’s voice was sharp with irritation as he said, “Leave it be.”

Kate didn’t respond, only hanging up the phone and quickly switching to another contact, dialing once more and taking another bite of her burger. The call rang three times before it was answered, on the verge of kicking her over to voicemail.

“Katherine,” the man greeted.

She didn't waste time on pleasantries as she said, “I think it may be time for you to come to California.”

"Tell me."

Chapter Text

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Aaron Hotchner sat stiff at her kitchen table, a cup of coffee slowly going cold in front of him. “Though I was under the impression that your shift at the hospital would not be ending for another four hours?”

“They let me off early.” Melissa sat opposite him at the table with her own steaming mug, though she had opted for a cup of herbal tea. “Claimed it was an issue with scheduling and they had too many people on shift.”

“You volunteered to take leave early?”

“I was told to.” Her mouth was pinched in displeasure as she took a slow sip of her tea. She then set her cup on the table and loudly said, “Were you able to do it?”

“The papers were filed for the temporary removal of his custody over Stiles, and Noah Stilinski was arrested shortly after.” His mouth was held in a similar grim line as he admitted, “A man stepped forward to act as Stiles’ foster parent, and I believe he will approve the temporary placement.”

“Temporary?” Melissa’s question was quick and cutting. “You said he wouldn’t be sent back–”

“I don’t mean he will be sent back to his father, just that he may require a different placement or environment.” Agent Hotchner frowned as he said, “Though the next steps will be reliant on what can be proven. Stiles has given a general statement over the circumstances he’s faced, but the courts will be reluctant to believe.”

She stared at him as his sentence trailed off, staring at her intently. They hadn’t discussed it when he had first called her the night before, but she could see his desire written clearly across his face. Her voice was quiet, yet confident as she said, “You want me to testify.”

“If possible, yes.”

“Noah has a lot of influence in the town. More than you would expect.”

Agent Hotchner sat back slightly as he commented, “That frightens you.”

“Testifying against him could spell the end of my career, my family.”

“Yesterday you claimed Stiles was family.”

“Don’t you dare!” Melissa’s voice didn’t raise in volume, but it still made the hair on his neck stand on end. “I love that boy like he’s my own son, and I have cared for him as such. You don’t know what I’ve done–what I’ve sacrificed for that boy, and you will not question my love for him.”

Agent Hotchner frowned and dipped his head in acknowledgement as he said, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Well, you did.” She took a slow breath before she admitted, “I’ve reported him multiple times, for both neglect and possible abuse. When they finally listened to me, he was investigated and my supervisor at the hospital switched my rotation. I reported him and he made my son a latchkey kid.” She had no shame in her expression as she continued, “When I tried again, Protective Services told me to stop calling. They said they had already investigated the claims and found them to be false.”

“So you stopped reporting it.”

“Reporting it? Yes. Documenting it?” She stood quickly, catching her jacket as it tried to fall from where it was thrown over the back of her chair. She quickly walked over to the sink and opened the cabinet below, pulling out a large metal lockbox and placing it on the kitchen table between them. “I wrote down every instance I could find, and took pictures whenever I could.”

He said nothing as she pulled a length of chain from under her scrubs, revealing a wedding ring and a small metal key. She slipped the chain from over her head and twisted the key in place, opening the box to reveal packets of papers and small items of worth. However, she ignored them and pushed them aside to reveal two black spiral notebooks, metallic silver letters stood out sharply on the front of them.

One had the name ‘Rafael’ on the front, letters shaky and slightly smudged towards the end of the name. The cover was more battered and worn at the edges, showing age and frequent use. The other notebook was in much better condition, seeming to be in pristine condition. The name on the front of the second book was instantly recognizable as ‘Noah’. She quickly pulled out the Noah Notebook and presented it to him, retaking her seat and pushing the lockbox to the side.

Agent Hotchner gently took the notebook and flipped through it, seeing that the pages were filled with cramped ink despite the clean-condition of the notebook. He briefly glanced through the book, spotting some printed photos that had been taped to certain sections and described in writing.

“It’s all dated and signed. I don’t know how much it’ll help, but a lot of it can be proven through other sources.”

“This will help greatly.” Agent Hotchner eyed the other notebook in the lockbox and gently inquired, “Rafael?”

“My Ex-Husband, Rafael McCall.” She reached out and gently fingered the edge of the cover before she took a slow breath and closed the lid of the box. “He left when Scott was seven and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Not even for child support?”

“I didn’t press the issue.” She quickly relocked the box and pulled the chain back over her head, frowning as he stared at her as if waiting for an explanation. “I emailed him the divorce papers and he filed them.”

“I’m assuming his file is similarly filled with evidence. Why didn’t you press charges?”

“He hadn’t hurt my son.” She grimaced softly and stood to return the lockbox underneath the sink. “He drank and he wasn’t nice, but he never raised a hand to my son. The night he left, Scott got in between us and he fell down the stairs. He wasn’t injured, but it was the last straw. I forced Rafael out of the house.”

“You could still have pressed charges–”

“He left this house with a broken arm and three cracked ribs.” She turned her back to the counter to lean against it, crossing her arms over her chest. “I could have taken away his parental rights, but I couldn’t risk that he’d do the same to me.”

“His pack didn’t step in?”

Melissa felt her expression turn to one of pure confusion as she asked, “Pack?”

“Yes, Pack.” Agent Hotchner turned to face her more fully as he stated, “I was of the understanding that Rafael McCall was a wolf?”

“In sheep’s clothing, maybe.” She let herself laugh softly before she realized how serious he was being. His expression seemed to close off, skin paling a few shades as he watched her. “Though I get the feeling you aren’t speaking metaphorically.”

“No. I am not.” He reached up and quickly began loosening his tie in preparation for a long night ahead of him. “I am speaking of Werewolves, Mages and all manner of creatures that are more than human.”

Melissa stared at him for a few seconds before she broke down in laughter, crossing her arms on the table in front of her as she said, “I appreciate you trying to bring some humor into this situation, but I–”

Her words stumbled and fell away as Agent Hotchner’s face slowly shifted, morphing into a grotesque mask with his bone structures becoming sharper - his teeth even more so. She couldn’t help but flinch back from him, sitting as far away as her chair would allow and studying the seemingly delicate features that he possessed. He seemed to try and soften his expression, eyebrows lifting in exaggerated peace and lips curling into a closed mouth smile. His eyes seemed to shine with a strange orange light, reminding her vividly of the reflection seen when shining a light in an animal’s eyes.

He allowed her another few seconds to examine him before he said, “Werewolves are very much real, Ms McCall.”

“You’re–” She had to take a slow breath and swallow the anxiety that was trying to crawl up her throat before she could try again. “You’re a Werewolf?”

“Hybrid, actually.” Agent Hotchner gently stretched his neck from side to side, his features slowly returning to normal. “My father was a werewolf, but my mother was not.”

“Why are you telling me this? Showing me?” She felt her heart rate kick up once more when he remained silent, seeming hesitant to explain. “You asked if Scott’s father was a werewolf,” she stumbled over the word, but quickly continued on. “Is Scott?”

“Yes.” Agent Hotchner frowned and turned his gaze away from her, looking back at the notebook between them. “Though I imagine he was recently turned. I don’t see how he could have kept it from you for long.”

“I don’t know.” She rested her elbows on the table and cradled her face, closing her eyes and putting pressure against her temples as she tried to think of when something like that could have happened. “I haven’t exactly noticed him peeing on fire hydrants!”

Hotchner’s laughter boomed through the house, shocking her into her own fit of giggled as he admitted, “No. I don’t think you would’ve.” He felt his smile turn more genuine as her shoulders slowly relaxed. “Think of it like a second puberty. He would’ve been more emotional around the full moons, and he’d be hungrier than usual. Stronger too.”

A flicker of understanding passed over her face as she asked, “Healthier?”

“Possibly.” Hotchner nodded in agreement as he explained, “The transformation can cure certain things, such as anemia or certain chemical imbalances. Werewolves have an extremely heightened healing factor when it comes to physical injuries as well.”

“Asthma. Scott had asthma until the start of school this year.” She shook her head slowly as she muttered, “He said he must have outgrown it. He’s been doing a lot better at lacrosse too.”

“So it hasn’t been very long since he was bitten. Have you noticed any new people–”

The front door was loudly thrown open, Scott and Stiles barging into the house without care. Scott was the one who shouted out, “Mom! We’re back!”

“Scott Gregory McCall!” Melissa stood up sharply and wheeled around to glare at her son, refusing to let herself be deterred at his innocently shocked expression. She tried to put on her best ‘Mom Voice’ as she berated him. “When were you going to tell me you were bitten by a Wolf?!”

Hotchner slowly stood with a sigh as he gently corrected, “An Alpha Werewolf, actually. Only they have the ability to turn someone.” He buttoned his suit jacket and saw both of the boys stiffen at his interjection.

“Dude!” Scott stared past his mother at the FBI Agent, making his eyes grow wide and wet with betrayal. The pizza boxes were stacked carefully in his arms with a dark red duffle bag slung across his back. “You told my mom?”

“Well, I’m glad someone told me!” Melissa frowned at her son as she then quickly said, “And don’t you dare pin this on Aaron.”

Stiles was the one who interrupted this time as he incredulously asked, “Aaron? When we left you were about to reach for a baseball bat, and now you’re calling him Aaron?”

“Stiles, Honey.” Melissa held up a hand towards Stiles as she quickly said, “While I am not currently yelling at you, you are also in trouble and do not need to be playing smart right now.”

“Me?!” Stiles tossed his arms out in front of him, jostling the plastic bags in his hands. She spotted her purse thrown over his shoulder, cradled under his arm. “What did I do?”

“I don’t believe for a single second that my son was turned into a Werewolf and you had no knowledge of it.” She seemed to freeze for a moment before she whipped back around to look at Aaron Hotchner, quickly clarifying, “You said he needed a different placement. Is Stiles a Werewolf too?”

“No,” Hotchner denied. “Though he seems to hold magic of some kind, and has a distinct hint of something inhuman about him. We can test it later and make accommodations as needed.”

Melissa gave him a quick nod before she whipped back around to the boys, specifically eyeing Stiles as she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a Wizard?!”

“I’m not a Wizard!” Stiles tossed his hands up again, not caring for the salads that were being shaken in the bags. “And I literally found out about the magic twenty minutes ago, so you can’t yell at me!”

“You are both grounded.” She planted her hands on her hips and quickly cut off the boys’ protests with a sharp, “No! When you gain supernatural abilities, you’re supposed to tell your mother. You did not, so you’re grounded until further notice.”

“Mom!”

“Mama McCall!”

“No ‘buts’.” She glared both of them down until they slumped in defeat. “Now, put the food in the kitchen and go wash up. And don’t think for a second that we won’t be talking about where that duffel bag came from.”

Scott whined softly, but stopped trying to hide the large bag behind his back. Him and Stiles then placed the food down and shuffled from the room, smartly retreating from the angry mother. Aaron studied her and tried to keep his expression set in pleasant neutrality, quietly admiring the strength she had as she faced down the fearful situation with a stiff back. He was almost surprised about how much effort it took to keep his pleased rumble from becoming audible.

The only thing more terrifying than an Alpha was an angry mother.

Chapter Text

Pizza, no matter how much Stiles wanted it to, did not fix everything. It made him less hungry and stopped the feeling of doom for a few minutes, but he was still just as nervous after dinner as he was before. Not to mention how he knew his privacy was a thing of the past, with a Werewolf in the next room and an FBI Werewolf downstairs on the couch. The only way he was going to be able to have a private conversation was through text. It felt a little too impersonal for the topic, but it would have to do.

You sent a private message to Mini-Hacker.

>So first off, I need to talk to you.
>Like an in-person-and-serious talk.

Mini-Hacker: You’re being a little ominous.
Mini-Hacker: Are you breaking up with me?

>Absolutely not.
>If anything I’m doing the opposite.

Mini-Hacker: If you pull out a ring I will slap you.

>Don’t threaten me with a good time.
>But seriously. I need to talk to you on Monday.
>Can you stay after school for a bit, so I can talk to you?

Mini-Hacker: Was already planning to.
Mini-Hacker: I’m not leaving you to face your foster placement alone.
Mini-Hacker: I’ll be there with you.

Stiles let his head fall back to the pillow sharply, gritting his teeth in frustration. He hadn’t forgotten about the mystery foster parent, but it had faded to the back of his mind as the awkward dinner had progressed. Reading Danny’s words had a small weight lifting from his shoulders - a weight he hadn’t even realized was there.

>Thanks.
>Secondly, I’m grounded.

Mini-Hacker: How the Hell did you get grounded?

>Kept a secret.
>Which is what I need to talk to you about.

Mini-Hacker: Once again. Ominous.

>Mama McCall can’t take away my Scott privileges since I’m literally living with them at the moment, so I’m not allowed to go on any dates.
>I have no clue if the grounding is still valid after I move out.

Mini-Hacker: Different parent. Different rules.

>Mama McCall is pretty persuasive.
>It wouldn’t surprise me if she convinced them to continue the grounding.
>So we may need to get creative for future dates.

Mini-Hacker: Lacrosse practice will take on a whole new meaning.

>Jackson isn’t allowed on any of our dates.

Mini-Hacker: Study hall or lunch then.
Mini-Hacker: We’ll open Google Earth and have a picnic in Paris.

Stiles texted a confirmation and smiled as their conversation petered off into inconsequential topics. It was relaxing in the best way, basking in the simple fact that he had someone to share this with. It quickly bolstered her courage to switch to another chat for an equally awkward conversation.

You sent a private message to Big Bad.

>I have good news and bad news.

Big Bad: its been less than 12 hours

>And I have news.

Big Bad: tell me

>Good news - the Feds aren’t gonna call me crazy when I tell them the Argents are killing werewolves.
>Bad news - I may have accidentally convinced a pack to move to Beacon Hills.
>Though that may not be BAD news.

Big Bad: which pack?

>The BAU one.

Big Bad: Which is?

>No clue.

Big Bad: styles

>It’s Stiles.
>My FBI minder is a werewolf.
>He outed Scott and told his mother that he was turned.
>He also caught your scent on the bag you packed for me.

Big Bad: what did you tell him

>I didn’t tell him anything, but I didn’t have to.
>He could tell you were a beta, and that you didn’t have an official alpha in the area.
>He wants to talk to you.

Big Bad: why

>“Territory negotiation”.
>He doesn’t know the area that well, and doesn’t want to intrude if there has been territory established.
>He also said he didn’t want to step on any toes if you were acting as a “vanguard”.

Big Bad: I have honorary claim to the territory but its questionable due to the lack of a stable alpha in the area
Big Bad: you have more claim to the area than I do

>I’m gonna need some more details on why I have claim to begin with?

Big Bad: you purified the nemeton and have been reshaping the leylines in the area
Big Bad: the latent magic in the area is used to you and yields to you
Big Bad: they could claim the area but the area wouldnt accept them

>So I’m king of the hill?

Big Bad: more like a favored pet

>I’m still gonna take that as a win.

Big Bad: the highest honor
Big Bad: Im willing to give up my claim to the area as long as the hales are still permitted in the area
Big Bad: give him this phone number and tell him Im open to negotiation of the pack territory and assets

>Assets?

Big Bad: negotiation of the pack territory and assets
Big Bad: those exact words with no special twist from the stiles dictionary

>I could just give you his number and YOU could text him.

Big Bad: you have to be the one to take the message
Big Bad: youll need to be the one to set up the meeting in a neutral area
Big Bad: youll also need to be at the meeting

>Why do I have to be there?

Big Bad: magical leyline shit
Big Bad: scott and his mom can attend as well but they need to act a neutral parties
Big Bad: they have no claim and no say in the negotiation

>Do I have a say in the negotiation?

Big Bad: some but not much
Big Bad: we can talk more before the meeting

>Fine. I’ll pass along the message.

Big Bad: good

Stiles rolled his eyes to himself as he exited out of Derek’s messages, quickly switching over to the short and stilted chat for Agent Hotchner. He felt a little like a carrier pigeon, but couldn’t deny that there wasn’t really another option. He was also imagining all the ways he was going to wring the details from Derek.

You sent a private message to AH.

>My friend said he was open to negotiation of the pack territory and assets.
>He wants me to set up the meeting in a neutral area.

AH: I was unaware you were part of the Beta’s pack.

He made an effort to not curse out loud, slowly releasing a long breath as he switched back over to Derek’s messages. The brooding Werewolf seemed to be slowly sharing more with Stiles, but he still seemed reluctant to share the most basic details.

You sent a private message to Big Bad.

>Why is the FBI Werewolf saying I’m part of your pack?

Big Bad: I thought you knew

>How was I supposed to know???

Big Bad: pretty sure I mentioned it earlier

>You said I had your protection. Not that we were some happily little family!

Big Bad: you have magic and should be able to feel the bond

>I didn’t suddenly notice a magical friendship bracelet randomly appearing after a heartfelt moment.

Big Bad: its not a physical feeling

>When did it even happen? I thought you kind of barely tolerated me and Scott?

Big Bad: Scotts pack adjacent but hes not part of my pack
Big Bad: and I dont know exactly when but it happened the night you helped me with the wolfsbane
Big Bad: I was pretty out of it but i felt the bond when I woke up the next day

>You didn’t think that was something you should’ve shared with me? In simple words?

Big Bad: you should have noticed it
Big Bad: its not very subtle

>It’s VERY SUBTLE to someone who has never had a pack bond before.
>I now know about it, and I still don’t feel it.

Big Bad: it might take some practice

>You’re grounded.

Big Bad: You can’t ground me.

>Proper punctuation won’t get you out of this.
>I was not raised in a Werewolf family and we don’t know these things without explanation.

Big Bad: you couldve asked

>I didn’t know I had to ask. That’s the point.

Big Bad: do you want me to break the pack bond

>You’re stuck with me now, dude.

Big Bad: Don’t call me Dude.

He onced again switched the chat over, frowning at the screen and rubbing his eyes quickly. The glare of the screen was horrid in the dark room and he was quickly growing to regret deciding to message Derek that night. He was also tempted to revoke himself as pack, simply due to the amount of pompous ceremony this was quickly turning out to be.

You sent a private message to AH.

>It’s been a recent development.

AH: That took a while.

>The Werewolf Beta is now grounded, as well.
>Now, negotiations?

AH: Who would be in attendance?

>The Beta and me, plus you.

AH: Most meetings require three members of each pack, along with an equal number of people to remain neutral in the discussions.

>We only have 2 members. Scott is pack adjacent, apparently.

AH: Scott and Melissa can act as the neutral party then.
AH: I will need a week to bring in my emissary to make the numbers even. 2 for each group.

>Who is your emissary?

AH: You’ll see once they get here.

>Fine.
>Will you tell me WHAT an emissary is?

AH: Diplomatic adviser to a pack.
AH: They handle pack relations and are most often magical in nature, acting as a magical adviser as well.
AH: Emissaries usually possess natural magic and use their connection with nature to tie a pack to the land.
AH: Because he had you set up the meeting, you seem to be the Emissary for his pack.

>BRB

Stiles took a slow minute to just breath through his frustration before he toggled chats once again.

You send a private message to Big Bad.

>I’M AN EMISSARY?!

Big Bad: you cant blame me for that one
Big Bad: I gave you the collective codex of the Hale emissary and leyline maps of the area
Big Bad: I packed a box that literally had ‘emissary starter kit’ written on the front in sharpie

Stiles gave a large huff of frustration as he sat up and shoved the covers down to his waist, reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp. He blinked the stars from his eyes as he then blindly reached under the bed for the duffel bag. His hand caught on the rough strap and he quickly pulled it out and onto the bed in front of him.

He hadn’t thought to actually investigate all the contents of the bag after dinner, quickly abandoning it to crawl under the covers and bite the bullet of conversation. Now, he was greatly regretting that as he began to unroll his clothes and place the items on the bed around him. Most prominently was a slim cardboard box with the words ‘EMISSARY STARTER KIT’ written haphazardly on the front, letters blocky and slightly faded by age.

He couldn’t help but glare at the phone as he quickly messaged Derek back.

>I found it.

Big Bad: then study it
Big Bad: and put on the triskele

>Triskele?

Big Bad: the bracelet with the spiral symbol
Big Bad: wear it on your left wrist and dont take it off

>Is that a pack thing?

Big Bad: emissary thing

>Gottcha.

Stiles quickly opened the Emissary Starter Kit, peering at the contents. There were multiple flashdrives, which Stiles was somewhat thankful for, along with a collection of thin crystals and candles of various colors. He found the bracelet underneath the clutter, woven with a thick cord and secured with a sliding knot for adjustment of size.

He absently slipped on the bracelet and ran his thumb over the small wooden charm. The wood was smooth and polished from wear, with a three-branching spiral that seemed to be burned in rather than painted. He recognized the symbol from the tattoo on Derek’s back, but he hadn’t known the name or significance.

He still didn’t really know the significance, but it seemed important to Derek. With it being a ‘Hale Emissary’ thing, he wondered if it was a symbol tied to the Hales or the land. Whatever it was, it felt important. He may be irritated and confused, but he knew that he wouldn’t be taking the bracelet off without a damn good reason.

The box had four flash drives, marked with small adhesive labels that had his mood lightening slightly. The print was small and worn, but still legible and listed clearly: Doodles, Gardening, Recipes, and Satanic Rituals. Whoever had labeled them had possessed a sense of humor, and he couldn’t hold back a small chuckle as he read them. He made a promise to himself to look over them tomorrow, wondering what each label meant.

He carefully returned the flash drives to the box before he grabbed his phone and reopened the messaging app.

You sent a private message to AH.

>Yes. I’m the pack emissary.

AH: Glad that was cleared up quickly.
AH: My Pack and I can offer instruction and guidance.
AH: We can discuss your education during the negotiations.

>Does that mean I can’t ask you questions?

Stiles placed the Emissary Starter Kit back into the duffel bag, quickly diverting his attention to one of the leather rolls. It had a small weight to it as he carefully untied the fastenings and unrolled the length, revealing a strange set of tools. They seemed to be of varied design with differing materials, including wood and different colored metals. It reminded him oddly of dental tools, or the lockpicks that seemed to appear in spy movies.

AH: I can still answer any questions you have, and give you advice or information.
AH: Any practical lessons or physical training will have to wait.

>What about Werewolf lessons for Scott?

The other length of leather was a darker color, but made similar in shape. It unfastened the same and unrolled to reveal thin glass tubes and an odd assortment of writing utensils. He could see the vials were labeled with delicate lettering, but he made no move to remove them yet. The kit had different colored pencils and pens, including three pens that had small reservoirs for ink.

He could already feel his hand beginning to ache with the promise of writing lessons. He had never used a quill before, but he doubted he would be able to avoid it. His fingers seemed to stick to the implements when he touched them and felt himself frown at the thought of not using them.

AH: I don’t need permission since he’s Pack Adjacent.

>Would he no longer be neutral?

The largest of the journals was bound in light leather with the triskele pressed onto the front. The first page held two short paragraphs in two different hands and languages. The first on the page was written in French, with the second presumably being the translation in English.

The Codex of the Emissary. A brief history of the Hale pack’s lineage, relations, and operation.

He skimmed through the other pages, frowning at the fact that the first half of the journal was in French. There were a few sections where someone had tediously written the translation between the lines, making the page dark and cramped with ink. There was no way he could get around transcribing the book at some point. The other pages seemed to be filled with annotations and sketches that cluttered the passages, making it a headache to read.

AH: He would remain neutral until he was officially accepted into my pack.

>Scott’s not really one to remain neutral.

AH: Melissa will be able to keep him in line until after the negotiations.

>Her name is Mama McCall, actually.

He gently rerolled the leather cases and placed them back into the duffel bag, turning his attention to the hexagonal jewellery box. He could practically feel his heart skip a beat as he gently opened it and peered into the satin-lined interior. The box itself was only about four inches tall, but he could already tell something was off. There were small straps to remove the first level, but the shelf seemed to fill the full space available. He gently wiggled it out and set it to the side, staring as the next shelf seemed to rise and take the position of the first.

He repeated the process only to have it happen again, and again. He pulled out six shelves before it finally came to an end, leaving the box seemingly hollow and normal. Stiles pulled out the thick journal in the bottom before he hesitantly began to replace the layers. He refused to truly examine their contents, ignoring the items that rattled softly as he tucked them away. He only paused briefly on the fourth shelf when he saw a small locket with a flower engraved into polished black stone.

He grabbed it from the shelf and continued to reassemble the box, slipping the locket off to the side. He also pointedly ignored the clasps he felt around the outside of the box, seeming to be three turnable shelves for more storage.

His mother’s jewellery box was the fucking tardis.

AH: Do you truly want me to call her Mama?

>Never.
>Forget I ever suggested it and let us never speak of this again.
>Don’t tell Scott.

He tucked the box away along with the other supplies Derek had smuggled him, turning his attention back to the locket. It seemed to be more teardrop shaped than the traditional oval, with the black surface carved into the image of a tiered hanging flower. It reminded him of lavender, but the blooms were larger towards the bottom and pointed downwards.

He was surprised to find that he actually recognized the locket. His mother had worn it for a time, tucked away under her shirts and hiding it like a secret. He had caught glimpses of it and had even examined it once when he was younger, sitting on her lap and playing with the charm. He also remembered how she had taken it from his fingers and tucked it back under her shirt when his father had entered the room.

The chain was thick and long, easily slipping over his head without having to unclasp it. He tucked it under his sleep shirt as she once did, finding the cool metal oddly grounding. It was probably his imagination, but his mind seemed to settle a small amount - calm brushing over the edges of his thoughts to quiet them.

AH: Consider it done.
AH: Now go to bed. It’s late.

>You’re not my REAL DAD.

AH: Do you want me to get Melissa?

>Wow, I’m suddenly sooooo tired. Night!

AH: Good night.

Stiles quickly conceded, shifting the jewellery box over to the bedside table and setting the duffel bag back to the floor. He then turned the lamp off and burrowed beneath the covers, pressing a hand over the hidden locket and letting his thoughts drift away to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Dude,” Stiles sounded slightly breathless in amazement as he said, “I’m Zeus.”

“No, Stiles,” Scott refuted. “You’re not.” The Werewolf didn’t sound out of breath, but his was was slightly strained due to his upside down position. He was currently hanging from the guest bedroom’s door, knees hooked over the top with a folded towel under them for cushion. He looked a little ridiculous in his position, yet oddly relaxed with his hands linked behind his head.

“Yes, I am! My mother said so!” Stiles gently waved the small journal in Scott’s direction, ignoring his rolling eyes as the Werewolf continued to do acrobatic sit-ups.

“She said,” Scott’s words were slightly stilted as he curled and straightened on the door, not pausing to speak, “that you, were Zeus?”

“I mean, not like, me.” Stiles looked back at the pages and frowned as he tried to explain. “But she said we could control storms, and cast lightning, and we’re stronger than normal. What else is that, if not Zeus?!”

“Thor can do that too.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re a Marvel fan.”

“And you’ve read too much Percy Jackson.” Scott gave a small laugh as he caught a glimpse of Stiles’ pout on his next downward stretch. “So, storms and lightning?”

“Apparently.” Stiles frowned down at the pages, gently shifting back some in the journal and reading, “I’ve always seemed immune to static, but I found out yesterday that I can create it too. I got upset with one of my step-brothers and shocked him. It may be crazy to believe, but I also think that I caused the storm that screamed all night. I thought I just got sad when it rained, but I’m starting to think it might rain because I’m sad. I need to test it more.”

“Wouldn’t that make your Mom Zeus?”

“Son of Zeus, then.”

“Wait, isn’t Zeus a guy?”

“I could just be a descendant?”

“Maybe.” Scott took a few seconds on his next fall to stretch his arms out lightly and crack the base of his neck. “Are Electric Werewolves a thing? Like Eels and Electric Eels?” His head tilted slightly to the side, eyes becoming unfocused as if listening to something in the distance. After a few seconds, he shook his head and said, “So Electric Werewolves aren’t a thing.”

“Honestly, that’s good to know.” Stiles grimaced as he thought of a lightning powered werewolf. “How’s it feel to have another Werewolf in the house?”

“Good, I think.” He crossed his arms over his chest before he continued with his sit-ups. “It’s weird not having much privacy, but I already feel more relaxed, I guess? It’s hard to tell after only two days, but I think I feel less angry. Safer, I don’t know.”

“That’s good at least.” Stiles glanced towards the doorway past Scott’s form, wondering what expression Agent Hotchner had on his face as he listened to their conversation. “Is he taking the guest room once I’m gone?”

“For a bit, yeah. Though he was talking about renting the Curtledge place until they can build something near the preserve. He called it a pack house.” Scott’s nose was slightly scrunched in disapproval as he commented, “He hasn’t invited us to move in, but I think he’s planning to?”

“He won’t ask until after the negotiation talks.” Stiles flipped to another page of the journal as he absently played with the locket around his neck. “If he invites you now, you and Mama McCall wouldn’t be a neutral party anymore.”

Scott looked somewhat offended as he asked, “Why am I not part of Derek’s pack?”

“Do you want to be in his pack?”

“No,” he denied mulishly. “But it would’ve been nice to be asked.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll probably get your wish.” Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott’s confusion. “From what I’ve read and everything that’s been said, the negotiations are about the integration of the two packs. If you join one, you’ll be joining both.”

“Why the wait?”

“Politics.” Stiles watched Scott’s head tilt once more, frowning at whatever he heard from Agent Hotchner. He waited until Scott straightened his head, returning to focus on Stiles. “Yeah, it’s more complicated than that, but that’s basically what it is. It’s posturing and lots of talking, followed by everyone living in the area in peace.”

“Everyone postures.” Scott’s agreement seemed a bit more barbed than Stiles would have thought, and he quickly stared the boy down. Scott caught the gaze a few times before he stopped his exercises once more to stare back. “What?”

“That sounded more spiteful than it deserved.”

“I can be spiteful.”

“You can,” Stiles agreed. “But you’re also hiding something.”

Scott continued to stare back at him for a few moments before he deflated, letting his arms fall above his head to hang loosely. His voice was muffled and hesitant as he admitted, “Mom got a call this morning. They’re threatening to press charges for threatening an officer.”

Stiles stared at him in confusion as he slowly asked, “You threatened an officer?”

“Your dad.” He grimaced and ran a hand harshly over his face. “I told him that I’d kill him if he touched you again.”

“Bro.” The word was filled with a reverent devotion that he usually spared for thoughtful gifts or late-night emotional discussions. Stiles probably should’ve sounded more disapproving, but Scott’s words had him basking in a sense of warmth and protection. “I love you too.”

“Dude, no.” Scott gave a short laugh and waved a hand towards Stiles in reproach. “You aren’t supposed to be encouraging murder.”

“Just blame it on the mountain lion - everyone else is.” Stiles frowned as he thought of what he said, quickly asking, “Did they actually charge you, or just call to sound intimidating?”

“Just called. They wanted me to come to the station so they could ‘impress the importance of respecting authority’.” He made quotation marks with his hands, but fumbled halfway through as he twisted his hands to be right-side-up to Stiles. His expression seemed to be stuck in a state of confusion as he stared at his hands and repeated the gesture, trying to decide if he should follow gravity’s laws or his physical position.

“Are you going?”

“Not today. Agent Hotchner heard the call and took over. Offered to bring me in at some point this next week and they started backtrackin’.” His grin turned a little wicked as he confided, “I think they may be a little scared of the FBI.”

“They don’t like outsiders.” Stiles turned back to the journal and skimmed a few more pages in silence, Scott resuming his strange show of physical competence. He let the silence settle for a few more minutes before he came across a runic doodle in the journal and asked, “Hey, Scott, can I shock you?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Again, no.”

“Come on!” Stiles whined, “Just think of it like a tiny taser.”

“Tase yourself.”

Stiles frowned but slowly contemplated the rune. He had just begun to reach for the runic drawing kit when he was interrupted by Agent Hotchner’s voice booming through the house.

“No one is tasing anyone!”

Both boys sighed, Stiles relenting as he grabbed a small sketch book instead. He wasn’t allowed to use the runes, but he could still practice drawing them.

—-----

Aaron Hotchner was tired. He had never wanted to be an Alpha, and was not prepared to become one when he did. He had none of the special training that his father had boasted, and he hadn’t known how a pack was supposed to be structured. However, he felt that even proper training wouldn’t have helped him, seeing as actually being an Alpha was more like being a father to extra-unruly children.

You sent a message to the group chat: The Team.

>We’re moving to California.

PG: I need you to define ‘we’.

>The Pack.
>I’ve been invited to territory negotiations and plan to claim the area for us.
>The Castile pack has agreed to keep our current treaty of neutrality for those that wish to remain in Virginia.

DR: You were supposed to arrest a cop and offer an internship to the Puppy.
DR: What happened?

>The Puppy was a Puppy.

PG: More words are required.

>Scott was recently bitten by a rogue Alpha and is now a werewolf.
>The recent incidents with Mini-Ried are due to their issues with the Alpha and the hunters in the area.
>The area is still technically claimed by a legacy pack, but they only have 2 members.

DM: Bullet-wound guy?

>A beta werewolf of the pack, and the current regent of the territory.

EP: Why are we getting involved instead of having the surrounding packs step in?

>Because Mini-Ried is the other member of the pack, and he has accidentally imprinted on the area’s magic.

SR: I’m sorry.
SR: Did you just say that he ACCIDENTALLY IMPRINTED?
SR: You must have meant something else, as it is physically impossible to imprint upon a territory’s latent magic without hours of communion and focused ritual.

>He unconsciously cleansed and retired a corrupted nexus point, and then unknowingly manipulated the leylines of the area to create a new nemeton.

DR: I’ll start packing and I’ll bring Jack down next week.
DR: Do you have somewhere for us to stay, or do I need to put my things in storage?

>Storage for the moment.
>I’ve found a vacation home that we can rent, but I haven’t committed to any purchases.
>The negotiations offered pack assets as well as territory, and I had hoped there may be facilities we could build upon.

JJ: I’ll be there Wednesday.

EP: I can be down Tuesday.

>We can’t outnumber the other pack until negotiations have concluded.

DR: When are you meeting with them?

>Tuesday at 1930. Alpha and Emissary only.
>I understand that there is fun in having a mystery, but I would suggest you all prepare yourselves.
>You’re going to meet Mini-Ried and Mini-Hacker.

SR: I wish it were under better circumstances.

PG: ;-; Mini-Ried still hasn’t messaged me back.

>He’s more stubborn than actually angry.
>He just needs some time to cool down and settle back into a new normal.

DR: Well, Jack will be excited to have a big brother.

>He already has more than he needs. You’re all children.

EP: Rude.

JJ: Well then.

>*some of you.

DR: Good save. Totally believable.

PG: Careful. He may ground you for that sarcasm.

>Did you know I have remote access to my computer at the office?
>Apparently, I don’t have to be on location to change the Wifi password.

PG: You wouldn’t dare.

DR: Now who’s in trouble?

JJ: If you do change the password, please update the rest of us so we can continue to work.
JJ: Also, please log in to your email when possible. Stacy Collins was supposed to email me some files about the Border Murders, but I believe she may have sent them to you instead.

>I’ll check my inbox and forward you anything I find.
>Though, I would ask that we hold off a week for any full deployments. At least until the territory is settled.
>Only accept online consultations, and limit any field deployments to 2 members.

JJ: Done.

DM: Which means me and Emily.

PG: As always, I will cheer you on from my technological throne.
PG: If you send me the address, I can be in California by Friday. Though I require a bedroom and a lair.

>One of the rooms at the vacation house has a wall of windows, looking out into a decorative garden area.
>I thought you might prefer it, and you can invite Mini-Hacker over to help you set up another throne.

PG: You know me too well.

>Just remember that it will be temporary.
>If we are unable to find a suitable place, we can simply build one or buy the vacation house and build on to it.
>We can discuss the specifics at a later date.

JJ: I want a pool.

SR: Can I have a treehouse?

DR: Kitchen.

DM: Does it have a library?

DR: Golf course too.

SR: Library would be good, but it’ll take us a bit to move all the books.

EP: I second the pool idea.

PG: How about mini-golf instead?

DM: Dude, hear me out.

DR: Mini-golf would also be acceptable.

JJ: Think we could make a saltwater one too?

DM: A treehouse library.

>This.
>This is why you are all children.

SR: Is that a no to the treehouse?

JJ: I need water. You know this.

PG: You already offered the lair, and you can’t take that back!

>Jack is the most mature one of you all.

DR: “The library needs to have a secret door behind a bookshelf, and it could lead to something cool, like a game room. A game room with a really big TV and lots of comfy couches and a popcorn machine.” - your son.

>He is thinking of the safety of the pack with hidden escape routes in case of danger, and encouraging pack bonding activities like movie nights.
>My statement still stands.

DR: “The pool should have a diving board and one of those twisty slides.” - your son.
DR: “A treehouse sounds like a lot of fun, and we could have multiple ones, and we could connect them with those super awesome rope bridge things.” - your son.

>Stop weaponizing my son for your personal goals.

DR: “Mini-golf is okay, I guess.” - your son.

>I give up for today.
>I’m muting all of you.

JJ: Oh really?

>I’m muting most of you.

PG: Wow. Jack really is the mature one.

>Grounded.

PG: Wait No! I take it back!

>Jareau, I’ve forwarded you the email from Collins.

PG: Hotch, what’s the Wifi password?

JJ: Thank you.

PG: Don’t do this to me Hotch. I NEED IT!!!
PG: HOTCH!
PG: I’m sorry!

DR: “Can we get an F in the chat?” - ‘The Mature One’

EP: F?

DM: F

SR: F

JJ: F

PG: Hotch. I’m begging you.
PG: Don’t do this.

Aaron Hotchner was not a cruel person, but he couldn’t deny the sense of glee he got as he slowly typed a singular ‘F’. He then muted the messaging thread and turned back to his open laptop, turning back to his work with a vindictive glee.

Chapter Text

Stiles felt a deep sense of dread as he marched through the halls on Monday, dipping in and out of shadows as he tried to avoid the gazes of the other students. Everyone was curious about the damage they could see around the school, and even more had made some assumptions already. Most of the students thought he would know the gossip, strictly based on who his father was.

Which was - honestly - a safe bet, and a little ironic under the current circumstances.

He had already been approached by over a dozen students - and a few teachers - each of them asking questions that he didn’t want to answer. Scott had been acting as a decent barrier between Stiles and the others, but he had quickly seen Allison and pulled a Houdini. Stiles had barely had time to realize what had happened before he found himself alone in the early-rising crowd.

“Do you know what happened at the school?”
“Is it true they found a body in the basement?”
“Do you know where Mr Harris is? Did he quit?”
“Why was the Sheriff arrested?”

Stiles hadn’t even tried to spin some tale to tell, simply tucking and rolling away from the conflict as quickly as he could. He had carved a mad path through the school to lose the stalkers and found himself hidden away in homeroom - which most of his classmates avoided due to Coach Finstock’s wild-eyed gaze.

The coach was already at his desk, uselessly sorting through a stack of papers and casting glances at Stiles every few seconds. His hair was unkempt and made him look a little mad, as if he had spent the last few minutes trying his best to pull his hair out. Which he may have been doing, considering the growing tension in the school and his hatred for teaching.

Stiles made the mistake of making eye contact with the man, and neither of them had broken it. It was rather eerie to connect with the Coach, and his gaze felt reminiscent of a singularity. It was disturbing and gravitating to have the focus on him, but he couldn’t make himself look away.

The Coach broke the silence as he said, “You look like you want to punch Monday in the face.”

“I feel like Monday punched me in the face,” Stiles agreed.

“Well,” Coach Finstock wheedled in his seat for a few seconds before he offered, “at least there’s only one a week. Am I right? Though the worst things seem to always happen on Friday Junior-Junior-Junior-Junior.” He gave a half-hearted grin as Stiles stared at him.

Like a natural disaster, Stiles couldn’t look away. He refused to take his eye off the man, just knowing that an unobserved Finstock would be even worse. There’s no telling what could happen should his attention move elsewhere, or what else the man may say. Finstock was a very observant person, but his pep talks were deadly–

“Have I ever told you why Mondays should go die in a pit?”

Stiles wrenched his gaze away as he grabbed his phone and opened the messaging app. Coach didn’t seem to mind the action, his voice continuing to carry throughout the room.

You sent a message to the group chat: BA[Fuck]U

>I need my boyfriend to come act as my human shield.

Mini-Hacker: Are you being attacked?

>No.

“Mom always liked Darrin best, even though none of us could figure out why. Every word out of his mouth could curdle milk, but she was wrapped around his little finger - the dick.”

Mini-Hacker: Are you in imminent danger?

>Maybe?

Dr Chi: What do you mean maybe?

>I’m alone with Coach.

Mini-Hacker: OMW

“-Jessie though, she was always Dad’s Favorite. Probably ‘cause she always found the best items. I found copper pieces and she always brought back gold. Not to mention she wasn’t affected by the weather, which meant Dad got someone to do yoga with. Yoga was perfectly acceptable, but for some reason Ballet was ‘for precious snowflakes’--”

Mini-Hacker: Just don’t talk to him. Don’t look at him.

Sensei: Do you need Hotch to come to the school?

>It’s too late. We already made eye contact.
>He’s telling me the story of why he hates Mondays.

“-So I followed them into the woods, which wasn’t the smartest decision. The leotard didn’t cover much and I didn’t want to stop for my coat ‘cause I didn’t want to look weak, you know? Bad enough I had lost the lotto ticket, I didn’t want to lose my pride too.”

Just JJ: That doesn’t sound too bad.

Mini-Hacker: You mean the snow storm one which caused him to lose a testicle?

Dark King: What?

>No. He’s telling the one about losing his virginity.

“Though I ended up losing quite a bit that night. My brother, Seth, still giggles that I came out of the woods half the man I entered them as. Which says something due to the amount of pink–”

>Though it might be the same one?

Alpha Female: Neither is an appropriate story to share with children.

Black Queen: I agree.

Mini-Hacker: It sounds worse than it is.
Mini-Hacker: He doesn’t give that much detail.

“So anyways, there I was outside, temps dropping quicker than my Dad’s love for me when he found the first Cher CD under my bed. And I don’t do well with the cold–”

>It’s actually kind of interesting. Did you know Coach has siblings? Like, six of them at least?

Mini-Hacker: I’m hurrying.

Sensei: He sounds rather eccentric.

Dark King: He sounds like a person who gives fishing stories.
Dark King: Any truth to what he says?

“-exposure is a serious issue. You just go numb and you can’t really tell what you lost, but you can certainly feel it once it warms back up. Though they probably never felt anything afterwards, seeing as they were a cold-hearted bitch to begin with–”

“Hey Coach!” Danny quickly ducked into the room, frantically sliding into the seat behind Stiles. He honestly looked like he was about to cover Stiles’ ears before he decided to change the subject instead. “I heard some of the team got benched. That true?”

“Danny!” Coach Finstock’s smile seemed to become a little less manic as he rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Blame it on Greenberg.”

“Always.” Danny slid forward in his seat to hook his chin over Stiles’ shoulder. “We gonna have enough players for Wednesday?”

“Some members are being moved up to First Line on a temporary basis.” Coach leaned back in his chair and glared at the stack of papers he had been fiddling with, grabbing his coffee mug instead and taking a large gulp with a wince. His glare quickly turned to his coffee as if it was the mug’s fault that the coffee tasted horrid. “Three have been chosen and will be announced at tonight’s practice.”

Danny nodded along before he quickly shifted gears once more, grin turning innocentTM as he asked, “Have you decided on a fundraiser yet?”

“Nope!” Coach Finstock popped the word before he took another long drink of his horrid coffee. “I was thinking candybars.”

“Maybe we should vote on it,” Danny suggested. “Let the students decide.”

“Mahealani.” Coach’s turned away from his coffee to pin Danny with a wide-eyed gaze. “If I wanted to wear a dress, I’d go back to college.”

Stiles couldn’t help but incredulously ask, “You went to college?”

“Not the point!” Coach slashed an arm through the air as he exclaimed, “I’m not participating in a drag show, Mahealani!”

“You wouldn’t have to participate, Coach,” Danny explained. “Just the ones on the team that want to–”

“I’m not gonna make my athletes do something I’m not willing to do.”

“Coach.” Stiles felt his face pinch in incredulous shock as he refuted, “You literally made us drink protein shakes last week, and you refused to have one.”

“Because they tasted like shit.” Coach shrugged his shoulders as both of the students stared at him. “I made them. I knew what they tasted like.”

“How about the Cold-Endurance training you made us do without jackets?”

“It was cold.” Coach stared at them imploringly as he said, “You know I don’t do well with the cold!”

“Well,” Stiles interjected, “what about that road clean-up you made us do last summer?”

“Or,” Danny continued, “the Five Mile Run you have us scheduled for next month?”

Coach sputtered in his seat, the story of a lost testicle forgotten in his panic. Stiles had just opened his mouth to place the final nail in the coffin when the warning bell rang throughout the school, causing a few students to quickly shuffle into the room. Stiles bit his tongue to keep from laughing as he heard the Coach mutter a prayer of mercy before he addressed the newcomers.

“Good job, Babe.” Danny chuckled into his ear and quickly reached forward to snatch up his hand, leaning back and keeping the limb hostage as they settled more into their seats.

“Thanks.” Stiles glanced at the students who were slowly filtering in, watching as they all shot him glances loaded with curiosity and pity. The hunted feeling was quickly encroaching again, and he pulled his phone back out to try and dull the suffocating feeling in his chest.

You messaged the group chat: BA[Fuck]U

>Crisis averted.
>Story Time is over and school’s about to start.

Mini-Hacker: As a thank you, you should help me convince him to let us have a Drag show.

Black Queen: That sounds like fun!

>I’ll try.

Dark King: Are you talking about your ‘team sport’?

Dr Chi: Lacrosse. The kids play lacrosse.

Alpha Female: Stop cheating.
Alpha Female: You aren’t supposed to be asking Hotch for details.

Dr Chi: Not really a point to the secrecy when we’re gonna be meeting them in less than a week.

Black Queen: It’s the principle of the thing.
Black Queen: Don’t ruin the surprise!

Dr Chi: I meant football. The kids play football.

Sensei: American or European?

Dr Chi: I’ll let you decide.

>You’re making us more mysterious than we are.

Just JJ: They live for the drama.

Alpha Female: And you don’t?

Dark King: Didn’t you make a bingo sheet with everyone’s theories?

Just JJ: You have no proof.

Black Queen: Mini_Ried_Bingo.exel
Black Queen: You saved it to the work server.

- - - - - -

>LUNCH TIME!!!!

Dr Chi: You seem overly excited about a high school lunch.

Mini-Hacker: I promised him a date in Paris.

Alpha Female: ?

Mini-Hacker: I’m pulling up Google maps and putting on cafe music.

Black Queen: Awwww! :3

>HE GOT ME FANCY CHOCOLATES AND CHAMPAGNE!!!!

Mini-Hacker: *a chocolate bar and a can of sparkling apple juice*

Black King: Good job kid.

- - - - - -

Mini-Hacker: Update, Mr Douche the science teacher is gone.
Mini-Hacker: He was suspended for 2 weeks while they investigate his behavior towards Stiles.
Mini-Hacker: I give it a week before they make the decision to fully fire him.

Alpha Female: Good.

Black Queen: Yay!

Dr Chi: Cheers

>The principal said that they would be regrading my assignments, and that I could redo any tests or assignments that were “missing”.

Sensei: You aren’t very far into the year, so that shouldn’t be too hard.
Sensei: I can help with any assignments if you need.

>Thanks

- - - - - -

The day went by quicker with the BAU to annoy, but it still seemed to drag along at an unbearable pace. Danny couldn’t be with him at every moment since their schedules didn’t align all day, but he made sure to act as a guard whenever he could. It worked surprisingly well to keep the others at bay, though he didn’t know if Danny was actually that intimidating or if the others were just shamed with his disappointment.

He usually reviled Lacrosse practice, but today it marked a turning point. All he had to do was get through the next two hours and then he would be able to go home. Wherever home now was for him. Stiles was trying not to think about his foster placement, who was supposed to be meeting him at the school after practice.

Scott was not helping.

“So you have no clue who you’re going home with?”

“I didn’t want to know.” Stiles roughly pulled on his maroon jersey as he amended, “Even if I don’t like the placement, it’d be a few days before a new one was found, so I agreed to give it at least a week.”

“Did they tell you anything?”

“It’s a Foster Dad - no Mom.” Stiles frowned as he smoothed down the jersey and grabbed his elbow pads. “My new social worker - Carrie - says that the guy knew my Mom, and that he didn’t get along with my Dad. Which I guess is a good thing? I stopped her before she could tell me who he was, but she confirmed that I knew him. She thought it’d be a good fit, or something.”

“That sounds promising, at least.” Scott reached over quickly to help Stiles secure one of the straps on his elbow guard, mouth turned down into a pensive frown. “You’ll tell me if something happens, right? Like, call me if you need a get-away driver, or if you need me to beat him up.”

Stiles gave a snort of laughter and shook his head, stretching his arm out to allow Scott full access to the gear. He couldn’t help but agree with a soft, “Thanks, Bro.”

“Also, I have some bad news?” Scott avoided eye contact as he said it, which was rather hard considering he was reaching across the boy to reach his other elbow guard.

“You mean other than the gossip you’ve probably been hearing all day?”

“Little more, yeah.” Scott quickly fixed the other guard before he sat back and solemnly stated, “I think we have to be friends with Jackson.”

“What?!”

The Coach’s whistle split through the air before Stiles could continue, the boisterous man storming into the main area of the locker room. His voice seemed to echo off the cement walls around them, and he easily heard over the slowly dying conversations.

“Alright, Geniuses, listen up!” Coach waved his hands quickly to encourage the other team members to gather in the area, clipboard flailing and causing one of the boys to duck out of striking distance. “Due to the recent pink-eye epidemic,” Coach’s voice turned spiteful as he muttered, “Thank you, Greenberg. The following people have made First Line on a probationary basis – emphasis on the word Probationary.”

Stiles couldn’t help but sit taller as he watched the Coach examine his clipboard, expertly keeping it out of reach of the boys trying to lean closer to catch a glimpse of the writing. Danny had stepped up a little behind the Coach with Jackson and Corban, but he didn’t bother to try his luck. Instead, he caught Stiles’ gaze and gave him a hopeful smile. It almost distracted him from the Jackass beside him.

“Rodrigez,” Coach glanced to his right and nodded to one of the players. “Welcome to First Line. Taylor!” He glanced around to find the second boy, giving him a quick nod of acknowledgment before he returned to the clipboard and frowned. “Oh–For the love of crap!”

Stiles watched the coach as he squinted at the paper and brought it closer to his face, as if that would magically pull the handwriting into focus. He heard the Coach mutter and ask if the letter was an S or a B, sending him through a rollercoaster of emotions. He felt his hopes begin to drop when Coach decided the letter was a B, but paused as Danny tried to muffle a laugh into his hand.

“Rodrigez, Taylor, and Bilinski!”

Stiles felt his face run through a round of emotion, instinctively going wide in shock and excitement before his mind registered what was said. He could feel the confusion take over his expression as he stared at Coach Finstock, instinctively correcting, “It’s Stilinski.”

Coach pointed harshly at him and quickly shut down his argument with a sharp, “You’re lucky I’m not calling you Mahealani-Two!”

Most of his teammates were struck with a sudden coughing fit, lifting their hands to hide their grins and cover their laughter. Stiles felt his face quickly heat at the comment and found himself avoiding Danny’s amused gaze. No one would ever categorize him as a shy person, but he couldn’t help but be embarrassed as the attention shifted briefly towards his relationship.

“Another announcement,” Coach continued. “As of now, we’re switching to Co-Captains. Congratulations, McCall.” Coach allowed the news to settle in the group, letting the silence stretch as if he were waiting for some objection or loud reaction.

Jackson seemed to take a half step forward before he flinched back to his spot beside Danny and took a slow breath. He then huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes dramatically, muttering something inaudible under his breath and crossing his arms over his chest.

Stiles really needed to pin down Scott and figure out why he was talking about Jackass like he had gotten a redemption arch.

“Now,” Coach seemed to brighten when there were no words of denial. “Let’s get out there and run some drills with our new lineup!”

As the others quickened their pace to get ready, Stiles snatched at Scott’s collar to keep him in place. The other boy didn’t even try to fight, and simply accepted his fate as he sullenly stared at his unlaced shoes.

“What did you mean about Jackass being our friend?!”

There was a loud sigh before Scott reluctantly said, “He talked to me at Lunch, and he gave me his father’s card.” Scott waved a hand towards his locker, but made no move to pull the card out. “His father offered to represent you in court - me too, if they tried to charge me with something. He didn’t mean to, but Jackson let it slip that he convinced his father to do it at a reduced rate.”

“Dude,” Stiles felt his eyebrows become one solid line in his confusion. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Scott frowned at his friend and shrugged as he explained, “I don’t know why, but he cares. He said that he didn’t like us, but he didn’t want us to get hurt.”

“Did he really say that?”

“I’m paraphrasing.”

Another whistle split the air, the boys turning quickly to see Coach Finstock staring them down. He let the whistle drop from his mouth to hang around his neck, quickly calling, “McCall! Twenty-Four! On the field, now!”

The boys didn’t waste anymore time as they scrambled for their gear and sped from the room, only pausing momentarily for Scott to tie his shoes after the second time he tripped. Stiles almost made for the bench before he remembered he’d actually need to participate in practice. He couldn’t deny the large goofy grin that was on his face as he made his way to the field, and he made no move to repress his delighted “Whoop!” of laughter.

He lost himself in the activity quickly, trying to focus on the brief happiness he felt instead of the dread and grief that stalked low in his mind. A deadly beast lurking just out of sight and waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Chapter Text

His breaths were short and strangled, the air seeming to catch in his throat as he panted each breath. His legs were shaking and threatening to give out from under him with each step he took, but he still lunged forward in a desperate attempt to move forward. Sweat blocked his vision as it dripped and stung his eyes, and his own heartbeat seemed to lodge in his ears to block out the sound around him.

“Why,” Stiles gasped, “did I want to make First Line?!”

“C’mon, dude!” Scott whacked him gently on the hip with his lacrosse stick, not slowing down as he passed his struggling friend. “You better hurry up if you want to shower.”

Stiles forced himself to stand upright as he followed after his friend. He refused to jog though, allowing himself time to catch his breath. The shower stalls had been off limits to Stiles since the start of the year, and he couldn’t really blame Coach for the decision. Showering in the same area as his boyfriend wasn’t the smartest thing to allow, especially when Stiles rarely worked up a sweat at practice.

The shower-ban had worked so far, but if he continued to participate then Stiles would need to talk to Coach about making some kind of arrangements. Maybe he could use the mythical teacher’s bathroom instead, or just stay a little later until Danny had left.

Speaking of his wonderfully handsome boyfriend…

Danny was mostly finished with changing out of his padding and jersey, stretching a shirt over his head. Stiles paused once he stood in front of the Goalie, biting his lip to stop from smirking at the show. Danny’s movement had abruptly slowed as Stiles stepped in front of him, arms flexing with the exaggerated movement of pulling the shirt helm down to his waist.

“Well,” Danny commented as he gave Stiles a slow glance up and down, “I’m glad the view is so breath-taking.”

“You Ass.” Stiles rolled his eyes before he grabbed the front of his boyfriend’s shirt, hauling him up and dragging him off. Danny didn’t resist the manhandling and easily went along, outpacing Stiles and forcing him to become the dragee. They ignored the short and sharp whistles from the other boys around them.

Danny changed their destination, quickly slipping down the abandoned math hallway to the right of the locker room. The lights of the school were only active in the science wing between the locker room and the front entrance, leaving the rest of the school with dim lighting. Stiles had avoided the darkened areas because of the recent Hide-and-Seek game with the Alpha, but he only had time to register the threat of anxiety before he was being thoroughly distracted.

He felt the thumbtack of a poster dig into his shoulder and quickly repositioned, shuffling them both to the side as he leaned into the ravishing. Considering the recent circumstances that were conspiring to tear his life apart, the small molestation was a rather pleasant change of pace. He let their connection linger for another minute before he gently pulled away with a small laugh.

“That’s not why I pulled you away from the others.”

Danny’s smirk turned a little more playful as he rolled back off the tips of his toes. He made a quick show of licking his lips before he chuckled, “You sure?”

Stiles stared at the other boy, watching as he raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner and bounced on his heels. Stiles almost leaned back in before he purposefully put his hands on Danny’s chest to keep the space between them, with a stuttering, “N-No! We need to talk and you are not distracting me.”

“Fine, fine, fine.” Danny tossed his hands up to his sides in a show of innocence. “Before we get into the ‘serious conversation’, you should know that Roscoe is running again.”

Stiles couldn’t help the excited squeal he gave, lunging forward to wrap Danny in a hug and giving him another quick kiss. Though he was too excited to let the connection linger, leaning backwards and silently asking for confirmation.

“Yes, my mother is amazing and you should definitely thank her when you pick it up.” He gave another soft laugh as he clasped his hands to Stiles’ shoulders, trying to hold him in place. “She said she’d meet you at the shop outside of school hours. You just gotta call ahead to set it up, and you’re required to attend Saturday Dinner.”

Stiles felt his excitement slowly fall as he pointed out, “I’m grounded with no end date.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Danny didn’t let his smile dim as he added, “Maybe your foster dad can be bribed?”

“Maybe.”

The conversation came to a gentle lull, the silence stretching between them until Danny prodded him with a gentle, “So? You said we needed to talk about something?”

“Yeah.” Stiles scrunched his nose in discontent as he admitted, “I don’t want to though.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” Stiles rolled his eyes as he ran a hand over his head, freezing when a new thought occurred to him. His voice was quiet and sheepish as he said, “But you may not want to date me after you hear what I say.”

Danny’s smile faded away into a slight frown, ‘brow furrowing in confusion. He had an unusual sense of seriousness about him as he asked, “Do we need to hide a body?”

“What?” Stiles stared at his boyfriend in shock before he asked, “You’d help me hide a body?”

“Depends on whose, but yeah. Potentially.”

“Oh my God.” Stiles’ voice was soft with wonder as he said, “That’s so sweet.”

“Okay,” Danny ran his hands down Stiles’ arms, trying to bring his attention back to the topic at hand. “So no one’s dead; that’s good. Do we need to plan for a body?”

“You’d plan a murder for me?!”

“Stiles!” Danny ducked into Stiles’ line of sight until his boyfriend focused on him, trying to steer the conversation back to the original point before it spiraled even further out of control. “How about you just tell me what you need to tell me, and we’ll take it from there. Yeah?”

Stiles reluctantly nodded, bowing to Danny’s rational thinking, but still found himself hesitating as to how to truly begin the conversation. It was hard to believe something far-fetched without proof, and Stiles couldn’t exactly pull a werewolf out of a hat. Although, that was probably a good thing. Danny may not believe him right away, but evidence could be shown once the Goalie had time to process the claim.

“Okay,” Stiles said. “It all started the night I dragged Scott to the woods to find a body. I was caught by my father, and Scott was bitten by an Alpha Werewolf.”

- - - - - -

The plastic coated benches outside of the school were horrendously uncomfortable, to the point where Stiles wondered if it had been done purposefully as a deterrent to loitering students. Danny - despite the stifling silence between them - had refused to leave, simply casting Stiles an absent frown and tightening his grip on the boy’s hand at the merest suggestion.

Scott had set himself up to the side of the couple, leaning against the brick wall behind the bench and glaring at any students that tried to linger. It seemed that the rumor of Stiles foster placement had made the rounds throughout the day, and some of the more nosy players were trying to catch a peek at who it would be. Jackson, in a strange display of tact, had simply clapped Danny on the shoulder in support before leaving the school.

The silence among the boys seemed to hang heavy in the air, and none of them were quick to break it. Danny had retreated into his head after their conversation, either contemplating life or trying to decide which color to dye Stiles’ straightjacket. Stiles’ own words seemed to be similarly locked behind his teeth, but that was mostly due to the slow panic that was gripping his lungs.

The theme continued when Melissa and Agent Hotchner materialized around them, simply stepping close to them and respecting the solemn air. Stiles hadn’t seen them pull into the parking lot, so they must have used the Teacher’s private area around the side of the school. He had been watching the student parking lot with a hawk-like mentality and refused to believe they had slipped by him.

His social worker, Callie, claimed she would be meeting them there after lacrosse practice. She described her car as a rusted brown color with a small dent in the middle of the front bumper, and it had stubbornly refused to appear at the school. The students were dwindling, the light was slowly fading, and Stiles' patience was running out.

He wanted to get the Hostage Transfer over with.

Agent Hotchner seemed to be brave enough to break the silent tension in the air, glancing at his watch and muttering, “She should’ve been here by now.”

“She said she’d be here at six,” Stiles denied.

The Agent’s face was a mask of neutrality, but the absence of emotion said much more than any expression could. His voice was similarly dead toned as he pointed out, “It is six.”

“It’s six-oh-three,” Stiles corrected. “If her being a little late is keeping you from something important, then you can leave. I didn’t ask you to be here.”

Agent Hotchner seemed to balk slightly at the venom in Stiles’ tone, but he made no move to reprimand him for it. Melissa looked taken aback as well, though her expression was quick to fall towards concern and something that Stiles refused to acknowledge as being related to pity. The sight had his stomach twisting into a tighter knot than it already was, threatening to bring up bile along with the rising dread.

“Hey man,” Scott cut in quickly from his perch against the wall. “We aren’t going anywhere ‘til you’re settled.”

Stiles gave a grateful nod and allowed himself to ignore the adults around them, focusing on Scott and Danny instead. Danny was still beside him with a firm grip on his palm, fingers woven together with his own digits. He was silent and absent-minded, but unmoving in his support. Scott was on the other end of the spectrum with a laser focus and unwavering intensity, bearing an expression that Stiles had learned to be wary of.

He had seen that glint in Scott’s eyes when his friend took the blame for the broken lamp, lying through his teeth to the Sheriff. He had the same clenched jaw that had appeared at their first - and only - summer camp experience, just after Stiles had been shoved off the pier into the lake. His mouth had adopted the familiar downward tilt that always seemed to be present when confronting Jackson, raised like a shield when Scott had stepped between his friend and a bully.

It was the same expression that Melissa McCall had shown when she explained why their dining table went from four chairs to three.

Stiles’ panicked thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a soft, slow-speed impact. It was instantly recognizable and made his heart skip a beat, his neck snapping upwards to see the battered car as its rear tires hit the speed bump at the parking lot’s entrance. All five figures watched the car amble around the lot, each one going predator still at the appearance.

Stiles cursed the car for being both too quick in its appearance, and for its unhurried search for a parking spot. He wanted the experience to just be over with, and felt his teeth grind as the car carefully steered its way through the painted lines and parked close to the group. He felt a strange mix of pride and guilt when he noticed she had parked in a handicap area.

It wasn’t like anyone would be needing it at the moment.

The car had a slight tint to the windows, but it was still easy to see the woman inside it. She seemed unworried of the attention, gathering a large purse and a file folder from the passenger seat. She tossed the door open and held it out with a quick leg to keep it from rolling back closed on her. Once she had effectively wiggled free from the vehicle, she used the same foot to kick the door closed and spun away rapidly to keep her long cardigan from being trapped in the car.

Her shoes were sensible and her clothes were unpolished, a simple red blouse tucked into the high waist of a black pair of jeans. Her dark skin seemed to glow with the color contrast and her face had the buffed complexion of foundation, but her makeup seemed to be more on the minimal side. Her hair was frizzled with humidity and stress, pulled to the crown of her head in a loose bun.

“Hi!” She stumbled towards their group with a tried, yet wide, smile. She zeroed in on Stiles quickly and stepped forward with a hand out, file and purse tucked under one arm. “Stiles Stilinski?”

“Yeah.” Stiles quickly reached out his free hand in return with his quick confirmation. “Callie?”

“Callie Boyd,” she confirmed. “Your foster placement has already been vetted and their residence was inspected last night, so we should be good to go.” She didn’t seem to ignore the others around them, but her attention stayed fixed on Stiles as she explained. “There will be a home visit on Friday to see how you’re settling in, but you can call me at any time if you need something or want to ask any questions. And, though you agreed to give the placement a chance, your safety is the top priority. If you feel threatened or unsafe, don’t hesitate to call me, or leave if you feel like you need to.”

“He can come to me,” Scott said.

“Yes,” she assured. “But make sure to inform me once you get somewhere safe. I noticed that your father had gotten a waiver for your driver’s license, but you’re still a minor and under the protection of the state of California.”

“And,” Agent Hotchner cut in, “there are other placements that can be found, should any issue arise.”

“True,” Callie quickly said as she glanced towards the Fed, irritation carefully pinching the edges of her smile before she turned her attention back to Stiles. “Though I ask that you give this placement a chance and not sabotage it on purpose. It’s okay if it doesn’t turn out well, but try not to force it one way or the other.”

Stiles slowly nodded in agreement and gave a quiet, “I’ll try,” before he carefully leveraged himself off the bench. He then squeezed Danny’s hand once more before releasing him and grabbing his duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Stiles set his shoulders in a hard line, taking a slow deep breath before he asked, “Can we stop for food on the way?”

He felt his confidence wane when Callie’s expression tilted sharply towards confusion, though it cleared a moment later with a harsh bark of laughter. “I’m not taking you to your foster placement; he’s meeting us here.” Her voice was mischievous, but held no condescension as she said, “Which you would have known if you had let me explain who he was.”

Stiles frowned and couldn’t help but mutter some kind of justification about how knowing would’ve brought more anxiety. Though his words trailed off halfway through his excuses as the door of the school opened behind them, screeching in protest at the rusty hinges being used. Callie took no hesitation in quickly waving the figure over with a bright grin, and Stiles whipped around to look at the man with a heavy sense of dread.

“Mister Finstock!” Callie shuffled her burden to one arm once more, offering her hand forward as the Coach stiffly marched in their direction. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

“Call me Bobby,” He said as he returned the gesture in kind, eyes wide with forced excitement. “Mister Finstock was my Mother.”

“Stiles.” Callie turned back to Stiles, grin wide with suppressed laughter as she explained, “This is Bobby Finstock, and he’s agreed to foster you for the time being.”

The boy’s words were choked with shock and disbelief as he asked, “Are you serious?”

“Serious as my family’s competitive side during our Annual Scavenger War.” Coach’s gaze turned more contemplative as he stared at Stiles, then nodded and solemnly said, “You’ve got good instincts and know how to dodge. Plus, your paper from last quarter proved you know your way around a trebuchet. You’ll survive.”

Everyone seemed frozen at the declaration, both in horror and shock. Stiles could practically feel the blood drain from his face, and his brain spiraled with vivid hallucinations of what living with the Coach would be like. He could already smell the burnt coffee and sugared, scrambled eggs that the man had claimed as ambrosia for hangovers - or offerings to the small creatures he thought were stealing his socks.

“I’m out!” Danny shouted the warning as he quickly stood up, shouldering his own bag and clapping Stiles on his shoulder. “May the Force be with you. Good luck. Godspeed. Hasta la vista–”

“Danny!”

“Nope!” Danny set a loud smacking kiss to Stiles’ cheek before he turned towards the parking lot and started high-stepping it to his family’s battered SUV. “I’m done with today. Text you later. See ya tomorrow. Bye!”

“Traitor!” Stiles couldn’t help the pouting slouch of his shoulders as he watched his boyfriend hop into the vehicle and vanish from the parking lot. When he turned back, he found Coach’s smile to be slightly more unhinged with glee and Scott staring after the retreating teen. “Scott–”

“Hey Mom,” Scott quickly interrupted. “Can we stop at Castina’s on the way home? I’m feeling like nachos.” He then copied Danny as he made his own run for it, not an ounce of guilt visible on his face as he abandoned Stiles to his fate. The boy didn’t even wait for his mother, throwing the back door of the car open and diving in like he was being chased by the hounds of Hell.

“Coward!”

“Well,” Melissa ignored the teenagers’ antics with a practiced ease as she stepped forward and presented Coach Finstock with a folded sheet of paper. “Here’s my contact information if you have any questions, along with some general notes I thought you might need. Stiles is required to attend one dinner a week with me and my son - which you are allowed to attend as well.”

Coach seemed to lose some of the manic glee in the face of Mama McCall, trying to interrupt with an awkward, “I’m not much of a family-meal-kind-a guy–”

“His attendance is mandatory; yours is not.” Melissa cast a sharp glance towards Stiles before she continued, “And you might be his legal guardian, but I am still one of the people who raised him. I understand that I have no authority over him, but I want you to know how serious I am when I say that he is grounded.”

“Mama McCall!” Stiles began to protest, but quickly cut himself off as she threw him another look.

Coach Finstock tipped his head in acknowledgement as he quietly agreed, “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Stiles opened his mouth in offense, ready to protest the claim, but found he couldn’t truly deny the claim or come up with a proper defense.

“Then,” Melissa continued, “you’ll understand the importance of enforcing it until next Friday?”

Coach gave him a blatant side-eye before he asked, “Do I get to know what he did?”

“He lied to me.”

The Coach took on a small frown as he asked, “Do I get to know what the lie was?”

“No.”

“Was it for a good reason?”

Melissa stared at him with a growing amount of frustration, her jaw jutting forward with an incredulous tilt. “Lying,” she slowly said, “is bad.”

Coach made a soft scoffing sound, quickly rebuking her with a sharp, “Depends on the lie.” He shrugged as she began to stand taller in anger. “Everyone lies, and some of them are even necessary. Lying through your teeth is like verbal flossing; everyone should do it at least once a day.”

Stiles couldn’t help but ask, “You floss?”

“Dental hygiene is very important.” Coach shifted his stance as he turned to the remaining boy. “My brother, the slimy bastard, didn’t think it was very important until he started losing teeth. You could play chess if he smiled wide enough–”

“That,” Melissa broke in, “is not the point. He kept a secret from me and actively lied about it.”

Stiles watched on with awe as the two adults stared each other down, Agent Hotchner’s neutral smile becoming a bit more bemused than probably appropriate. Stiles couldn’t really blame him. It was somewhat like watching a bulging-eyed chihuahua facing off against an angry bear, too insane to know the danger it was flirting with, or just simply not caring - only surviving by the grace of the bear’s confusion and shock.

“Twenty-Four!” Coach wheeled on him quickly, pinning the boy in place with his focused attention. “Did you have a good reason for lying to McCall-ette?”

Stiles heard Melissa sputter a protest at the name and the question, but he was in the crosshairs of a feral chihuahua and couldn’t worry about the bear right now. He took a few seconds to register the question, and then answered with a confused, ”Yes?”

“Well then,” Coach said, “I don’t see any reason for you to stay grounded.” He readjusted the bag on his shoulder before he turned to Callie once more, dismissing Melissa and Agent Hotchner entirely. “Anything else you need before I steal him away?”

“Two initials and three signatures!” Callie held out one of the folders from her arms, quickly directing him through the pages and pushing a pen into his hand.

Stiles was rather surprised by how quickly he was allowed to leave, being shuffled into the passenger seat of the Coach’s minivan. The vehicle was surprisingly clean and free of any strange odors, though the seatbelt made an ominous clicking sound each time he shifted. He had expected slim jims and the smell of locker room clothes, and was greatly appreciative of the faint floral scent that permeated the car instead.

The dashboard in front of the passenger seat was loaded down with small bobbles, stuck to the surface with adhesive and plastic suction cups. There were sparkles and glitter and a horrible amount of neon colors, each one shifting on springs with each movement of the car. Even parked, the figures sent up a rainbow of scattered light and held his attention in an oddly soothing display.

It was barely ten minutes before they were flying from the parking lot, ignoring the two shell-shocked adults left in their wake and sending the bobbles to rattle in a seizure-inducing light show. Stiles wasn’t sure how he felt about being left in the care of Coach Finstock - a man who Stiles would never trust to feed a pet, let alone a human being - but either way the next few days wouldn’t be boring.

- - - - - -

Derek’s hand was clasped to the trunk of a small tree, which he had originally used to hide his form from the people converging at the High School parking lot. He was unsure if his presence had been noticed by any of the others, but he refused to give away his location knowingly.

He had lost most of his composure when the Coach began arguing with Scott’s mother, vividly remembering the trauma-inspiring one-liners he had heard throughout his school days - the varying pep talks that always seemed to devolve into a strange parody of a therapy session with a healthy dose of oversharing.

Like most of the students who have been subjected to the man’s crazy, Derek knew more than he needed to about the Coach - while still knowing nothing about the actual man.

He knew the man only had one testicle, as he had lamented the loss nearly every month. He also knew that the man came from a large family, and one that had possibly been bigger than the Hales. Though the names of his family members were a mystery, it was inferred that half of them were bastards in the literal and metaphorical sense.

He couldn’t imagine the man’s house as anything but organized chaos to match, especially with how much the Coach had complained about his collections. How often he had heard the man muttering about others not appreciating the amazing things he had dragged home and presented for inspection; how he had stubbornly kept the items no one liked and insisted they were priceless instead of junk - not because he thought so, but because he liked to watch the confusion of others as they tried not to offend him.

The tree bark cracked and seemed to crumble under his grip, body contorting and doubling over in an effort to remain undetected. His lungs burned with the sensation, but he pushed it down with prejudice until all the cars had left the lot. It was only once he was sure he was alone that he took a slow deep breath and released it in an echoing thunder-clap of laughter.

He knew that Coach Finstock wouldn’t hurt the teen, so he allowed himself to revel in vindictive glee before leaving the school behind and making his way back to the preserve.

Chapter Text

Stiles didn’t really mind cooking. He didn’t particularly like it, but he also didn’t complain when he was forced to do it. He was just as happy to order a burger from Carolynn’s Diner as he was to throw together a quick spaghetti. That being said - he was rather glad when Coach Finstock had insisted on stopping for a pizza.

Though he had denied Stiles’ request for a veggie one - “Tomato is a fruit, so the pie’s got enough healthy shit. Let’s get bacon!” - Coach did allow the addition of a side salad - “...as long as you practice social distancing. If so much as a single leaf touches my pizza, I swear to all that is sacred you’ll be sleeping on the porch!”

Which actually wasn’t that big of a threat once Stiles saw the house.

Many students had wondered and theorized about the Lacrosse Cryptid’s habitat, but no one actually knew where he lived. There had been a rumor in their second year of middle school that the Coach lived in a network of abandoned mining tunnels on the outskirts of town, ignoring the fact that Beacon Hills didn’t have any mining tunnels.

Others had claimed he lived in a half-abandoned cabin in the preserve, which Stiles could easily see. The Coach definitely had the wild look about him, much like a dog that had been lost in the woods a little too long; too many squirrels and too few belly rubs.

Stiles vaguely remembered creating his own conspiracy at the tail end of middle school, complete with powerpoint and factual evidence, that the Coach simply ceased to exist outside of the school. Finstock was only called into existence when the children spoke his name, or when he was summoned by lukewarm coffee and the clumsiness of Greenberg. He was tied to the mortal plane while the children were near the facility, and his presence always seemed to be accompanied by the faint trill of a whistle.

However, Stiles’ beautiful theory was dashed soon after they collected the pizza.

They had honed in on the nicer side of town without Stiles realizing, only noticing their location when the car had sidled past the Martin’s property and continued down the road. He barely had a moment to truly think about the implications before they were turning up a darkly paved sideroad - which he quickly found out was not a sideroad.

The road was unpainted and wound its way through ideally placed trees before it crested a hill and revealed itself to be a driveway. The dark pavement slid smoothly down the slope in a drawn out serpentine, snaking its way first around a large storage shed before curving back around the edge of a large rock garden, ending directly at the entrance of a large garage.

Coach Finstock took the drive with a white-knuckled quickness that spoke of precision and practice, not allowing time for Stiles to truly take the details of the house in. He had only been able to catch glimpses before they were pulling into the covered carport, but it was enough. He had heard enough about the town to recognize the three-story spire anywhere.

“You live in the Torres Estate?!”

“Accidentally won it in a game of poker - thought we were playing Uno. Now, for the tour–”

The tour had been a whirlwind of directions and observations, and had far too many rooms for Stiles to actually process. He also wasn’t sure the Coach was being serious in his directions, since he had pointed to a tall bookcase in one of the halls and claimed it to be a staircase to the basement. It was even more baffling that Coach had pointed out more than five rooms and had to differentiate the bedrooms by cardinal direction. Coach had cleaned out the East bedroom for Stiles because “The escape hatch in the South bedroom likes to stick closed in the winter, and the Hellians sacked the West.”

The ‘Hellians’ in question were “just a handful” of cats that Coach refused to elaborate on, and only offered the vaguest of details hidden in strange advice.

“Don’t kick the moving shadows.” “If you hear screaming, don’t worry - he won’t hurt you.” “If you're feeling watched, gird your loins.”

None of the cats had actually wandered out to meet him, so they were pretty firmly in the theoretical sense. He wouldn’t put it past the Coach to mess with him as some sort of bonding ritual, or simply to cure the man's boredom. Stiles was pretty sure that half of what the Coach said to the students was made up - exaggeration at best.

That's not to say Stiles didn't believe the warning about a possible herd of ninja cats, but he still found himself skeptical.

The whole experience felt like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. He was exhausted and done with the day, barely processing any of what the Coach was telling him. It felt like someone had scraped his insides raw before filling him to the brim with numbed shock, and he just wanted to lie down and not think about anything.

He didn't want to think about how he had abandoned his father - both the strange guilt of not fulfilling his promise to his mother and the weightless relief he felt when he realized he wouldn't have to go back to that house. Wouldn't have to hear the drunken rambles, or pretend he wasn't there, or try not to flinch as he was told he killed her-

He didn't want to think about what would happen next either. What would be happening with Agent Hotchner, or why the Alpha wanted him, or if Danny was going to break up with him, or if the Hunters would-

Breathe in. One, two, three, four.
Breath out. One, two, three, four.

He had a million questions for the Coach, but no brain power to ask them. Which the Coach had seemingly anticipated, since he had readily agreed to the both of them having a long conversation the next day. The man had excused both of them from school, shocking most of the faculty with Coach's use of vacation time - which the man religiously used for the last week of March and September.

Stiles could already tell he'd need to write a list of questions when he was sure his hands had stopped shaking. He could already see the questions when he closed his eyes, like they had been printed to the inside of his lids in a dark, bold Courier New font.

Callie has said his mother knew his foster dad, meaning Coach knew his Mother, but how? They were the opposites in every way, and he just couldn't picture the connection. His mother's journal had mentioned step-brothers, and Stiles hadn't read it all, but he'd been picturing a successful businessman, an electrician, an archeologist. Not a psychotic gym teacher!

And if Coach did grow up with his mother, did that mean he knew about her magic? About Stiles’ magic? Did he know that Stiles might not be fully human? Was Coach not fully human-?!

Breathe in. One, two, three, four.
Breath out. One, two, three, four.

Stiles forced his thoughts to abandon the issue again, turning his focus down to the packet of paper in his hands. Coach had tossed the thick packet at him while they ate - cheap pizza on paper plates, at a wooden dining table with gold inlay - and called it a cheat-sheet for the Finstock Household.

He had already sorted through some of the thick packet to find brightly colored sticky note corrections and a color-coded guide of rules and suggestions. The thing also had a three-page floorplan of the house, showcasing five distinct escape routes - two of which had been marked through with crayon - and at least four hidden hallways and rooms.

Honestly, the hidden passages, storage areas and the entire hidden basement - because the bookcase somehow being a staircase wasn’t a joke - looked pretty cool. Stiles just knew he was gonna have an awesome time exploring the place and potentially setting up some harmless ScoobyDoo-esc boobietraps, at least when he got more comfortable in the house. He was pretty sure Coach was more bark than bite, but he didn't feel like rocking the boat before he got used to the rapids he’d been pushed into by Scott, and the BAU, and his Bitch of a social worker-

No. Bad Stiles.

Callie wasn't a bitch. She was honestly ten times nicer than his last social worker, evidenced by the fact Stiles made an effort to remember her name. It was just so hard to look at the situation he was in and not have a Villain. There was no one to blame for his current problems, and it irked him to no end.

Most would probably see his father as the villain of the story, but Stiles couldn't. His father was still his father and no amount of wishing would remove that damn seed in his stomach - the one buried under anger and shame and guilt, rooted firmly in the belief that he still loved his father because he was family. He raised Stiles and he was supposed to love him!

Breathe in. One, two, three, four.
Breath out. One, two, three, four.

Stiles forced his focus back to the packet in hand. Five of the pages were taken up with an itemized calendar, neatly typed out and then scribbled on in the same bright purple crayon as the map. It held a month by month list of events and checkpoints. Some were normal things that he had readily expected - sports schedules, school events, the opening date for a new movie Coach had talked about in class - but some were less than normal.

A few of them were seemingly nonsensical holidays, such as Blue Rose Day in early November or Judgement Day in the middle of June, but many days were simply too wild to guess at. Victors Day, Night of Madness, Fate’s Offering, Frost Gold, May Day which was located in February, Light Mour, Twin’s Ruin, Quilt & Run, a singular Tusk Tuesday, Half Blind Day, and two whole weeks from the end of March and September that were blocked off with small-printed invocations to the Nordic and Greek gods.

Honestly, the calendar outline seemed to be a jumble of random holidays, religious events and personal vendettas. He only gave it a brief glance before he skipped that section and turned to the pages labeled House Rules.

3. Any poison brought into the house is required to have the appropriate antidote stocked in the herbal pantry.
7. Direct verbal invitation into the house is prohibited.
13. No hosting or participating in satanic rituals without adult supervision.
15. Any animal successfully hidden in the house for one week shall become of the house and has earned the right to live in said house.

Stiles tossed the packet to the side without care, taking a small amount of pleasure at the sound of distressed pages fluttering in the air and smacking the headboard. He didn’t turn to watch the packet's demise, but he did clock the descent it made as it slid over the edge of the bed and fell between the mattress and the red drapes - because his new room had a four poster canopy bed that made him feel like he had been transported to Hogwarts and that old hat had yelled out the wrong house.

Fucking Gryffindors.

He made a mental note to check under the bed the next time he needed the cheat sheet and quickly reached for his phone.

You messaged the group chat: BA[Fuck]U

>I’m not a Gryffindor.
>I need a distraction.

Sensei: Scotland chose the Unicorn as their national animal.

>Are unicorns real, or were they just fucking with everyone else?

Alpha Female: Myth.

Black Queen: I wish.

Sensei: There hasn’t been any scientific evidence of their existence, but many theorized that the Unicorn was based on the first sightings of rhinos. The original descriptions of the Unicorn mirrored many of the rhino’s characteristics with large feet like an elephant and multiple horns.

Mini-Hacker: You’re saying that my nightmares are real, but my dreams aren’t?
Mini-Hacker: I’ll never complete my life-long goal of riding a Unicorn?

Alpha Female: No.

Black Queen: Sorry, Hun!

Dark King: I wouldn’t suggest trying to ride a rhino.

Dr. Chi: Mini-Ried told Mini-Hacker.
Dr. Chi: Both kids know about the supernatural and all that goes bump in the night.

Black Queen: Oh!
Black Queen: 100% real!

Alpha Female: Unicorns are also nightmare creatures and should be properly feared.

Dark King: They’re more likely to gore you than to offer you a ride.

Sensei: You have the best chance to have a positive interaction with a Unicorn on a full moon, as they are tied to the moon cycle and have been proven to be more docile under the full moon.

Mini-Hacker: Full moon good, New moon bad?

Alpha Female: If you see a black unicorn, do not approach.

>Unicorns aren’t white?

Sensei: They are on a full moon. Their coat and color reflects the stage of the moon, though it varies between specimens as to how the color shifts. Some have distinct barriers between the white and black, while others have been spotted with stripes, splotches and full-body gradient scales.
Sensei: There was actually one unicorn photographed and spread to the public in 1978, thought to be a zebra due to the unique striping of the coat.

Mini-Hacker: Cool.

Dr. Chi: There will be no hunting for Unicorns while your town is being plagued by a rogue Alpha.

Mini-Hacker: Deal.
Mini-Hacker: What about Ghosts?

Stiles tried to focus on taking slow breaths as he watched the group chat descend into a game of twenty questions. He filed away some of the tidbits the tossed others out, but didn’t chime in with many inquiries. He was more content to observe the group absently than to actually further the conversation, especially since he could just come back later to look at their responses in more depth.

- - - - - -

Danny felt like the world had gained a strange haze, colors dimming and sounds seeming to muffle themselves. His attention was focused solely on the phone in his hand as he tried to absorb every scrap of information the BAU was willing to give:

Unicorns - Real
Zombies - Fake
Mermaids - Varies by region
Manticores - Imaginary
Griffons - Extinct

He was pretty sure that the members of the BAU were giving him mixed information, seeing how far they could go before he called bullshit. Stiles seemed to be rather absent-minded in his replies, but Danny couldn't blame him. The boy's anxiety was rough on a good day, and it had certainly been awhile since they'd had one.

“...and apparently, they want me to dance the hula naked at the next book signing!”

Danny whipped his head up to stare at his father, confusion jumping to the forefront of his thoughts as he tried to figure out what had led up to that confident declaration. Though, the confusion was quick to clear as he found amusement dancing around the table. His parents were holding back their chuckles as they stared at him, and his siblings were squirming in mirth.

“My poor Mako,” his mother said. “What has you so far from shore?”

“Just,” werewolves, serial killers, Coach somehow becoming a father figure, “a lot to think about.”

“A lot’s happened,” his father murmured. “Do you want to take tomorrow off?”

Danny was thoroughly tempted to take the out, but frowned as he wondered what he would do with the day. Stiles was going to be spending the day with the coach, and Danny wasn’t sure either of them would be up for intelligent conversation. He was still reeling, his world realigning with every breath - changing with each new message from the group chat because Aumakua may actually be real and he really shouldn’t’ve tried to shoo away that damn owl again.

“No,” Danny decided. “I’ve got a cross-class group project in Art and Prealgebra. I should try to attend before another murder shuts down the school.”

“Where there’s a wave, there’s a storm,” his mother agreed, spearing a large chunk of fried spam with her fork. “I want everyone wearing their shackles until it’s passed.”

“Bracelet, Dear.” His father’s voice was full of resigned amusement as he corrected her. “Shackles are for prisoners.”

Her mouth turned down petulantly as she muttered, “If they try to leave this house without them, they will be prisoners.” She considered her bite of food before she addressed Danny again. “I’ve made one for your Akoya-”

“Mom!” Danny ducked his head as his younger, annoying, siblings started chittering about his love life.

“-so make sure to give it to him.” She snapped the bite off her fork as her mouth pinched into a wicked smile. She didn’t bother to hide the food in her mouth as she chewed and pushed it to the side, talking around it unashamedly. “I put it in your room.”

“And,” his father cut in, “no more turning off your phone’s GPS. We need to know where you are at all times, and you aren’t as stealthy as you think you are.”

His mother widened her eyes and gave a very firm nod, snapping her fingers and pointing enthusiastically to her husband in agreement. It sent his siblings snickering once more as the Twin Terrors mimicked the movements across the table.

“Now,” his father continued, “put down your cell phone and eat your dinner.”

Danny held in a sigh as he did what they asked, placing his phone on silent and setting it face down beside his plate. Though he couldn’t help but deny his father’s claims.

“I’m stealthy. Subtle.” He speared his own bite of spam mulishly and muttered, “I’m a shadow in the night.”

“Like a mako in a kiddie pool,” his mother refuted.

The rest of the meal continued in the same vein of teasing, with an underlying thread of anxiety. The threat of the murderer - the supposed Alpha - still lingered around the table, growing heavier over the heads of him and his parents. The three of them were the only ones who had registered the threat and its implications, his siblings being too young to understand the situation. Though the little ones had gotten an updated lecture on stranger-danger and adhering to the buddy system.

His parents tried to keep their spirits up and positivity flowing among them, but Danny was still too lost in thought to truly join in on the conversation. He was more worried over the weaknesses of werewolves than the local garage gossip; knowing that Sandy Martell had gained weight and stopped drinking alcohol - while single - wasn’t going to spare him during the next rampage.

He needed to know more.
He needed to get real answers from the BAU and Stiles and whoever else was involved in this whole charade.
He needed to check his damn phone.

But he didn’t. Instead, he peacefully waited until the last bites had been had and the family dinner was done. He then forced himself to tuck his phone into the pocket of his pants as he stood, gathering the plates and helping his mother bring them to the kitchen as his father herded the young ones away. They put the leftovers in the fridge with a well-practiced proficiency and rinsed the dishes. With a silent glance and agreement, they left the dishes in the damp sink, as there weren’t enough of them to fill the dishwasher.

Mission accomplished, Danny was just about to scurry back to his room when he caught sight of the dinky shark in the kitchen window. It wasn’t terribly large and was made of intricately carved wood, hollowed out to show the silhouette of a group of warriors. Each of them had the weapon his mother had boasted proficiency in, tightly clutched in their grips. It had never been his favorite art, but it did remind him of something he had discredited as unnecessary some years ago.

Recent circumstances had it being a much more credible idea.

“Makuahine.” Danny winced as his mother whipped around to face him, far too much energy and excitement in her posture. She always made it a big deal when he slipped out of English. He didn’t mean to avoid the other language, but he never used it outside the house and it had quickly become a habit.

“Oh!” She rushed him and clasped his face, forcing him to bend down to her height as she smacked his cheeks and forehead with an abundance of loud kisses. “Ko'u mano nui!”

“Mom!” He struggled for a few - long - seconds before he was able to escape her grasp. Once free, he quickly moved out of her reach and wiped furiously at his face. “Cut it out!”

She made a dismissive hissing sound before she planted her hands on her hips, excitement turning to seriousness, but with no less amusement. “Fine, fine, fine. You only call me hine when you want something, so,” she made a quick waving motion as she said, “what do you want?”

“That tooth-bat thing. The one you wanted me to learn.” Danny couldn’t remember the name of the weapon, having blocked and ignored most of the lecture it had entailed. He had been far too interested in the new option of Lacrosse to care about learning a weapon he could never use - it didn’t exactly have a safety or non-lethal setting.

Though he had an all too consuming need for it now.

“Lei’o’mano.” She rolled her eyes as she berated him gently. “It’s named what it is, mano nui!”

“Not the point,” he dismissed. “I wanted to ask if you were still willing to teach me.”

“Really?” Her expression seemed to freeze in place at his question, smile falling into a straight, neutral line.

“Yeah. The whole murderer-being-after-my-boyfriend-and-possibly-me thing? Shark-weapon is looking a tad more appealing.”

Her shoulders seemed to tense sharply as she stood straighter and studied him, seeming to tower over him even though she was at least a head shorter. He knew his mother could be intimidating - had seen it appear many times when he was younger - yet it still managed to surprise him each time. Like this, he could see why the men at the garage were willing to bow to the short woman.

“The Lei’o’mano,” she quietly said, “is a very dangerous weapon. It isn’t to be taken lightly.”

He couldn’t help but cross his arms over his chest as his emotions took a turn towards incredulousness. “You’ve been trying to get me to learn the weapon since I was twelve!”

“You weren’t going to have the opportunity to use it when you were twelve.” She crossed her own arms in response as she added, “Nor were you going to be carrying a lei’o’mano in your stick-sport duffle.”

“Lacrosse,” Danny corrected. “You’ve gone to over a dozen games. You know what it’s called!”

Her serious nature broke apart as she widened her eyes, arms flailing towards him as if to empasize a point she had just made. Which, he guessed she kind of had. It was only once he had nodded in acquiesce that she stopped and returned to the subject at hand.

“I’m still willing to teach you, and I can help get you a license so you won’t be arrested for having your lei’o’mano on you.”

He made a small scoffing sound at her declaration, cutting in with a doubtful, “I don’t think there’s any way I won’t be cuffed on sight for taking it out in public.”

“Cultural exemption permit.” Her mouth briefly turned into a very dangerous smirk as she pointed out, “Even then, that’s only for concealing it. You can openly carry a lei’o’mano without violating the law.”

“There’s no way-”

“It is registered in the local Sheriff’s Office as a fixed-blade weapon, I made sure.” Her smile turned even sharper as she commented, “If they make a fuss, your father knows a good lawyer that would be happy to sue the county for cultural discrimination.”

“I don’t think it’s traditional in Hawaiian culture to give your children lethal weapons.”

“It is in mine.” She held her head high as she stated it. “You were supposed to receive it upon your maturity, but you kept refusing.”

“It didn’t seem relevant at the time!”

She made another sound of dismissal before she returned to her original point, “I need you to understand how dangerous the lei’o’mano is, and know that there are real consequences for using it. You can kill someone if you aren’t careful.”

“I do understand,” Danny confirmed, “but that doesn’t change my answer. I need to be able to protect myself.”

“Your Akoya too, I should think,” she cheekily remarked.

“Mom.”

“It’ll take time,” she pointedly ignored his protest and continued, “but I have confidence that you will excel.”

“Thank you.” He dipped his head quickly in gratitude. After a moment of silence he reluctantly added, “Makuahine.”

He winced at the excited squeal that rent the air, the commanding general in front of him melting away to reveal an overenthusiastic mother who was - quite literally - jumping for joy. He barely had time to brace himself before he was tackled by the short statured woman, her arms latching around his neck tightly and feet lifting off the ground as he reeled backwards.

She was the sole reason he was sometimes called the ‘Brick wall’ on the field; he had a lot of practice with being an immovable object to her unstoppable force.

After surviving his mother’s attempts at filicide and successfully dodging the attention of his younger siblings in the living room, Danny was finally able to lock himself in his room and check his phone once more. He read through the handful of messages he had missed and found himself scowling at the screen in disbelief. This was a step too far - simply too weird to ever think it was something real.

You messaged the group chat: BA[Fuck]U.

>I can believe that Medusa exists.
>I can believe that Medusa can talk to snakes.
>What I cannot believe is that MEDUSA CAN COMMUNICATE WITH ALL SNAKES AT ALL TIMES AND SOMEHOW HAS A SECRET SPY NETWORK IN EVERY CITY!!!

Dark King: But can you risk denying it?

Sensei: As it is nearly impossible to prove a negative, it is better to prepare for a positive.
Sensei: It would do you no harm to treat any serpents you come across as inconspicuous eavesdroppers, and simply hold your tongue over sensitive topics until you’ve traveled beyond their hearing.

Dr. Chi: Think of them like a tiny Draco Malfoy, and Medusa is Lucius Malfoy.
Dr. Chi: She WILL hear of it.

Black Queen: Hiss, Hiss, motherfucker!

- - - - - -

The silver handle of the East Bedroom’s door dipped slowly in the dark hours of the night, gently freeing the latch from the doorframe. It then paused for a breathless moment before the door itself was carefully pushed inwards. The hinges made no sound, having been well-oiled and well kept, allowing the figure to create a small gap to slip through with silent grace.

The form - seeing the sleeping teen - didn’t bother to shut the door behind its entrance, and instead crept across the room with quick and confident steps. There was no pause in the strides, nor was there any hesitation or second-guessing. The teen was clearly exhausted from the excitement of the day and made no move to stir or shift, breathing deep and heavy and slow.

It was almost too easy for the form to skitter towards the head of the bed and examine the teen’s hand, thrown haphazardly over the edge of the mattress with his fingers and palm curled towards the ceiling. The boy was so trusting and his scent already laid heavy in the house, marking the walls and furniture from where he had dragged his hand along in absent exploration. It seemed to be a strange mix of burning spice and something sharp and pungent, a scent that screamed danger to any who didn’t know better.

The form glanced back to the slack face of the teen, half buried in his pillow at the edge of the mattress with a small crust of drool forming beside his mouth. With no sign of alertness, the form allowed itself to move a hair closer and bring its nose to the boy’s fingers. With a deep inhale, their tongue flickered out to taste the skin of a knuckle. The scent was strong and intoxicating, bursting over the tongue like candied peppers and pop rocks; it was a scent of power and innocence and goodness.

The shadows hid the gleam present in the form’s gaze, but the faint moonlight still caught the subtle highlight of a pointed tooth in a quick grin. Within the space of a breath the still form turned into quicksilver movement, lunging for the boy and allowing its weight to dip the covers around his frame.

“Holy Sh-!”

The boy was quick to wake - much quicker than the form had anticipated - and was also quick to still under the gaze of the bed’s new occupant.

“What the Hell?”

The boy looked down his body to the form with squinted eyes, taking in as much detail as he could in the low light. When no further protests or movement was had, the form took advantage of the boy’s indecision to lower its weight fully and pin the young man in place. It was only after another minute of pointed silence that the boy seemed to fully come to, eyes glinting with realization and relief.

“‘Don’t kick the shadows’,” he quoted, a soft huff of incredulous laughter leaving him. "I guess he wasn't fucking with me."

The form let out a quiet mewl in response, warily watching as the boy freed an arm from the blanket and carefully reached forward. The fingers were gentle as they ran over their head and scritched behind an ear, receiving an approving rumble of a purr at the action.

“You’re welcome to stay, but I gotta warn you,” the teen said, “I’ve been told I flail in my sleep. I might push you off the bed or something, so ‘sorry’ in advance.”

The form, sensing the teen’s surrender, settled more fully and allowed its eyes to turn into slits as it watched him. The form was a smug weight of contentment as its scent brushed and stained the boy’s hand, marking and claiming him. The boy was now one of theirs, and any who tried to dispute that would find swift retribution in the form of sharp nails and bloodied teeth.

“Whatever,” the teen huffed. “Night, Demon Cat.”

The boy was quick to fall back to sleep, but the large form merely dosed - keeping vigilance over its new charge through the night.

Chapter Text

Aaron Hotchner hated the airport and often found himself avoiding it whenever he could, trying to time his teams arrival and departure to the latest minute possible. Crowded buildings surrounded by loud engines was not the favored hangout for individuals with heightened senses, and it was exhausting to deal with - only made manageable with the use of ear plugs and a specialized cream for the inside of his nose.

It was made even more manageable by an adept having a teammate who could take into account the wind speed, distance and dimensions of the plane to calculate the time of arrival, plus the estimated delay for baggage claim and security - for fun. Which meant that Aaron only had to wait for a few minutes in the lounge before he spotted them.

“I miscalculated.”

Spencer’s voice was seemingly bland, but Aaron knew him well enough to hear the petulant whine behind it. He also had a slump to his shoulders that spoke of failure.

“There was a ceramic urn being checked, and the passenger couldn’t find the death certificate,” his teammate explained. “They weren’t aware it was a requirement with the Cintamani Airline, even though it’s plainly stated on their website under the ‘Item Restrictions’ section.”

“I’m assuming they found it?”

“I reminded her that she had given the certificate to her son, and that he had placed the papers into his computer case.” Spencer shuffled the papers in his hand, tucking his airport packet into the outer pocket of his satchel. “She was less appreciative than I thought she would be.”

“Well,” Aaron turned on his heel as he responded, “some people don’t like it when others watch them.”

“Statistically speaking, most people in public places spend roughly eighty percent of their time watching others.” Spencer smoothly moved to follow, quick stepping it towards the airport’s front entrance. “Humans, as a whole, are an observant species - constantly watching and processing the information around them to learn and understand others. They may not realize they do it, but it’s natural to-”

“This woman,” Aaron interrupted, “was she pretty?”

“By conventional terms, yes; she would be classified as such.”

“How old was her son?”

Spencer’s expression flickered with a small amount of confusion, answering after a brief hesitation. “With his appearance, build and music preferences, I’d classify him as late adolescent, roughly fourteen to sixteen.”

“Then think about it from her perspective.” Aaron squared his shoulders and gently pushed his way through the crowd, Spencer following quickly along before the crowd could close behind him. “What did she observe?”

He didn’t need to see his teammate’s face to know he was mentally walking through the situation, truly examining the interaction and hunting for his misstep. He could practically hear Spencer’s heart skip a beat as the realization came to him, followed by the cringe he knew would be on the genius’ face.

“Well?”

“She thought my attention was ephebophilic.”

“Not necessarily,” Aaron responded. “However the attention of a grown man does not need to be sexual to be perceived as inappropriate.” There was a soft hum of acknowledgement before Aaron shouldered open one of the revolving doors, Spencer a step behind his heels.

“Taxi?”

“Rented a car. Spot two-two-three.”

Spencer released a small sound of irritation, petulantly asking, “Couldn’t get two-two-two?”

He didn’t bother with a response to the grumbled question, simply moving on as they navigated to the correct section of the parking lot. Spencer’s suitcase bounced along the uneven brick of the pathways, but Aaron made no move to offer aid. Instead, he took the time to carefully remove the earplugs from their precarious positions, revelling in the sound of Spencer’s heartbeat.

It always made him anxious to be unable to hear the steady thump-thump from his teammates.

“I’ve gotten permission for us to explore the preserve, and for you to access the leylines. Though you have to wait ‘til after the negotiations before you manipulate or bond with them.”

“I may not be able to even then; it depends on how integrated Mini-Me’s magic has become to the area, since it may not allow a secondary or partner-bond.”

“Stiles,” Aaron corrected.

There was a beat of silence before Spencer hesitantly commented, “A series of steps or scaffolding?”

“What?”

“What, what?”

Aaron checked their location on the footpaths and quickly turned towards his team member when he deemed their location safe. “What’s a series of steps or scaffolding?”

“That’s what a Stile is?” Spencer seemed just as confused, nose scrunched as he stared at Aaron. “They’re a series of steps - platforms - that are arranged to allow someone to cross over a barrier. It’s the easiest way for farmers to quickly cross their fences without injury, especially barbed wire, without having to waste time heading to a gate.”

“The kid - your Mini-Me - goes by Stiles,” Aaron corrected.

“His parents named him Stiles?”

“It’s a nickname, which he prefers.” Aaron slowly began walking again as he explained, “It’s derived from his last name, Stilinski.”

“What’s his actual name?”

“A crime against nature.” Aaron huffed a soft laugh at the incredulous sound from the younger man. “It was apparently some kind of family name, so his mother insisted on it. I had to resort to Google to learn how to pronounce it.”

“If you send it to me-”

“No.” His denial short and clipped as they finally reached the rented SUV, unlocking it and walking to the driver side door. “He prefers to be called Stiles, and he doesn’t like for anyone to know his real name. I only know it because of the forms needed for his internship. You’ll learn his name when he wants you to know it.”

“Speaking of internships,” Spencer quickly tossed his suitcase into the backseat before he opened the passenger door, climbing inside as Aaron mirrored his movements. “Were you able to convince Scott to take an internship with the FBI?”

“His mother has agreed to allow it if Scott agrees to participate, but he’s still undecided.” Aaron quickly fastened his seatbelt and started the car. “He claims he wants to be a veterinarian.”

“Well, an internship doesn’t mean he has to join the FBI after he graduates.” Spencer buckled his own seatbelt and allowed himself to relax back into his seat, gently massaging his temples as he closed his eyes. “And besides, I’m assuming most of his internship with you would just be Obedience School.”

“Dog joke.” Aaron’s voice was bland and lifeless as he put the car in reverse and slowly made towards the exit of the parking lot. “Funny.”

“I’m hilarious.”

Aaron shot a glance towards the younger man and frowned at what he saw. Spencer was usually a good flier and suffered no ill effects, but he certainly seemed like a man burdened at the moment. His shoulders were still sagged - though this time in exhaustion - and his eyebrows were more pinched than usual.

“Headache?”

“It’s the land’s magic.” Spencer waved away his concern, but didn’t bother to open his eyes as he explained, “It’s a little possessive, but it’ll ease up some once it realizes I’m not a threat.”

“Possessive?”

“Of its current Keeper, Mini-Me,” Spender furthered. “The magic in the area is so heavy that it’s semi-sentient; not enough to truly affect anything, but enough to have preferences. Now that I’m here, I can tell that the bond with Mini-Me isn’t complete, and it knows I have the potential to force a bond. It likes Mini-Me, thus, it doesn’t like me.”

“We’re still a decent ways from the town,” Aaron pointed out. “Will it get worse if we get closer?”

“I don’t think so. As long as I stay away from the nexus points and don’t force my will on it, it should tolerate me and stop attacking.”

“Tell me if that changes.”

Spencer made a soft hum of confirmation, letting the vehicle lapse into silence and sharing no more on the subject. There was no babbling factoid about the state’s national parks, no lecture on weather patterns or natural disasters the area was known for. It was honestly somewhat off-putting, with the absence of Spencer’s chatter, and Aaron found himself searching for something to fill the quiet.

“Your Mini-Me knows something about the Bifurcation killer.”

“They named him the Medial Knight.” Spencer’s voice was quiet as he commented, “I don’t like the romanticism of murderers, but I’m still somewhat proud of the media’s ingenuity with the play on words. It, of course, being a reference to the anatomical location of dismemberment he prefers, in coordination with the Knights associated weapon of choice.”

“Well,” Aaron continued, “his weapon of choice is what your Mini-Me knows.”

“They already released that information to the public.”

“We released the fact that he used a sword, but not the specific kind.” Aaron let out a small sigh as a small car blew past him on the road, cutting across the dotted line to get ahead. “When I mentioned the case to Stiles, he knew the killer used a broadsword.”

“That’s somewhat concerning.” Spencer made the comment sound bland, as if he were discussing the chance of rain on picnic day instead of the fact that a teenager may have intimate knowledge of a serial killer. “Have you asked him about it?”

“I was going to wait until after negotiations.”

“Alright,” Spencer conceded. “We’ll add it to the list.”

“One that is ever-expanding,” Aaron agreed, “with a few questions we didn’t know needed to be answered.”

- - - - - -

In the light of the morning, the shadow demon had turned into an unimaginably large cat. It had long black fur that was gray at the root, seeming to put stripes into the dark color with every move it made. Its limbs were just as long as its body was and the beast had no care for where he put them, going limp any time Stiles tried to dethrone it from his lap. After half an hour of minimal struggle, he gave into the inevitable and simply carried the cat on his way to breakfast - the large demon turning liquid and floppy in his arms.

They found the coach standing at the large stove stirring a pan of eggs, hair even more of a mess than usual and sleepwear on full display. Stiles barely had a moment to realize the man’s fuzzy sleep pants matched his own flannel patterned ones before Coach scoffed. He then pointed the spatula at the creature in his arms.

“He’s claimed you, he’s yours now.” Coach’s expression turned smug as he said, “His name is Waine, and the black bowl and litter box is his. Put them in your room. He gets a can of food on special occasions, no more than one a day.”

Stiles slowly glanced back down at the cat in his arms, the beast’s squint slowly turning from relaxed tiredness to smug satisfaction. The boy gave a small sigh and didn’t try to fight it, simply hefting the cat higher and taking a seat at the table. Waine finally began to move again to settle himself firmly in Stiles’ lap, smug little bastard that he was.

Which left Stiles sitting at the ornate dining table a few minutes later, fork poised over a paper plate and carefully fending off a deft black paw. The plate was filled with a strange combination of fried hotdog chunks - which the large terror was trying to steal - and scrambled eggs, topped with a wedge of melted yellow cheese too processed to be called cheddar. Coach had sworn the meal to be comfort food, and Stiles couldn’t actually disagree with the praise.

It went against every heart-healthy article he had read, but it was actually pretty good.

“So, Tiny Child,” Coach mumbled the words around a bite of egg, following Stiles’ lead as they awkwardly picked at the food. “How much do you know about Claudia?”

“Less than I probably should.” Stiles thought back to the packet of paper he had been given, still gathering dust under the bed. “She didn’t talk about herself much, and Dad didn’t want to talk about anything.”

“He probably didn’t know anything anyways. Whatever he did know, he’dof brushed off as insanity.” Coach scratched at his chin and seemed to be wheedling with himself before he asked, “Either of them tell you about your real dad?”

“Please,” Stiles let his fork stab into the pile of eggs on his plate, dread creeping up his back at the man’s tone. “Tell me you aren’t about to tell me what it sounds like you’re about to tell me.”

Coach’s face twitched in confusion before it quickly scrunched in disgust. “No! No, no, no, and God no. I’d never sleep with Little Claudy - she was my sister.”

“Thank God.”

“No offense taken,” he dryly replied. “Besides, if you were my kid, there’s no power in the mortal plane that would’ve kept me away.”

“But being an Uncle means you can skip out?”

Stiles felt a little surprised by the amount of venom that came with the question, not intending for the comment to be pointed. Though, by the look of Coach’s face, it had definitely been sharp enough to cut.

“The bastard didn’t want me around, and Claudia didn’t want us fighting. After she died, Noah tried to get a restraining order, faked a stalking charge and pushed it through a friend in the courts.” He shrugged at Stiles’ bewildered look. “It was overruled, but I stayed back so he wouldn’t try again.”

Feeling thoroughly chastened, Stiles admitted defeat with a quiet, “Sorry.”

“You didn’t know, Kid.” Coach took another bite of food and nodded towards Stiles’ plate, encouraging him to do the same and pointing out the wandering paw on the table. “So? What’d’ya hear about your dad?”

“Flew into town, and flew back out,” Stiles admitted as he batted away Waine’s claws. “Mom said he probably didn’t know about me, but she wasn’t sure he would’ve stayed anyways. She said I have his hair.” He ran an absent hand over his still-growing buzz cut, and quietly corrected, “Had.”

“You look like him when it gets past your ears,” Coach confirmed.

“She also said he used to steal things from her,” he added. “She joked that they made it into a game, and she called this,” he reached into his shirt and pulled out the long-chained locket, smiling when Waine’s attention shifted from his plate to the dangling pendant, “her ‘Greatest Theft’.”

“It was.” Coach examined the locket with a sharp grin, but made no move to reach for it. “He had been meaning to give her a fake, and she took the real one without him knowing. I doubt he’s noticed, since he hasn’t tried to get it back.”

“Yeah, well, it’s mine now.” Stiles let the locket drop back to his chest, but didn’t bother to tuck it away again. Waine continued to bat at the dark charm until he was distracted with a palmed chunk of hotdog. “I’m not giving it up to anyone.”

“He won’t take it back, but he may come looking at some point.” Coach’s grin turned a little more maniacal before he asked, “What else did she tell you?”

“If she mentioned anything else, I don’t remember it.” Stiles took another bite of his egg scramble and couldn’t stop the frown that grew. “She probably meant to tell me when I was older, but Dad didn’t like talking about him. I found a journal of hers, though. Haven’t found any mention of him yet, but I also haven’t gotten all the way through.”

“She was big on journaling; there should be more.”

“There might be more in our storage unit. Dad locked all her stuff away after the funeral.”

“I’ll tell our lawyer, Randall.” Coach’s eyes seemed to grow distant as he furthered, “Nice guy. Helped me out with a flat tire once. I couldn’t get the box cutter through the rubber, and he offered a screwdriver. Worked so much better.”

Stiles chose not to comment on the quick trip down Memory Lane, but he did vaguely remember his dad complaining about tire vandalism a few years back. Bitched for an hour about having his tires slashed and stabbed.

He smiled.

“Her journal,” Coach continued. “Found anything interesting?”

“Some,” Stiles hedged. “She wrote about the weather a few times.”

“I’m sure that must have been shocking.”

Stiles watched Coach raise his eyebrows in a pointed manner, eyes wide and yelling that there was a deeper meaning behind the sentence. After a few seconds of the man’s floundering, Stiles carefully slid his half-full plate to the side to leave a space wide enough for him to face-plant without mess. The dull thunk gave him a small amount of satisfaction, petty though it may be. Waine didn’t seem to be disgruntled by the slight squishing, letting out a rolling chirp and purring softly.

“Not a fan of Dad Jokes?”

“That was awful,” Stiles muttered into the table. “Absolutely horrible.”

“I thought it was pretty good. Been a dad for a day and I’ve already got the skills.”

Stiles rolled his forehead back and forth for a few seconds before he forced himself to sit back up, facing the menace of a man as he asked, “So you know about the Zeus Shit?”

“Wrong Pantheon, kid, but yeah.” Coach shrugged at Stiles’ incredulous look. “She used to shock us back a foot when she got annoyed with our snipping.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles cut in, “but what the fuck did you mean by ‘wrong Pantheon’?!”

“Oi!” Coach pointed his fork in Stiles’ direction, flinging a small chunk of hotdog across the polished table - a chunk which was carefully pawed at and snatched by the shadow demon. “Watch your language, Brat.”

“Are you seriously saying that we’re part God?!”

“Not sure, actually.” Coach shrugged again at Stiles’ even more incredulous look, complete with flying hands of disbelief. “We used to joke that she was the child of Loki, but we didn’t actually know what she was.”

“She was your sister,” Stiles pointed out. “How could you not know?”

“We were raised together, but we weren’t related,” he explained. “She was found on one of our camping trips; stumbled into our campsite while we were making s’mores, and stole my chocolate. She bit me when I tried to take it back, and Mother kept her - named her Claudia.”

“So, what?” Stiles slumped backwards in his chair, mind reeling at the new information. “You just kidnapped her?”

“It’s not kidnapping if they follow you home.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Well, it’s how I got four of my siblings.” Coach gave him a wide smile and nodded towards the kitchen as he added, “On an unrelated note, I got Oreos. You can eat them during the presentation.”

Stiles couldn’t stop the doubt creeping into his voice as he hesitantly asked, “Presentation?”

“Yep.” Coach’s voice was proud as he admitted, “I made a powerpoint to go over the Do’s-and-Don’ts.”

“Okay, no.” Stiles reached across the table and grabbed Coach’s plate, moving it to the side like his own. He ignored the man’s protests and instead demanded, “Tell me what you know.”

“I know a lot, and I know a little, and some things I just don’t know.” Coach shrugged at the returning glare and continued, “Most of which is covered in the powerpoint. It took most of the weekend to make, and it would be bad to let it go to waste.”

“How about you just answer my questions.”

“How about you ask some questions.”

“Fine!” Stiles sat back and frowned as the coach retook his plate, carefree as could be. “What do you know about my father? Besides him being a wandering fling.”

“He was part Asian, but I got no clue where he was from.” Coach made a vague gesture towards his eyes as he explained, “He had a slight squint going on, but not much. You got it too, and it gets more pronounced when you think you’re pulling one over on someone.

“Claimed his name was Johnny and liked leather more than normal. He always wore this flashy green jacket with too many buckles, and he had piercings to match - so many that he jangled when he walked.”

Coach's nose wrinkled in disgust as he muttered, “Claudie said he had tattoos too, to go with the whole ‘punk’ thing, but she didn't say what of.” His eyes suddenly flashed back into focus, glare turned towards Stiles as he ordered, “I won't stop you from having a piercing, but no tattoos until you're old enough to rent a car.”

“I'm not really a fan of needles,” Stiles reassured.

“Good.” The disgust lessened, but didn't disappear as he continued, “I know he wasn't human, not entirely at least.”

“Wait,” Stiles quickly interrupted to clarify, “I'm weird on both sides?!”

“Yep, and a mystery on both sides as well,” he confirmed. “I assumed he was the spawn of some other trickster, but I never actually found out what the bastard was. For all I know he could've been a God on spring break. He was certainly cocky enough.”

“Please, tell me you're joking.”

“Hey, you know,” Coach exclaimed, “with all the lightning jokes the punk made, you might be right about being the son of Zeus!”

Stiles’ head hit the table again, echoed by the thundering laugh of the older man. The sound the boy emitted was tortured and resentful, though it only seemed to spur the man along. Waine seemed to agree with Coach’s amusement as he batted gently at Stiles’ cheek.

“Moved any stars? Made any storms? Changed into any animals lately?”

“Stop,” Stiles groaned.

“I could set up an altar if you want to test it.” His voice turned monotonous and reverent as he continued, “Oh Stiles, who art thou in the kitchen-”

“Okay!” Stiles interjected as he violently sat back up, “Do you actually have any evidence to what he was besides him being a peacocking man-whore?!”

Coach slowly settled his laughter before he turned contemplative once more. After a moment of thoughtful chewing, he added, “Claws. Claws and fangs. They'd pop out when he was being especially smug, but he wasn't a werewolf.”

“You know about werewolves?”

“Kid,” Coach's tone had the boy feeling suddenly chastised, as if the man was doubting his intelligence. “I've lived in Beacon Hills longer than you have, and I've known about the spooks in the dark much longer too. I've met more species than you know exist - werewolves among them.”

“Well,” Stiles willfully buried that kernel of knowledge in an attempt to remain on track, “how do you know he wasn't a werewolf?”

“Because the wolfsbane I slipped him did nothing.”

“You poisoned him?!”

Coach made a so-so motion with his hand as he asked, “Does it really count as poisoning if it didn’t work?”

“Yes!”

The man scoffed and began to say something before he violently twisted to the side and stared at the ground. Stiles felt his confusion beginning to grow until there was a tiny, pitiful sounding mewl. He was baffled as he watched the coach melt, setting his fork down so he could reach down and pick up the tiny animal.

The cat was the thinnest thing Stiles had ever seen, its slight stature highlighted by the fact it was completely hairless. The effect had the tiny alien seeming gaunt in comparison, swaddled in a chunky gray sweater with a tiny black bow tie attached to the front collar.

“This is Penny.” Coach placed the small thing in his lap and carefully scratched at her large ears. “She’s mine, and you can’t have her - but she likes to cuddle with Waine, so you can borrow her from time to time.”

“That’s a rat,” Stiles muttered.

“She’s a little old lady that likes sweaters, and she can hear you.” Coach gave him a soft glare as he slipped a chunk of hotdog to the cat, who took it with dainty precision. He then picked up his fork and continued his original topic, “I also tried holy water, white oak ash and blood algae.”

The boy frowned when his question of “How many cats do you have?” was ignored.

“He actually liked the algae, asked for more to be added to his wine.” Coach took another bite as Penny ducked below the table edge, tips of her ears just visible as they twitched. “He probably had some kind of healing factor, but Claudia stopped me when I tried to test it.”

Stiles had a flash-bulb of imagination as he pictured the coach wielding a sword and being held back by his small-statured mother.

“He knew what I was doing,” Coach muttered. “He was taunting me the whole time - even offered some suggestions.”

“Do you have any pictures?” Stiles asked. “Of my dad, I mean. Not of you trying to poison him.”

“I’ve got a few.”

After another moment of silence, Stiles carefully asked, “Can I see them?”

“You would’ve already seen them,” the man grumbled, “if you had let me show you the powerpoint!”

“Fine!” Stiles grabbed his plate and shoveled the last few bites into his mouth, chewing quickly as the coach’s expression turned smug. When he had gotten the last of his food down, Stiles stood and hefted the large cat back into his arms as he demanded, “Show me the damn powerpoint!”

Coach speared his own last bite and then stood, cradling the tiny rat in the crook of his arm. His voice was the very definition of smug as he said, “I’ve set it up in the Home Theater.”

“Great.” Stiles tried to push down the dread as he slung the large cat’s front legs over his shoulder, huffing softly at the disgruntled sound the - now his, apparently - cat made. “Lead on.”

Coach let out a small bark of laughter and marched towards the dining room’s archway, humming the Imperial March under his breath. Stiles found the tune fitting as he marched in the man’s wake.

There was no doubt that he was going to greatly regret his decision-

“Murreow!”

-and Waine agreed.

Chapter Text

You received a message from SS.

SS: I feel like someone just walked over my grave.
SS: And they keep poking at the flowers.

Derek allowed his mouth to quirk up in a smile, knowing it would be unobserved by any other. He was the only inhabitant of the dark area, and it would remain as such for as long as he could manage. The negotiations - if successful - would combine the packs and allow the Hale assets to become shared property, but he didn’t want to give up everything he had left of his family. The abandoned vaults, land properties, and monetary investments would be up for debate, and he needed to squirrel away the items he wanted to keep.

His mother would’ve lost her mind if she had been witness to the ‘precious family heirlooms’ that he was about to give away.

He honestly didn’t know how he felt about it. He was not raised to be a leader, nor did he want to be. That did not mean that he would hesitate to kill the wolf that had slaughtered his sister, alpha spark or not. That was part of the reason he had jumped at the chance to merge into an established pack, even if that meant he wouldn’t rank higher than a third beta.

You received a message from SS.

SS: Maybe I’ve got the flu.
SS: Flue?
SS: You know, flu is just the shortening of influenza, so it’s more accurate to spell it with an e anyways.
SS: Magical flue.

Derek picked up the small lantern Stiles had provided from his hideout in the preserve, moving to the next rack as he examined the arranged items. There was nothing of extreme value stored on the shelves. It was not the main vault, afterall. He had only been shown two of the five vaults the family maintained, and would have been shown the other three when he had taken his rightful place in the pack’s hierarchy - though the locations were supposed to be written in the Index.

He would have been the Prime Beta for his sister - her right hand in every moment and action, and the face of relations and negotiations. He had originally been destined for the position of Enforcer, lovingly called the Alpha’s left hand. Right to shake the hand of their allies and Left to strike down the threat of their enemies. It was decided shortly into his toddler years that he was too soft-hearted to become the executioner of the pack.

Ironic how drastically that had changed over the last six years.

You received a message from SS.

SS: Is there such a thing as a magical flu/flue?
SS: Am I dying?!?!?!

Derek gave a soft snort of laughter before he gave in, setting the lamp back down so he could reply to Stiles’ chain of messages.

>cold spells. movement at the edge of your vision. headache at the base of your skull.

SS: SO IT IS A MAGICAL FLUE

>youve linked yourself to the areas magic and the protections that were placed in the past
>they fell dormant without an emissary to care for the area but have become active again
>what youre feeling is another magic user tripping the wards

SS: So I’m not gonna die?

>youll be fine and the wards will calm down once you meet the unknown magical

SS: Good to know.
SS: Also, how exactly does a nonwolf join a pack?

Derek stared at the new message with a slowly growing sense of dread. The question would have been harmless from any other, but for Stiles to ask it meant that the boy had some form of plan. A plan that Derek needed to know about before it blew up in his face.

Calling SS…

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles’ greeting was drawn out with great hesitation and weariness. “What’s up?”

Derek didn’t allow him to plead ignorance, simply jumping right into the conversation by asking, “Who?”

There was a pointed moment of silence before the boy released a sigh of defeat. “Danny, most pressingly. He’s taking the whole Furry Secret in stride, and I think he’d be an asset to the pack. He’s strong, logical and I believe he would be increasingly loyal-”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted the boy. “It was already assumed that he would be part of the pack.”

“Really?”

He took a slow breath and ground his teeth before he carefully admitted, “I accepted you into the pack already, and gave you permission to read him in. It’s only a matter of time before he’s offered a position, or at least an allyship, with the Hale pack.”

“Is it still gonna be a Hale pack if it only has two Hales?”

He sighed heavily as he regretted calling the boy, realizing he would probably be on the phone for longer than a few moments. With stiff movements he set the call to speaker phone and set the device beside the lamp as he deflected, “That’s something we’ll go over at the negotiation.”

Derek glanced back to the metal rack again as he looked over the books and small items left to dust. A few pieces of jewelry were set in careful velvet rolls; a possibly lucrative - yet reluctant - form of money. Some of the books caught his eye, but he still didn’t see the one he was looking for.

“I need you to meet me before six, so I can brief you on the plan.” He ducked down to look at the lower shelves, searching for the damn book he knew was supposed to be in the vault. “I don’t want you messing up the negotiations, or trading something valuable for a dime-store trinket.”

“You’ll be there,” Stiles pointed out.

“And you’ll be doing most of the talking.” Derek winced and crouched to check the lowest shelf, muttering the word “Unfortunately,” to himself.

“This is sounding more difficult than I thought it would be.”

“It’s not,” Derek reassured as he moved to the next rack and began his search anew. “It’s just tedious. Both sides will present a list of their assets, psychical and metaphorical, species of their members and allies, possible enemies. Then we’ll haggle over which assets are to be given, kept or shared by certain members of the pack.”

“Now haggling, I can do. Though I don’t actually know what all you Hales owned.”

“We’ve got a written Index that I’m trying to find.” He lifted up a small drop cloth and frowned as he found actual rolls of parchment, smelling heavily of resin and linseed oil. “You’ll have time to go over it before the meeting, and I’ll mark items that are nonnegotiable.”

“Exactly how much is there on the index?”

“The Hale pack was large and old - over five generations.” Derek moved aside what appeared to be a stack of personal journals, dragging a medium-sized trunk closer for inspection. “Many of which were either powerful in their own right, or beautiful enough to have the ears of those who were.”

“Professional muses then,” Stiles commented. “I don’t think I could ever picture you as a Trophy Husband.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

He gave in to the inevitable and sat on the floor to have better access, swiftly breaking the padlock on the front and opening the lid. He was instantly hit with the faint smell of rose and lime as he peered inside, scoffing at the ridiculous contents. There seemed to be a random assortment of official looking papers and weapons - guns, knives and a dented screwdriver - packed into plastic bags, sealed with various colors of duct tape. There were also a few scarves and a wedding dress with blue stains.

The contents gave him an ominous feeling, encouraging him to swiftly close the trunk and push it back under the rack where it had come from.

“But seriously,” Stiles continued, “are we talking about Great-Aunt Lucrezia’s Pearls, or the Lost Vermeer?”

He glanced back at the rolls of parchment that were most definitely paintings and shrugged to himself as he answered, “A bit of both. I’ve stumbled across enough jewelry to open a store, and no one’s around anymore to bitch about sentiment. Most of the things I would’ve kept were destroyed in the fire.”

“Well, I call dibs if you find that Vermeer.” After a few seconds the boy quickly added, “Or any spellbooks you find.”

“Most of the books will probably fall under the Share column, magical included.” Derek frowned as he spied another trunk, stretching to the right to repeat his search on the new target. This one showed more promise than the last since he could detect the slight scent of his father, who had been his mother’s own right hand. “You can keep some of the items if you truly want, but I already gave you the ones I thought you might be interested in - mostly what was left over from the previous emissary. And, just because something is shared with the other pack, doesn’t mean it will actually be used by them.”

“Speaking of the previous emissary; was it my mom? Because I didn’t-”

“No,” Derek cut off the boy before he could spiral into the topic further than necessary. He tried to soften his voice as he broke the new truck’s padlock and forced the lip open. “I don’t actually know who the emissary used to be, but I do know it was a man. Some kind of druid, I think, but he isn’t around anymore.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” He frowned as the scent of his father - strawberry cigars and licorice - filled the air around him. “I don’t know if he died, or just moved away after the fire, but they’re gone. You couldn’t have reshaped the leylines if someone else was still connected to the land.”

“It’s still hard to believe that I was fucking with cosmic power without knowing it. Hell, that I did it without an instruction manual.”

“Instinct goes a long way,” Derek gruffly refuted. “Even more so when it comes to magic. I don’t know exactly how it all works, but I do know that belief and desire can go a long way.”

“I didn’t want to create a nemeton.”

“But you did want a treehouse.” Derek dug through the trunk, bullheadly ignoring the sentiment that tried to rise to the surface at some of the things he saw. “You wanted somewhere that you could be safe, hidden away. It doesn’t matter how serious you were; a wish is a wish.”

It was more of a rejection trunk than a treasure trove, and he had to bite his tongue briefly as he saw his father’s ugliest ties. There also seemed to be a large collection of fountain pens, cufflinks, watches and lapel pins - abandoned gifts that other packs and businesses. The only items of true worth were a few photo books, a bound stack of handwritten letters, some worn journals, and -

There it was!

He gently worked the white leather bound tome from under a tarnished cigar case, clutching the prize close to his chest as he slammed the trunk shut once more. It was with careful movements that he set the large book beside the small lantern and cracked the thing open. When there still seemed to be no response from the younger boy, Derek cleared his throat gently and changed the subject.

“I found the Index.”

“I’ll let you get to your reading then. I have to go sit through Coach’s powerpoint, anyways. If I hide in the bathroom any longer, he may take the door.”

“I’ll keep you updated if I find anything important.”

Derek didn’t waste any time in exchanging proper goodbyes, simply ending the call and tucking the phone into his jacket pocket. He then grabbed the thick backpack he had brought - also acquired from Stiles’ woodland hideout - and began loading the objects he would be taking with him. Making a last minute decision, he also added one of the newer jewelry boxes to the bag and mentally promised to swing by one of the seedier pawn shops that wouldn’t require documentation of ownership.

Like he had told Stiles - there was no one left to protest his decision, and he never really cared for his Great Uncle’s wife, Jasmine, anyways. He’d rather have a warm meal than a pile of useless gems.

- - - - - -

It was barely nine in the morning, and Danny was already done with the day. He had been dodging questions about his boyfriend, leaving him feeling like a verbal James Bond. Jackson had helped in his own way by glaring at whoever had tried to broach the subject, and Lydia had aimed her full potential for contempt at each brave soul that had stepped forward.

Scott had been dodging his own volley of questions, answers sprinkled with sarcasm and a heavy amount of schadenfreude over who had been chosen for Stiles’ foster father. He was pretty sure he had even caught Scott singing a funeral dirge before first period began.

Danny couldn’t blame him, and he’d made his own amount of jokes at the expense of Stiles’ ancestry. They had both decided - with Stiles’ permission - that the best way to defeat the rumors was to feed them. Each statement and answer become more complex and mystical, sending the rumors spiraling into a nonsensical story.

It currently involved evil twins, royalty in disguise and a previously-sealed record of adoption - of Claudia, not Stiles. Too many people had records of Claudia giving birth to the little delinquent for anyone to believe he wasn’t hers. Though the absence of his biological father had left many students in a state of gullibility that was, frankly, remarkable.

This was only made better by the continuous commentary that Stiles had kept up, describing the horror that was the Devil’s Powerpoint.

SM was added to the group chat: BA[Fuck]U.

Mini-Ried: This is torture.

>I thought you liked powerpoints?

Mini-Ried: I like powerpoints when they’re actually informative.
Mini-Ried: This is just revenge for the paper I turned in last year.

SM: Well deserved then.

Mini-Ried: Traitor.

Black Queen: :O
Black Queen: Who’s SM?????!!!!!

>Puppy.

Mini-Ried: That’s Scotty.

SM: I thought we were staying anonymous until they got to town?

>We are, but your name got dropped by accident during the game of Hide-and-Kill with the Alpha.

SM: Rude.

Mini-Ried: You said I deserved to sit through Coach’s demented powerpoint.
Mini-Ried: I feel no remorse.

Sensei set SM’s nickname to Mini-Hotch.

Mini-Hotch: I resent the implication that I’m anything like a Fed.

Black Queen: Oh my gosh!
Black Queen: Is everyone getting a Mini-Me?!

Dark King: They better be.
Dark King: We need another Me and Emily to balance out the crazy.

Mini-Ried: Speaking of crazy…
Mini-Ried: 20110208_090447.jpg

Danny heard Scott’s snort of laughter from across the room, a somewhat inappropriate explosion of humor in the otherwise quiet classroom. His only saving grace from the teacher’s ire was that the class bell had yet to ring. Danny almost followed his example when he finally downloaded the photo.

It was a crude photo-shopped image of Hagrid from the first Harry Potter movie, the poorly pasted word of “Finstock” where the famous “Wizard” should’ve been. Danny barely had time to note the caption of “1st slide” on the photo before his phone vibrated in quick succession with three new messages.

Alpha Female: What’s a Finstock?

Mini-Ried: My warden / foster father / creator of this Hellish Powerpoint, including Slide 2.
Mini-Ried: 20110208_090533.jpg

Danny let out his own burst of laughter as he downloaded and opened the new photo, revealing a photo-still of a Jerry Springer episode. Mr. Springer was seated in one of the chairs with the guest standing, arms thrown into the air in victory. Darth Vader’s mask had been superimposed over the head of the guest of the show, and the words “I am NOT the Father!” were scribbled along the bottom of the photo.

He heard Allison laughing along with Scott, probably having seen the photos on Scott’s phone. He didn’t bother to look at the duo and instead kept his eyes trained on the group chat. He subsequently ignored the class bell and the teacher’s soft lecture on sentence diagrams.

Mini-Ried: He’s my Uncle.

Mini-Hotch: Mama-S slept with Coach’s brother?

Mini-Ried: No dude.
Mini-Ried: Coach IS the brother.
Mini-Ried: Of my mom, I mean.

Mini-Hotch: Bro!

Dr. Chi set Mini-Hotch’s nickname to Mini-Beta.

Dr. Chi: Hotch doesn’t say ‘Bro’.
Dr. Chi: You’ve been demoted.

Mini-Beta: :(

Mini-Ried: Why are you sad about the change?
Mini-Ried: I thought you didn’t want to be associated with a Fed?

Mini-Beta: I don’t want to be called Mini either!

Dr. Chi: I can name you Baby Beta if you prefer.
Dr. Chi: I’ve always been a fan of alliteration.

Mini-Beta: NO

Alpha Female: Glad that’s settled.
Alpha Female: Is Finstock the same Coach that told you about losing his testicle?

Mini-Ried: Or virginity, yeah.
Mini-Ried: He kept it rather vague and didn’t actually finish the story.
Mini-Ried: I gotta get him to tell me the rest of it after the powerpoint.

>Babe, no.

Mini-Ried: Babe, yesssss
Mini-Ried: Though I may not have to.
Mini-Ried: This damn presentation has over 200 slides and there’s a real chance it could be hidden between the Holiday Index and the Houdini Schematics.
Mini-Ried: Oh, and I have a cat now.
Mini-Ried: He is shadow incarnate and seems to prefer a liquid state.

>It’s been less than 24 hrs.

Mini-Ried: Congrats-Its-A-Boy.gif
Mini-Ried: His name is Waine.

Alpha Female: Congratulations.

Dr. Chi: Complimenti

Dark King: Grats

Black Queen: Congrats!!! <3<3<3

>Absolutely not.
>I’m too young to be a father.

Mini-Beta: I’M AN UNCLE?!

Dr. Chi: This right here.
Dr. Chi: This is why you’re ‘Mini’.

“Mister Mahealani, Mister McCall,” the teacher said. “Is my lecture interrupting your conversation?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Ivy.”
“No, Mrs. Iverson.”

“I understand that you both have a good reason to be distracted, but I will not have Mr. Stilinski’s trouble affect the goings-on of my classroom.” There was a loaded moment of silence as the English teacher continued to stare at the two boys, irritation quickly turning to exasperated concern. Though her voice was no less firm as she continued, “Keep your humor quiet, don’t fall behind in my class, and I will look the other way if you try to be a bit more subtle with your phone management.”

“What?” The shocked question was punched out of the second row of chairs. “They aren’t in trouble for being on their phones?”

“No, Mr. Greenberg,” Mrs. Iverson concluded. “This is my Circus, and you are my monkeys. So long as they can juggle their responsibilities, they can act as they please.

“Now, open your grammar packets to page eight, and Mahealani? McCall?” She gave a small smirk as she instructed, “Set your phones to silent.”

“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yes, Mrs. Iverson.”

Chapter Text

Mini-Reid messaged the group chat: BA[Fuck]U.

Mini-Reid: So my mother spawned from the woods and may/may-not-be a trickster Goddess.
Mini-Reid: 20110208_110417.jpg

Of the slides that had been posted in the chat, this one was now Danny’s favorite. It showcased another crudely doctored photo - which Danny was now beginning to suspect was a talent of Coach’s, and that the poor quality was a choice rather than the height of his skill. This one had a stylized forest wallpaper with a Minecraft creeper, a still of Claudia’s face pasted over the creature’s head.

Mini-Reid: My father may have also been a trickster God.
Mini-Reid: Ipso facto…

Alpha Female: Wow.

Dark King: No.

Black Queen: No facto.

Mini-Reid: U sure?

Sensei: Deities and the personifications of natural aspects are not typically birthed by others in a traditional sense. They are usually created overtime by a central belief or focus of an idea, combined with a surge of power in the environment - which can be naturally forming, like new nexus points being created as leylines shift, or man made through multiple rituals and ambient shades of power.
Sensei: It is also very rare for these deities to settle in one area or connect with a specific place. Most aspects are wide-reaching and have a sense of wanderlust. They feel the need to travel and reach multiple areas since the aspect they represent isn’t normally tied to a geographical location.
Sensei: Most also display an obsession or compulsion, which invades every part of their being. In tandem, a new deity would be plagued with erratic behavior as they hunt and define their obsession. This is also accompanied by uncontrollable displays of power as they settle into their role and learn about themselves and the world around them.

Dr. Chi: You are not a god.

Mini-Reid: Part god?

Sensei: Most magical users are descendants from one god or another, but that doesn’t make them part god. A child born of a god and a mortal is not a demigod as most believe, but a warlock - falling into a different category of magic user after about three generations, if they are not born as a new species entirely. However, even the strongest and most potent warlocks born don’t typically exhibit specific characteristics of their godly parents.

Alpha Female: Not all children of Apollo can shoot an arrow.

Mini-Reid: But are you really really really really sure?

Sensei: Your magic is heavily tied to the area with no chance of separation, no wanderlust in sight.

Mini-Beta: You have a belly button.

>Can confirm.
>You’re also too scattered to have a singular focus.
>You may be heavenly, but you’re not a god.

Mini-Reid: omg that’s so sweet
Mini-Reid: <3

Mini-Beta: Ew

<3

- - - - - -

Mini-Reid: OMG THERES SO MANY OF THEM

Sensei: True. It’s sometimes genuinely shocking to think of just how many ants actually live on Earth.
Sensei: Truly overwhelming.

Mini-Reid: No, not ants.
Mini-Reid: Finstocks!

Mini-Beta: The world can’t handle more than one.

Mini-Reid: Well it currently has over fifty!
Mini-Reid: Coach has 17 siblings and most of those siblings have kids!
Mini-Reid: And his parents have siblings, many of which have kids and grandkids and even great-grandkids.

Dr. Chi: That’s how families work, kid.

Mini-Beta: We have to move.

Alpha Female: I’m confused.
Alpha Female: Do we like this ‘Finstock’ guy or not?

>Depends on the day.

Mini-Reid: In small doses.

Mini-Beta: Not in enclosed spaces.

Mini-Reid: And we aren’t moving.
Mini-Reid: Coach is the only Finstock in town, and he hasn’t given me the locations that the others are inhabiting. We could stumble into a nest and not realize it til we hear the whistles.

Mini-Beta: Good point. Recon first.

Black Queen: That is NOT reassuring.
Black Queen: I’m so happy I’ll be there in less than a week.
Black Queen: Say the word and I can make it sooner!

Mini-Reid: Coach is crazy but harmless.
Mini-Reid: Like a beloved chihuahua with permanent hiccups and an aversion to aquatic mammals.

Dr. Chi: Chihuahuas are some of the most violent dogs I’ve ever met.
Dr. Chi: They aren’t harmless.

>You know, you being a Finstock actually makes a lot of sense.

Mini-Reid: No it doesn’t!
Mini-Reid: I love aquatic mammals! You’re proof of that!

>Wow.
>I can’t tell if I should be happy over the sentiment or annoyed about the crack at my heritage.
>You think I’m gonna crack open a coconut with a machete and dance the hulu?

Mini-Reid: Do you know how to open a coconut with a machete?

>Shut up.

- - - - - -

Mini-Reid: I love this house.
Mini-Reid: The secret passages have secret passages.

Sensei: Bookcase?

Mini-Reid: Apparently there’s three, two of which are in the Library.

Dr. Chi: Wine cellar?

Mini-Reid: Check!
Mini-Reid: It’s got an entrance in the kitchen area and one in the yard. Though he’s not telling me exactly where.
Mini-Reid: It’s also apparently well stocked, even though Coach claims it’s not any better than ‘fruit vinegar’.

Alpha Female: Does it have escape tunnels? Safe rooms?

Mini-Reid: Six functioning escape tunnels, but they all lead to three exits, so technically three? With multiple avenues of access?
Mini-Reid: There’s also two safe rooms which Coach has named the “Cave” and “Nest”.
Mini-Reid: He’s gonna show me how to get to those, but he’s not giving me the locations or lock combinations for the normal passages.

Dark King: As if secret passages can be called normal.

>It kind of is for Coach. Fits him pretty well.

Black Queen: How many secrets does the house have?

Mini-Reid: More than a dozen, less than thirty.
Mini-Reid: He’s refusing to tell me the exact amount, but said he’d tell me when I found them all. Says it wouldn’t be as fun if he just gave me the answers.
Mini-Reid: He also gave me a rather ominous reminder that there may be some he doesn’t know about, or that might be added in the future.

Mini-Beta: He’s not wrong.

>You’ll need to take us on a tour once everything settles down.
>And save some of the secret passages for us.

Mini-Reid: We’ll make a date of it once things settle down.

Mini-Beta: Bro Date?

Mini-Reid: Complete with Mario Kart on the ten foot screen in the home theater.

Mini-Beta: BRO

Mini-Reid: I know!

Black Queen: I think my Mini-Me just became the third wheel.

Dark King: Glorified babysitter while the children play in the den.

>I knew what I had signed up for.

Mini-Reid: Damn straight.
Mini-Reid: I’m the captain and he’s my first mate, we’re a two-for-one sale.

Mini-Beta: Bro <3

Mini-Reid: Bro <3

- - - - - -

Danny had felt the tension rise over the course of the day, shoulders sagging with the increased weight. Jackson and Lydia had both been on edge, and both had been quietly watching him since the morning bell. Their friendship had been strained since the bowling date, but none of them had directly addressed the issue. After the ordeal of the Killer Night School and the arrest of the Sheriff, it had mostly been forgiven and dropped by both sides.

Their disputes felt rather petty when they had seen the small memorial near the art room. Paper flowers and crosses set over a rusty stain on the floor, accompanied by a cropped photo and carefully painted placard with his name. It was obviously done by one of the students, and it made him wonder briefly if the person had even known the man’s name before they were asked to paint it.

In remembrance of Brian Moya.

Lydia hadn’t known the name when the man had died, nor had she truly cared as they were dodging their own death, but he was sure she cared now. He could tell from the clenching of her jaw that she was staring at that name and memorizing it like an essential equation for an upcoming test. Though, once memorized, the event was put from her mind and her shell of apathy was reconstructed around her.

Jackson, however, seemed to be thoroughly chastised. His sentences had remained brief and broken, topics changing wildly to avoid speaking about the Stilinski-shaped elephant in the room. The star player had been wrestling with Danny’s ultimatum from that night, harsh words spoken quietly with an air of seriousness reserved for the plague. The issue was only made worse with the revelation of the Sheriff’s abuse. It had forced a conflict into the boy’s emotions, feeling both frustration and sympathy for Stiles.

Afterall, Jackson had an impressive protective streak when it came to family issues. Danny was sure that it traced back to his abandonment issues over the adoption, but had never discussed it. The Elder Whittemore hadn’t kept it a secret how he loathed the Sheriff, and the tension had leaked down to the Younger in an effort to gain his father’s approval.

Which may quickly be changing, seeing as he had seen Jackson slip his father’s business card to McCall yesterday.

The tension around the lunch table, however, was not due to their strained friendship, or the addition of Stiles’ other half joining them. Danny, himself, had been on edge since he had arrived that morning, and the jock had obviously picked up on it. The text messages were a great reprieve, but it seemed nothing would keep their curiosity from boiling over.

“Dude.” Jackson’s voice cut through the conversation at the table, silencing Allison’s voice as he asked, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Danny denied. He didn’t have much food left on his tray, but he still made a valiant effort to let it take his full attention. Unfortunately, it didn’t work to deter the other boy.

“Bullshit,” Jackson said. “You’ve been jumpy since you parked, and you haven’t let that damned bag out of your sight.” He flicked his eyes towards the dufflebag sat between them on the floor. “We don’t even have practice today, so why are you carrying it around?”

“A question that can be easily answered,” Lydia drawled, “by opening the bag.”

Danny grimaced as Jackson shrugged and lifted the duffle off the ground, placing it onto the table between them. Danny tried to wrestle the bag from him, but was unsuccessful in the brief scuffle as Lydia assisted her boyfriend. She had easily slipped between their grappling hands and ripped the zipper down to reveal the contents, a long and wide leather case nestled atop the bulky protective gear for lacrosse.

Scott was the first to speak as he glanced at the polished hilt of the weapon, eyes bulging as he gasped, “Is that a sword?”

Allison launched to her feet, hands pressed to the table to leverage herself forward for a better view. She had barely glanced at the object before she quietly denied, “Not a sword. Is that a cricket bat?”

“That’s a Shark bat!” Jackson whisper-shouted as he stared in confusion at his friend. “What the Hell, Danny?!”

“It’s called a leiomano,” Danny was finally able to take the bag back in everyone’s confused shock, closing the duffle and tossing it back to his feet, “and I felt a weapon was needed considering recent events.”

“Understandable,” Allison agreed.

“Not understandable!” Jackson denied. “A taser, I could understand, but a fucking shark bat?! You don’t even know how to use one-”

“My mother agreed to teach me,” Danny cut in.

Allison made a considering sound before she muttered, “Fighting with an unknown weapon can be worse than fighting unarmed.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather have it on me if we get attacked again.” He shrugged at everyone’s pinched expressions and lack of protest, speaking worlds about their worry of further violence. “It’s also similar enough to a lacrosse stick that my mother felt confident that I wouldn’t hurt myself.”

“My father only got me a hunting knife,” Allison pouted.

“Well,” Lydia speared a dainty bite of her home-prepared salad as she said, “isn’t that a shame.”

“Don't you need a permit, or something?” Jackson asked. “To carry that thing?”

“Debatable,” Scott answered. He then instantly cringed as the others turned to him in surprise and confusion. “Stiles researched the state laws sometime last year; wanted to know if he could have a cane sword.”

“Does he?” Allison asked. When the confusion became leveled on her, she furthered, “Have a cane sword?”

“Not publicly, no.”

Scott’s smile was pleasantly blank as he stared down the others, eyes suddenly screaming his innocence in the matter. When he was greeted by only shocked silence, he grinned wider and abruptly changed the subject.

“Jackson,” He said. “Practice was canceled for today, but Mister Callogne agreed to stay after to supervise the use of the field. Some of the other members and I were gonna practice shots and passes. You wanna join in?”

“Sure,” he slowly answered. “But-”

“Good!” Scott stood quickly and gathered his and Allison’s empty lunch trays, quickly turning and trotting towards the lunch cans. It was only a few seconds later that the bell rang through the buildings, ending first-lunch.

The boy returned back to the table to collect the brunette, hightailing it from the room with Allison giggling at the chaos he left in his wake. The others sometimes forgot that Scott and Stiles were such good friends because of their shared attention spans and wide range of interests.

Scott was just as weird as Stiles when he wanted to be.

“Close your mouth, Jackson,” Lydia sniffed in derision as she gathered the remnants of her own lunch back into her designer lunchbox. “You’ll catch flies.”

- - - - - -

You received a message from Stiles<3.

Stiles<3: Babe.
Stiles<3: What’s this I hear about you suddenly being armed and dangerous???

>What’s this I hear about you having a cane sword???

Stiles<3: Scott is a dirty liar and a traitor.
Stiles<3: It’s an umbrella.

>You’re ridiculous.

- - - - - -

In another time and another place, Derek Hale would’ve been a hero to the undeserving. He would’ve been tracking down his sister’s murderer - the dreaded Alpha - with a narrow minded focus and determination. He would’ve been there to save the Alpha’s next victim from torment, but things have changed, and the course of fate has been changed.

Derek’s goal has shifted tracks, and his need for self-obtained revenge has slowed. Stiles’ promise of legal retribution with the federal agents has calmed much in his mind. His main focus is centered around planning for the negotiations that are about to be had, trying to figure out how to remain a partner in the pack while only having a handful of members. Any other pack would laugh the offer off the table and take him for everything he had, but Stiles trusted these people. He would try to trust them too.

This, however, meant there was no one to interrupt a predawn meeting in the Chemistry lab. There was no one to track the Alpha and sneak in behind him. There was no one to grab the shrewd teacher and pull him out of the way of thrown chairs. There was no one to stop the Alpha from dragging the man from the room, head bleeding and form crumpled in unconsciousness.

Thirty minutes later the other teachers began to arrive at the school, each and every one ignorant of the Chemistry teacher’s fate. The substitute teacher arranged for Mr. Harris’ suspension is bewildered at the lab’s scene, but takes no further action than clearing the broken chairs and informing the principal. With the evidence of Mr. Harris’ notes on the desk, it is easy to believe the man had returned to the school and flew into a rage, and the incident is quickly added to the slowly-growing file against him.

It is only later in the day that a body is found along Skip Creek, a backroad three miles from the school. The body is impaled along one of the fence posts that border McGregor’s property, and its limbs have tangled in the wire to either side. The struggle is obvious in the tearing of the clothing and the widening of the wound, the victim having thrashed after its shoulder had been pierced through.

The identification came quickly via the wallet in a back pocket, its face torn bloody and lower jaw ripped from the corpse. The belly had also been cut and left to spill along the grass below, dead long enough to not steam in the morning cold, yet not dead long enough to foul the air with its decay.

Officer Johnson had the vague thought that it smelled like a fresh deer after it had been gutted and bled, and knew his last hunting scene would truly be his last.

Officer Cross stared at the scene with the realization that this would be the first of his reports to use the word ‘evisceration’, and he silently begged for it to be his only one with such vocabulary.

Officers Kemp and Lesley were too busy trying to keep their lunches down as they cordoned the scene and began to search for the missing mandible and tongue.

In one way or another, the people on the scene were distracted and focused in equal measure, allowing two deputies to quietly converse without fear of being overheard.

“I don’t think we can blame this one on a mountain lion. It’s too deliberate.”

“Yes we can.”

“How in the world-”

“He was chased and stumbled - leaned against the fence. The mountain lion pounced and shoved him onto the post. With him pinned, it attacked.”

“You think they’ll actually believe that?”

“They will. They’ll want to believe it.”

The two deputies paused, relishing a moment of silence as they observed the scene and allowed the information to sink into their bones. They watched as Deputy Johnson moved to begin untangling the corpse from the wire, teeth clenched and hands holding a slight tremble. Deputy Kemp finally lost his battle as he stumbled away from the scene and retched into a bush.

“It might be time for us to call Alpha Ito.”

“Absolutely not. We can’t risk them with the hunters closing in. Best to warn the others and let the hunters deal with the rogue.”

“It’s not just hunters, though. It’s Kate Argent.”

“Shit!”

Deputy Cross glanced back at the exclamation, jumping at the chance to look away from the gruesome scene as he quickly asked, “Tara? What is it?”

“Nothing Dan,” Deputy Graeme quickly waved the man away as she smoothly lied, “I just realized how much of a headache the paperwork is gonna be. Stilinski was in charge of the mountain lion case.”

Tara waited and watched as Deputy Cross cringed and turned back towards the scene, shutting down the line of conversation before it even began. It seemed that dropping the soon-to-be-former Sheriff’s name was an easy way to get people to shut up and go away. Once it was clear they were being ignored once more, she turned back to the man at her side.

“If that bitch is back in town, we need to be careful,” Tara said. “Post someone at the school and at Beacon Memorial’s Long-term Ward. We need to guard the wolves we still have left.”

“What about the new guy in town, Agent Hotchner?”

“What about him?”

“Should we warn him? Ask for his help?”

Tara stared at the man with a narrowed gaze as she asked, “Why would we warn the Fed?”

“Because he’s some kind of shifter?”

“Damit Joey!” Tara was able to keep her voice down this time, but made sure it held no less heat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I honestly forgot.” Deputy Richter gently shrugged his shoulder as he furthered, “A lot’s happened lately. I mean, the first time I actually saw him was when he was cuffing Noah. Forgive me for not telling you how colorful his aura was.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Tara frowned to herself before she glanced back to continue watching the other deputies. Johnson had completed his goal of untangling Harris’ arms and was now working with Cross to lift the corpse off the splintered wood. “Did you know? About Noah and Stiles?”

“I’m not psychic, Tara.”

“You literally are.”

“Not that kind of psychic.” He crossed his arms over his chest, irritation flickering to life and dying just as quickly. “I didn’t know. Noah’s aura seemed lighter, less dense. I actually thought he had been doing better, doing something to relieve the stress. Stiles - well, you know I could never get a read on him. It’s like trying to see a prism behind a spotlight.”

“I knew,” Tara confessed. She saw Richter flinch at her quiet words, but they both kept their gazes firmly on the scene in front of them. “It’s not the first time Noah’s been accused of abuse - not even the first time the FBI got involved - but the charges never stuck.”

“How-?” Richter broke off his question and waved it away with a dismissive flick of his head. “Nevermind. I know how he got away with it. Hell, I’ve seen it happen. Lack of evidence.”

“And friends in high places. Judge Connor was eager to dismiss the case, and half the force willfully perjured themselves and destroyed what evidence there actually was. The FBI agent they sent for the second accusation was an old drinking buddy of Noah’s, and I don’t think he even opened an official investigation. Either way, Stiles denied every claim.”

“But not this time?”

“Not this time,” Tara agreed. “I plan to run for the Sheriff’s position once the charges have been officially filed. Should I be elected, and after the rogue has been dealt with, I plan to purge the station.”

“Easier said than done,” he muttered. “What’ll you do if the charges are dropped again?”

“I’ll take the issue to the Agora.”

Richter gave a sceptical hum as he asked, “Would they even do anything about it?”

“Noah is human, but Claudia was one of ours.” Tara felt her head tilt slightly as she paused in thought, quietly admitting, “We may not have to officially claim it either. If Noah’s released, I know a handful of people who might take matters into their own hands. Some of them could even claim blood tithe for what he’s done.”

“Speaking of revenge,” Richter made it no further in the sentence, simply waving a hand at the gruesome display in front of them.

Johnson and Cross had finally had some success as they leveraged the corpse off the spike, laying the body on a tarp that had been previously spread along the ground. Deputy Kemp, having regained some of his composure, was digging one of the cameras back out to document the scene post-removal.

“I’ll call the Fed,” Tara offered. “See if he can come take a look while he’s in town. We don’t have a shifter on payroll, and he may be able to pick up a scent. Can you head over to the school and inform them of our latest victim? See if anyone saw anything last night?”

“I’ll take teenagers over wolves any day.”

“Keep talking like that and you’ll jinx us with teen-wolves.”

With a mutual nod in agreement, the two deputies broke rank. One headed in the direction of the school, worryingly close to the murder site, while the other pulled out a cellphone and a business card. Within moments the phone was ringing and connecting with the soft click of a receiver.

“Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.”

“Yes, Agent Hotchner. This is Tara Graeme, from the Sheriff’s department.”

“What can I do for you, Ms Graeme?”

“I’ve just been informed of your preternatural status. We need to talk,” Tara winced, but didn’t hesitate to continue, “and I think we may need your help.”

“Indeed.” His voice was full of intrigue, obviously not having expected the development or request. “Shall I meet you at the station?”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d be willing to meet me at the scene of our latest ‘mountain lion’ attack.”

There was a small sound of understanding over the phone before Agent Hotchner ordered, “Send me the address.”

“Thanks. See you soon.”

Tara snapped the phone closed, cutting off the call as she turned back to watch the collection of the body. She felt a strange mix of pity and satisfaction as she watched the ruin. She wouldn't mourn the loss of the man, but not even her worst enemy deserved to be killed - tortured - in such a way.

With the FBI's help, maybe no one else would end up like the late Adrian Harris.

Chapter Text

Stiles nervously fidgeted with his new thumb drive, feet tucked under him as he perched on the corner of the long couch. Waine had refused to leave his side, stretching himself over the back of the couch and curling his tail around Stiles’ neck. Coach sat at the other end of the couch with Penny perched on the armrest, head held high and eyes narrowed in a perfect regal form. Coach’s lap was taken up by the cookie jar he had propped between his arms and curled legs.

Well, Coach called it a cookie jar, but there was no mistaking the fragile state of the thin porcelain, nor the detailed blue painting on the surface. The item was old and probably cost a fortune, and it was not meant to hold Oreos!

The PowerPoint From Hell had stopped being informative around slide fourty, and had quickly devolved into a nonsensical advice column. Stiles had only made it to slide eighty-three - a man in a business suit with sunglasses and a walking stick, red lines scribbled on the picture to act as horns and a goatee - before he stood and walked out of the theater room. Coach whined about his abrupt exit, but eventually turned the projector off and followed after securing the PowerPoint on a flashdrive.

Which was then pitched at Stiles’ head.

They had ended up sitting in the living room in awkward silence, the - much smaller - television playing some kind of appraiser show. Coach’s comments had filled the silence between them with his thoughts on each item’s worth, and obviously showed he had no aptitude for monetary value. Evidence of this fact was also riddled throughout the house, apparent by the objects on display.

A first edition of Sherlock Holmes was shoved onto a cluttered bookshelf, while a common cookbook was locked in a glass case.

A wooden pirate sword - cracked down the middle and held together with duct tape - was displayed on the wall, leaving a metal sword with a jewel-encrusted handle to tarnish in an umbrella pot by the door.

An umbrella pot which seemed to be an equally old glazed urn, probably worth a fortune. It paired well with the common milk jug that seemed to have been polished and placed on one of the display shelves in the hallway.

This all lead to one conclusion - Coach was insane.

“I’m not gonna tell you what I am,” Coach said, eyes pointedly fixed on the program as he ignored Stiles’ gaze, “no matter how long you stare at me.”

“I’m not staring.”

“Brooding then,” he acquiesced. “I’d recommend the spire. You can look down on everyone while cast in dim lighting.”

“I’m not brooding, I’m just-” Stiles cut off. He wasn’t quite sure how to end the sentence, and found himself reluctant to actually acknowledge any emotion resembling the truth. When the silence continued, he decided to change the subject. “Can I leave? Go out?”

“Why you asking me?”

“Because for now you’re technically my guardian?”

“For now?” Coach’s gaze finally turned from the show as he spat the question, voice gravelled with irritation and something otherworldly. For a moment, Stiles could’ve sworn his very core shivered from the sound, but he couldn’t bring himself to be afraid. Coach’s face showed no hint of anger, only a strange shadow of…hurt.

“Sorry?” Stiles felt chastised as Coach roughly set the oreos aside, priceless porcelain clacking heavily on the engraved coffee table. “I just assumed you wouldn’t want-”

“Well, I do,” Coach cut him off quickly, the bite fading from his voice at the apology. His frown didn’t disappear, but his irritation seemed to fade as the awkwardness pervaded once more. “I had to cash in three separate favors and beg my least favorite librarian to let me take you in.”

Stiles felt the numbness roll back over him, quietly tucking his panic back into a box for a later time. He knew Coach had wanted to be in his life, but he didn’t think he’d actually want to raise him. His voice felt somewhat faint as he murmured, “That wasn’t in the PowerPoint.”

Coach ignored his interjection and continued, voice fierce and focus locked to the teenager as he firmly stated, “Finstocks stand together. You aren’t blood, but you’re still mine, and I’ll tear the realms from their branches before I ever let someone take you from me. Not again.”

“Cool,” Stiles absently replied. “Cool, cool, cool.”

“Cool?”

“Like ice.” Stiles felt the panic trying to creep from its box as Coach’s expression seemed to close off, and he found himself backpedalling in haste. “Sorry. I really appreciate the sentiment, but I’ve been on the verge of a panic attack for, like, the past week, and I just can’t register much at the moment? I mean, I totally hear you, and I’m not gonna forget what you said - totally gonna think about it, all serious like - but I need time to think about it. I’ve got a lot going on, and I’m just-”

“Reacting,” Coach cut in, stopping the seemingly endless babble the teen had fallen into. “I get it. It’s fine. A lot’s been going on recently, and I don’t mean to pressure you. You have time to decide. If you don’t want to stay here-”

“No!” Stiles denied. “I want to. Stay, that is.”

“Oh,” Coach responded, slowly relaxing back into his corner of the couch. The fierceness seemed to fade in an instant and left behind the awkward shell of a man, hands fidgeting together before reaching back for the abandoned oreos. “Cool.”

“Cool.” They sat there for another moment of silence before Stiles once again asked, “Can I go out tonight?”

The man noisely munched a cookie before he acknowledged the question with his own. “Where?”

“The Library,” Stiles explained. “I was gonna meet a friend to work on a project, and then we were gonna go to Violetta’s for dinner.”

“Vague,” Coach chided. “What project?”

“A personal one.”

“Does it have anything to do with the new hybrid’s pet mage rolling into town this morning?”

“...Maybe.”

Stiles felt the Coach’s gaze burn a hole into the side of his head, prolonged silence heavy with judgement. He didn’t think Coach would ever hurt him, but he had learned in the past few years that silence became more dangerous the larger it grew. He could only stand so much before caving to the pit growing in his stomach.

“We’re negotiating territory and assets to merge the packs into one,” Stiles mumbled.

The crunching abruptly stopped as Coach froze. When he resumed chewing, it was a hurried action of necessity to clear his mouth enough to declare, “Rule Fourteen!”

Stiles narrowed his eyes as he tried to recall the crazy booklet he had been given the night before - which was still lying somewhere under the canopy of the bed. The rules made a touch more sense after the PowerPoint’s own revelations, but they still felt more joke than truth.

When Stiles said nothing in return, Coach rolled his eyes and recited from memory, “No binding contracts without adult supervision!”

“There’ll be adults there,” Stiles refuted.

“And none of them will be your guardian.” Coach grumbled and shoved another oreo in his mouth before he abandoned the urn once more and stood, walking over to a tall segmented sideboard. He quickly dug through the sections of clutter, objects rattling out of view, before he made a small sound of victory. There was barely a moment’s pause before the man tossed the object through the air towards Stiles with a hurried, “Here!”

Stiles flailed for the thing and breathed a sigh of relief as luck favored him, fumbling twice before he recovered the catch and found himself holding an ostentatious stamp. It had a semi clear handle with an orange gradient and seemed to be made of some kind of rock, feeling cooler than he thought glass ever could. The molded end seemed to be made of gold, and the reverse image reminded him a celtic knot - if the knot had been slashed and mutilated by a gnawing mouse. He would’ve thought them to be mistakes if not for the inverted design, lines raised purposefully.

“What’s this?” Stiles asked.

“Adult supervision.” Coach’s mouth tilted sharply into his normal grin, wild with the humor of an unknown joke. When Stiles only raised an eyebrow, the man explained, “Press the seal into the bottom of the contract before anyone signs it. Give it a minute, and if it glows, you’re golden.”

Stiles stared at the heavy seal for a moment before he slowly nodded, tucking the stamp into his jacket pocket. Well, Danny’s jacket pocket. Though it may as well be his because his boyfriend was never getting it back. Maybe. It would eventually air out and no longer smell like him, so it’d need replacing. Exchanging? He wasn’t very sure of what relationship etiquette to follow for those types of things.

“So,” Stiles sat forward with anticipation, Waine’s tail sliding off his neck and shoulder with the movement, “I can go out?”

“Are you forgetting you don't have the jeep?”

Stiles frowned and felt his shoulders draw together. He hadn't had it for long, but he was so used to having the jeep that it hadn't even occurred to him that it was still in the shop. He would need to pick up the jeep from Danny's mom's shop before he had free reign once more.

“No,” Stiles refuted, lying through his teeth. “A friend's picking me up.”

“Uh-huh.” Coach sounded utterly unbelieving, but he didn't press the issue as he conceded, “Keep your phone and location on. Be back by ten.”

Barely a second passed before the teenager was off the couch and racing towards his room, rushing to pack a bag and escape the house. His new guardian didn’t take the enthusiasm personally, simply settling back into the couch and watching as Waine began to pout. The large cat dramatically tossed its head back before it released a warbling wail of discontent, but slowly trailed off and muttered to itself when the teen flitted back through the living room without stopping.

“Oi! Brat!” Coach called out quickly and nearly snorted in laughter as the boy fumbled and almost fell, using the doorjamb to stop his momentum and pivot back towards the living room. When he was sure he had the boy's attention, he continued, “Grab the wallet by the front door - the pink one in the dinky bowl. I wasn't sure if the bank was gonna freeze stuff, so I got you some new cards, and I also put my contact info in there as well.”

Stiles felt suddenly out of joint at the thought of taking the Coach's money, but at the same time he was a teenager; he knew better than to turn down a free meal.

“Thanks,” the teen settled on, hiking his bag higher on his shoulder. He then continued his retreat towards the front door. He found the wallet in question, bemusement growing at the flying rainbow unicorn stitched on the front. He cringed at the sight of glitter and shoved it into a pocket as he yelled, “I'll be back later!”

“Keep it under five hundred!”

The second his foot hit the last step of the porch, Stiles had his phone out and was scrolling through his contacts. Scott and Danny were at school, and Mama McCall was at work. Agent Hotchner was supposed to pick up the mystery team member from the airport just out of town, and he probably wasn’t supposed to be in much contact with the man until after the merger. Which really left only one person to play chauffeur.

Dialing Big Bad…

“What?”

“Hey Derek,” Stiles let the name linger across the silence as he stepped off the porch and away from the house. “Can you pick me up?”

“Where?”

- - - - - -

Danny couldn’t help but fiddle with his phone as he sat in the bleachers, acting as a buffer between Scott and Jackson. The students had been called to a last minute assembly in the gym, and the noise was well above the low rumble it should’ve been. The gossip that murmured through the various groups turned to full-blown arguments as the students were faced with a group of deputies and mysterious men in suits.

Well, he labeled the men as mysterious, but he knew exactly who they were. He had been regularly messaging one of them, and following the other’s news appearances for the past month. The only mystery was why they were currently standing in front of the slowly gathering students.

Scott had found Danny shortly after his class had been shuffled to the retractable bleachers, sitting beside him with a murmured greeting. Allison was quick to follow as she seemed to materialize from a nearby shadow to wedge herself between them, plastering herself to both Danny and Scott’s sides. Jackson and Lydia were the last to arrive and seat themselves, with Jackson having a similar mindset to pin the redhead between the goalie and himself.

Danny felt like he was being used as a human shield - both between Scott and Jackson, and between the girls and any threat that may wander by. He didn’t really mind, sitting just a touch straighter as he scanned the area around them. He could practically see some of the tension leech from Jackson’s posture as he tossed an arm over Lydia’s shoulders, his fingertips absently gripping the seam of Danny’s sleeve. He felt himself jolt softly when Scott seemed to copy the motion, looping his arm around Allison’s lower back and hooking a finger into the loop of Danny’s pants.

There were moments when he swore he gained three boyfriends instead of one, but he didn’t have the heart to rebuff the prodding. Though their group had remained giggly and smiling since coming back to the school, he could still see the impact last week had on them. It seemed to crawl under their skin, making their laughter just a hair shy of hysterical; made them twitch with each unexpected sound.

Which was honestly made even worse since Danny now knew their persuer had been a fucking Alpha Werewolf, and not just your average psychopath.

“Settle!”

The gathered students as a whole seemed to jolt, slowly turning their focus to the open gymnasium floor. Principal Thomas was standing to the front of the group of adults, hands stretched over his head as he called for attention and quiet, which seemed to work as the murmurs of the students dimmed.

“Settle, students!” Principal Thomas took another moment to let the conversations recede, but seemed to grow frustrated when some of the students continued to ignore him. The man frowned and let out a large sigh before he brought his hands together in a loud clapping pattern.

Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!

CLAP, CLAP, CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!

Danny watched as silence descended quickly over the large collection of students, some of them sporting confused faces as they stared at their hands with horror. Even their own little group was not immune, save for Lydia - who twitched, but kept her hands planted firmly in her lap. Danny, himself, was having flashbacks to his elementary days of juice boxes and thin foam mats for napping.

“Thank you,” Principal Thomas smugly said. “You’ve all been gathered here today for an announcement, from both myself and the police. After the assembly is over you will all be able to go back to eighth hour; the school will not be releasing early, and you are required to return to class when dismissed - save for those select seniors who have a free period, or a work study.

“Now, please give your full attention to Tara Graeme, the Interim Sheriff of Beacon Hills.” Principal Thomas gestured towards one of the tan suited deputies behind him, stepping back and allowing the dark-skinned woman to step forward. She gave Mister Thomas a quiet word of gratitude before turning to the bleachers.

“Today, shortly before noon, the police found and identified the body of Adrian Harris, your science and chemistry teacher.”

“What?”

“Oh my God!”

“Good riddance…”

“This death,” Tara continued, raising a hand in a request for silence, “is one of many that have happened in the past few weeks. The Sheriff’s station had been investigating them and had believed these attacks to be the work of a feral animal, possibly a mountain lion. This is the reason we had implemented the curfew, knowing that these animals were partially nocturnal and attempting to keep potential victims indoors during their natural hunting hours. However, new evidence has come to light.

“We will not be sharing all the details, since it is still an open investigation, but we want the public to be informed to decrease the chance of another attack.” Tara took a slow deep breath before she began again, “Animal hair found at three of the scenes was identified, not as that of a mountain lion, but that of a wolf.”

“No way!”

“Talk about Little Red Riding Hood.”

“I thought there weren’t wolves in California?”

“As some of you are aware, there have been no wolves in California for many years, but we have tested multiple samples multiple times. We have also found a pattern to the attacks that suggest something beyond random mauling. Which is why the Sheriff’s station has decided to declare these deaths the act of a serial murderer.”

The students around the gym exploded with sound, murmurs growing to shouts of surprise. Questions were thrown every which way, and it all overlapped to create an unintelligible wave of noise. Danny felt Allison tense sharply against his side and quickly wrapped his own arm around her shoulders.

“That thing that chased us,” Allison murmured, “was a wolf?”

“We don’t know that it was the same killer,” Jackson refuted.

“Oh yeah,” Lydia scoffed, “it must have been some other sadistic man with a rabid, fanged beast.”

“Now, I don’t mean to alarm you,” Tara continued over the noise, encouraging the silence to prevail as each student hung on her every word, “but we felt that it was better for you students to be informed of the danger. Specifically because we have had four attacks pertaining to, or located on, school grounds. For the safety of the faculty and students, there will be some minor changes.

“First is the limitation of after-school activities; nothing will be cancelled as of yet, but we would like to limit gatherings to no later than eight. Second is that gatherings on school grounds - such as track and lacrosse practice, or theater - will be supervised by one additional teacher and at least two law enforcement officers, who will also be patrolling the grounds during classes.

“Among these officers will be members of a unit from the FBI, who have offered to assist us in the investigation. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Agent Hotch.”

Tara stepped to the side as the two agents stepped forward, both in stark contrast to the other. Agent Hotchner’s suit was pressed and polished and dark against his skin, jacket buttoned and tie perfectly straight to cover the buttons of his blue shirt. Agent Reid by comparison was the definition of unkept, with wild hair and a rumpled knitted vest over his purple shirt. The man wore a tie, but it hung crooked and loose and probably shouldn’t have even counted as having a tie at all. He could instantly see why Stiles was dubbed a Mini-Reid and found himself doing the math in his head, since Stiles seemed to be the spitting image of the man - minus a decade, a growth spurt, and a level of confidence that only came with experience.

And he looked good…

“Wow,” Scott muttered, leaning over Allison’s head to ask Danny, “is that Agent Reid?”

“Yeah,” Danny answered back with a chuckle, “I’d put money on it.”

“Lucky Danny; Adult-Stiles’ got game.”

Both Danny and Scott whipped their heads to stare at Allison as she made the comment with much too enthusiasm. Danny’s chuckle was just barely bitten back, but Scott’s willpower must have been weaker than his own, a small confused whine leaping from the boy’s throat. How the boy was able to keep the Lunar Secret was anyone’s guess.

“Hush,” Allison chided with a sort of fragile humor. “You’re pretty too.”

“Good evening everyone,” Agent Hotch made no move to wave during the greeting, simply standing taller and raking his gaze over the assembled students. “I am Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, though most call me Hotch,”

Danny ducked his head to mutter to Allison, “They claim Scott is a Mini-Hotch.”

She made a small hum of interest before she impishly added, “Lucky me.”

“This is Doctor Spencer Reid, another Supervisory Special Agent with my team,” Hotch continued after a breath, a small smug smile gracing his face. Danny felt only a moment of confusion before he had the startling realization that the older agent had heard the exchange. “We run the Behavioral Analysis Unit for the FBI, and have been invited to consult the local police. My team will be working to track down the Unknown Suspect in question, and to ensure the safety of the public.

“While we will be giving updates and statements to the local news stations, we thought it best to address you all specifically. Contrary to popular opinion, I was not born with a badge, and I do remember what it was like to be a teenager.” Hotch paused to allow for a small round of cuckles to sweep through the students before he continued, “It may seem unfair, or boring, but one of the best ways for you all to remain safe is to follow the parameters of the curfew.”

“And it is my job,” Dr Reid cut in quickly, pointedly looking at his watch, “to convince you of this in under thirty-six minutes, so let’s get started! We’ll begin by talking about how a wolf attacks its prey, and some of the ways you can help to defend yourself or prolong the attack - which would increase the chance of rescue.

“When attacking medium sized prey, the wolf - like many other large predator species - will attempt to render the prey crippled or fatally wounded by lunging for the throat.” Dr Reid made a clawed hand and stabbed it towards his throat with a gruesome smile. “This bite is meant to incapacitate the prey to stop it from running away, allowing the wolf to feast-”

“Holy shit.”

“Feast? What the Hell!”

“I’m glad I’m a cat person.”

“Unfortunately, wolves and other predators don’t wait for their prey to die before they begin eating. They often start with tearing off the legs to further prohibit escape, or eviserating the stomach to reach the soft nutrient-rich organs. Luckily, the instinct of protecting one’s neck is often automatic, and many find themselves raising their arms to shield themselves from a lunging animal. With the average bite force of a wolf being around fifteen hundred pounds per square inch, it is a guarantee that the injury will be significant - especially considering that a canine is known to latch on and rip the flesh in a side-ways shaking motion-”

“Damn.”

“Good thing we already had lunch.”

“Is he serious?!”

“The bite is likely to crush the bone, but is unlikely to severe the limb entirely. It is also likely that the wolf will attempt to pull you to the ground after the initial attack, which is where the famous fetal position comes into place. If you must resort to this defense, be sure to cover the back of your neck with your hands to prevent a secondary attempt for the Death Bite. Better to lose a finger than to die from choking on your own blood!”

“Oh God.”

“He’s joking. Tell me he’s joking!”

“Beth, I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the game tomorrow.”

“Adult-Stiles is more morbid than his Mini-Me,” Allison commented.

Scott snorted through his nose before he grinned, seemingly unaffected by the gruesome lecture, “You obviously haven’t heard him talk about the Minotaur.”

Danny found his attention flagging as he tuned out the bloody factoids from Dr Reid, turning his attention to Scott. He found himself too curious to let it go, and quickly asked, “What about the Minotaur?”

“Asterion,” Lydia softly chimed in, eyes still fixed on the agents at ground level. “He had a human mother.”

“And a bull father,” Scott added with a somewhat strained leer.

“Minotaur,” Jackson chimed in, thankful for the excuse to ignore Dr Reid. “That’s the one with the giant maze and the sacrifices?”

“Yeah,” Scott confirmed before he sat straighter in his seat, excitement bleeding through his shoulders as he addressed their small huddle. “Hey, what do you guys think about the implications that he ate the sacrifices, specifically if that fact makes him a cannibal? Half-cannibal? You see, ‘cause Stiles thinks it should count, but most success hybrids are considered a new species, and separate from their parents. I don’t think it’d technically be cannibalism since he was a new species-”

“Fuck,” Jaskson cut in, quietly but harshly. “Danny, are you sure about this? This is the kind of shit you want to tie yourself to?”

Danny felt himself smile at his friend’s incredulous tone, imagining the argument that Scott was painting between the two. It was fascinating to hear Stiles’ thought process, spiralling and examining subjects from every possible angle, no matter how strange or impossible. Every thought, every factoid, every outlandish theory made him edge closer and closer to something stronger than ‘fond’. He wasn’t quite ready to picture the ring and picket fence, but swapping lacrosse jerseys? Facebook status updates? Prom? That he could see with crystal clarity.

“Yeah, man.” Danny quietly admitted, ignoring the fact that the werewolves in attendance could probably hear him plain as day. “I’m not gonna be cliche and say he’s The One, but for now? He’s mine.”

There was a strained moment of silence as Jackson met his gaze, irritation and judgement clear in his narrowed eyes before the [co]captain sucked his teeth and sharply turned back towards the front.

“Whatever,” Jackson scoffed. “Maybe you can train the weird out of him.”

Danny felt Scott tense under his hand and quickly gripped his shoulder tight, cutting off whatever protest the boy was about to make. After another second he relaxed and let the jab go, probably coming to the same realization that Danny had. There was no heat behind the words - only begrudging acceptance.

“Thanks, Jax,” Danny murmured, smiling as his friend gave a minute nod before turning back to the assembly.

“However,” Dr Reid said as the group tuned back in, “the victims that were left behind were largely intact - Well, not exactly intact, but most of the bodies were accounted for with very little missing. We’re unsure if this lack of feasting calls to the preference of the owner or the wolf, and may indicate rabies. Should you survive the attack, there are vaccines available to help protect you from the virus. The rabies vaccine was actually one of the first vaccines to be successfully created and used, second to smallpox in the late eighteen hundreds. It was used on a nine year-old boy after he was attacked by a rabid dog, but it was never confirmed if he was the Boy Who Cried Wolf-”

Danny released a small chuckle at the dorky joke from the younger agent, watching the large hand gestures that accompanied the stream of consciousness. They were just so similar in looks, knowledge, humor-

You messaged the group chat: BA[Fuck]U.

>What are Reid’s thoughts on plaid?

Dark King: Favorable.

Alpha Female: He’s got at least 5 shirts and 2 bowties, so I’d say he likes it.

Black Queen: Oh he loves it! Makes him look good too!
Black Queen: Why!

Mini-Reid: He’s got good taste.

>And how old is Reid?
>He ever date someone named Claudia?

Dr Chi: No.

>You sure? 100%???

Mini-Reid: Babe. No.

Mini-Beta: I can totally see it.

Mini-Reid: NO!

Chapter Text

Spencer couldn't stop himself from frowning as Aaron rearranged his place setting for the fourth time, gently switching the mass produced fork to the outside edge of his napkin. He treated the dime store utensil like it was crafted from the most delicate of porcelain, moving it so softly and gently so as not to make a sound in the quiet of the private room.

Upon arrival, both men had been ambushed by one of the managers and shuttled into a small back room. It was private and somewhat cramped with four round tables, each set up to seat six. The room almost had an ominous feel to it, but the dramatics of it all were ruined by the colorful banners and flags lining the walls; they advertised various social groups - presumably those that used the room for meetings - such as Red Hat, EHC and Lion's Club. More Home Economics than Mob Chic.

He and Aaron hadn't put much thought into the meeting place they had chosen. At least, nothing beyond resigning themselves to whispering and alluding the Dungeons and Dragons with every other sentence. It was a rather pleasant surprise to find that Violetta's had a private room, and that Stiles had called ahead to book it for the night.

Though the silence may be more detrimental to their nerves than necessary.

“Touch the fork one more time,” Spencer soft hissed, “and it's going in your eye.”

Aaron made a soft chiding huff of noise, obviously not believing a single word of the threat no matter how valid it may have been. However, it did have the intended result as the older man's hand slid off the table and into his lap, where he then began fiddling with the edge of the cloth napkin draped across his legs. Small victories.

“They aren't late and they aren't backing out of the merger,” Spencer continued, still not glancing away from his phone's screen. “We're just early.”

“I know that,” Aaron huffed.

“Then perhaps you should use that napkin to wipe the glare from your face before they arrive.”

“I'm not glaring,” Aaron said as he glared harder. “This is just my face.”

It was Spencer's turn to give a disbelieving hum as he dropped the subject, letting the silence settle once more. Though, now that it had been broken once before, it was much harder for the stoic man to justify its presence. It was only a minute more before his boss caved.

“Maybe it was too soon to suggest a merger,” Aaron said, voice soft and filled with a muted sense of apprehension. “We could have just recommended an alliance-”

“We outnumber them.” Spencer refuted. “Any alliance we could've proposed would've been too managerial; too much of an imbalance of power.”

“We wouldn’t take advantage-”

“But the Hale name would’ve lost respect with the community. A merger ensures that it’s an even divide of power.”

“Just,” Aaron seemed to fight with himself as he frowned once more, mulling his words over before he sighed, “don’t push too hard. Stiles is still new to this, and he may not know what he’s agreeing to. We want the negotiation to be fair and equal, and they don’t truly have anything that we want - besides, perhaps, a location to build upon.”

“I think you don’t give him enough credit.”

“He’s a child.”

“And there’s a reason everyone agreed he was my pocket-sized doppelganger.” Spencer checked his phone once more before he set it aside, turning a carefully cocked eyebrow to his Alpha and boss. “At his age, I was scamming casinos and running numbers for the local bookies.”

“I doubt the boy is an oddsmaker,” Aaron chuckled, the small joke seemed to loosen something as his shoulders drooped infantismally, “but I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Good. ‘Cause they’re here.”

Spencer didn’t try to hold back the smirk as Aaron’s face smoothed over in panicked blankness, an expression usually reserved for courtrooms and interrogations. There were only the faintest traces of nerves in their pack bond, a forced calmness that seemed to ripple at the edges with unease.

Aaron’s voice was just as emotionless as the rest of him as he said, “They weren’t supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes.”

“I assume they wanted to be on time too.”

Aaron had no time to make another comeback or ask anymore questions, turning sharply towards the room’s entrance as the door was flung open. The older man rose on instinct to stand tall in greeting, watching as the others were led into the room by the server. They all positioned themselves around the table and awkwardly shuffled into the chairs at their own will.

Stiles had taken his place on the other side of Spencer with the enthusiasm of a teenager screaming “Shotgun!”, while Melissa slid into the other seat beside Aaron. She would be remaining neutral for the negotiation today, but her decision to sit to his right still made the Alpha’s instincts curl with pleasure.

Perhaps, once she knew the significance, she would choose to sit there in the future as well.

Scott entered the room with a skip in his step, bouncing over to sit beside Stiles. However, he was quickly grabbed by the scruff of his shirt collar and forcibly dragged from the chair by the older beta - presumably the Hale he would be negotiating with - and flung into the free chair beside the boy’s mother. The man then claimed the chair between the teenagers, completing the circle of members.

“Now that everyone’s here,” the young server cut in with an overly chipper tone, high ponytail swaying with each movement, “what can I get y’all to drink? Were we thinking about getting separate drinks, or would you prefer some pitchers?”

“Pitchers of sweet tea and water, and a bowl of lemons,” Stiles cut in quickly as he began unloading colorful folders and a leather bound journal onto the table in front of him. “We’d prefer to keep our meeting private, with as few interruptions as possible. If we need anything, we’ll send someone out to ask for it. Same deal once we know what everyone wants to eat.”

The girl seemed to grimace for a moment as she refuted, “I’m not sure if that’s something I can agree to.”

Stiles slowly narrowed his eyes in thought before he reached over to harshly elbow the older beta’s side, making three brutal attempts and growing more frustrated when each one failed to shift the brickhouse of a man. The small tiff ended when Stiles attempted a fourth hit, his elbow being caught by the beta and shoved away with a harsh roll of his eyes. The man then pulled out a wallet and thumbed a handful of bills, not bothering to count them before he held it out to the server.

“On second thought,” the server smiled wider as she plucked the money from his fingertips, tucking it into a tight pocket of her half apron, “I think we can arrange something. Though, if my manager asks, I checked on y’all every ten minutes and gave you the best service you’ve ever had. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Stiles agreed as the woman turned away and sauntered towards the room’s exit. “Thanks Chloe!”

“Yeah, yeah, you little hellian. I’ll be right back with the drinks.”

Once the woman was gone and the door was closed once more, Aaron turned his gaze to Spencer with expectation. However, Spencer simply settled back into his chair with a smile and waited. As expected, it only took about fifteen seconds before his Mini-Me jumped into the negotiation with reckless abandon.

“We thank you for agreeing to meet with us, and we hope this is the first of many peaceful negotiations,” the teen formally stated. “I, Emissary Hale, greet you with an open hand and introduce my Alpha Regent, Derek Hale, of the Hale pack. We hold no known allegiance with the current Red-Eyed wolf of the area, and do not count him as any form of Alpha at this time.”

The older beta made a gruff noise of acknowledgement, eyes slipping closed as he bowed his head in greeting. Aaron seemed to freeze from the moment Stiles began talking, and only returned the silent greeting through muscle memory alone.

“I, Emissary Gwisin,” Spencer returned, “accept your hand with my own and introduce my Alpha, Aaron Hotchner, of the Gwisin pack. We accept your word and will not treat with the Rogue Alpha at this time.”

Stiles gave a brief nod of agreement before he turned towards the other two at the table. “I also introduce Scott McCall, an unclaimed beta, and Melissa McCall, his unturned mother; they will be acting as a neutral observer for these negotiations, and have both agreed to mediate if tension grows too high or if a disagreement lingers. We’ll have an allotment of ten minutes for each topic we wish to discuss. If we are unable to come to an agreement after ten minutes, we will table the subject and move to the next. After all subjects have been covered, we’ll circle back to the ones we’ve skipped.

“Now,” Stiles continued, “I’ve got a short list of topics to begin with, a notary who won’t ask any questions, a homemade Talking Stick - should it be needed - and a bedtime of eleven. Let’s decide what we want to eat, place our order when Chloe comes back with the drinks, and get started politely arguing.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the teenage boy, suspicion and dread creeping into every line of his posture. After a few moments of silence he turned sharply towards his own emissary and admitted, “I take back what I said. He probably does run numbers for the local bookies.”

“No he doesn’t!” Scott refuted, face pinching in a deep set of disgust at the accusation. “Stiles is too good for goon work.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles cut in. His smile pinched in on itself as he grew distant and thoughtful, gaze lowering to the table in contemplation. “Running something like that would be so exhausting, and you’d always have to be watching your back. I think I’d rather have a frontman, you know? Someone to control day to day stuff and actually be in charge, while I just give them advice and wheedle them into making the important decisions in my favor.”

Spencer felt a small huff of laughter leave him at the implication, glancing over to the older beta and finding an impressive scowl cut through his features. His own Alpha had a similar look of displeasure, but it leaned heavily towards resignation than any actual disapproval.

“Yep,” Stiles continued, “much easier.”

It was only a few seconds later that a large knock rang through the room and the door was nudged open, the young server backstepping into the room. She carefully balanced a large server tray in one hand, topped with six glasses of ice and a small bowl, and clutched two pitches in the other. She showed a great deal of coordination as she used one foot to keep the door from swinging closed, and pivoted to smoothly enter the room.

“Alright,” she said, placing the pitchers down on the table with a heavy thunk and slowly passing out the glasses, “Tea, water and lemon wedges.”

“Thanks, Chloe,” Stiles said.

“No problem, Hellian,” she said, tucking the server tray under her arm. “You want me to come back in a few minutes to take your food order?”

“I’ll bring out a list when we decide, along with my ID,” Melissa said, giving her a tight smile. “I’ve got a feeling that I’ll need my sweet tea to be a long island one.”

Chloe gave a snort of laughter and nodded in agreement, casting a narrowed gaze towards the two teenagers who suddenly looked oh so innocent. She muttered a quick, “Wise decision,” before she waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder and left once more.

“So,” Stiles grinned at the others as he grabbed the pitcher of tea, pouring his own drink before offering it to the stoic beta to his side, “how’s everyone feeling about beef? The special today is Steak Pappardell, and it comes with unlimited salad and breadsticks.”

“I don’t like bell pepper,” Derek cut in.

“Then pick them out,” Stiles shrugged.

“I’ll still taste them.”

“Then order something else!”

Spencer glanced at his own menu as the tension around the table eased and light conversation began. It was a gentle reprieve from the heavy topics they would soon be discussing, and he reveled in the moment of peace before the chaos that was to come. Aaron had thought they would be negotiating with a 'child', and conveniently ignored the probable -'genius' that was tucked onto the end of the word.

He was excited to see how much grief his Mini-Me would cause as the night dragged on.

- - - - - -

Dusk settled over the town in a blanket of quiet, street lights flickering to life as the shadows crawled over the ground. Each house lining the street seemed to shine ever more brightly in comparison, save one two story home that remained - predictably - unlit.

The darkness hugged each of the building’s edges, infecting the section of street and leaching the warmth from the area. Even the street light beside the cursed place seemed to have given up the ghost, and had been consumed by the dark. Though none rushed to replace the broken bulb, and most of the street’s occupants found their gaze firmly fixed away from the monstrosity. The house - though still technically there - seemed to vanish from existence the night the older Stilinski was arrested.

This willful nonobservance only made it easier for the three figures to remain unnoticed as they crouched on the house’s back porch. Well, one of the figures crouched while the other two stood impatiently at her back and watched her tinker with the lock.

“You need any help?”

“I need you to stop breathing down my neck.”

There was no reply as the standing figures shifted back a step in compliance. After another half minute, the lock clicked softly and slid free of the wall. The woman made a soft sound of smug satisfaction as she reached forward and opened the door. It swung free on the hinges without a sound and the figures quickly stepped inside, flashlights aimed to the floor and set low.

“Remember boys,” the blonde woman murmured as she stuck the hairpins back into her ponytail, “search doesn’t mean tear apart.”

“You don’t normally care,” the younger man returned, gait limping as he followed her progress through the kitchen. “Why be careful with this one?”

“Because we may be in the home of a monster, but the monster’s owner is a sheriff.”

“Former sheriff,” the older man corrected, closing the backdoor gently with his good hand and keeping the other close to his chest in a tight sling.

“Which only makes him more visible; we don’t need to draw attention to our search,” she admonished. “Paul, you check the sheriff’s room; second room up the stairs. Lucas, check around down here. I’ll take the kid’s room.”

The men gave no objection to the blonde’s orders, quickly moving to begin their search. The woman, herself, took her time, slowly observing the kitchen and living room before she began sauntering up the stairs. She couldn’t help but drag her hand along the wall as she walked, nor did she even try to hide her disgust at the striped wallpaper plastered up the hallway.

The bedroom door she stopped at was painted an ugly shade of blue-grey with a hanging placard of a darker shade. It read ‘STILES’ in a flowing script, but had been defaced with crudely painted ‘Z’ in bright red over the second ‘S’. It made her lips curl momentarily at the childishness of it before she shoved the door further open.

At first glance the room looked perfectly normal and just like any other teenage boy’s room would. The bed was messy and only partially made, and random pieces of clothes seemed to be scattered in piles around the room.

“Teenagers,” she scoffed to herself.

She started to the right of the door, examining the wall covered with bits of paper and chaos. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the photos, post-it notes and random scraps of paper pinned to a large corkboard taking up the space, circling a large tear-off calendar at its center. A marker hung beside the calendar on a string, ink the same deep blue as the written reminders on each day.

“Ah,” she dragged her finger along the days of each week, silently reading them to herself before she noticed the tiny stars drawn beside some of the dates. It was accompanied by a short note of ‘DOG SITTING’ on the day marked as the Full moon, and a shorter ‘*PROTEIN’ on the days before and after.

Her voice was filled with humor as she intoned, “Exhibit A.”

The blonde spent no time in the closet, finding only a handful of discarded clothes on the floor and a few ugly sweaters hanging in the corner. Most of the space was empty in an unnatural way and left her with the impression that the clothes had been taken to the new residence of the mut.

She momentarily skipped over the desk to grab the roller chair, throwing herself into the cushion and wheeling back to the desk. It had a similar amount of clutter with a gaping void in the middle, roughly in the shape of what she guessed was a laptop - which had most likely been taken with the missing clothes. The desk drawers held nothing of interest save for a few receipts and a half-full pack of gum, which she readily swiped a piece of.

With that section done she shoved off, lifting her legs in childish glee as she went careening across the room. The bed and nightstand held more promise, seeing as every teenage boy seemed to think it could act as a makeshift vault for secrets. The obvious places yielded some satisfying and humoring results. Humoring for the illicit Playboy magazines she found tucked under the mattress, and satisfying for the storage box she found under the bed near the wall. She had to kneel on the rug and contort herself under the bed, but she was still flexible enough to accomplish it. The box clanked as she shifted it into reach and opened easily to her prying, revealing a jumbled pile of metal chains and shackles.

“Exhibit B.”

The metal seemed to be fair quality and wouldn’t’ve been out of place in their own personal stash of equipment, though it made her undeniably curious how the kid had gotten ahold of the collection in the first place. She shoved the box back under the bed once she was done and leaned back on her heels, turning sharply towards the nightstand.

The drawer seemed to stick in place for a few moments before she wrenched it open, cursing to herself when she ended up smacking her funny bone and sending the chair toppling to the ground. After she shook the feeling back into her arm, she braced herself and dove into the drawer’s contents. There seemed to be all the odds and ends that she would expect from a pubescent boy - napkins, granola bars, small bottles of lotion - but there was an oddity when her fingers found a divot in the bottom panel.

With a bit of fanangaling she found herself staring at a bastardized false bottom of the drawer. She couldn’t hold back the soft laughter as she found another illicit magazine - this one sporting swimsuit-clad men instead of women. She spent a few absent moments flipping through the glossy pages before she shoved the magazine back into its narrow hiding space and replaced the DIY false bottom.

It was with even more dread that she turned to the medium sized trashcan at the foot of the bed. She refused to risk soiling her hands with whatever depraved thing could be in the basket, and instead grabbed one of the pens from the desk to use as a pokestick. Her nose scrunched in disgust at the amount of napkins, but quickly delved deeper, sorting through each item for anything of interest. The bag held no form of solid proof, but there were a few empty cans of soda that nagged at her mind. Something that reminded her-

“Ah, Root Beer!” She let loose a small chuckle as she turned the can to see the small wooden barrel on the front, remembering the second drink she had found at the Hale’s Firepit - which had obviously belonged to the beta’s playmate. It probably couldn’t be used as anything resembling evidence, but she still decided to count it as, “Exhibit C.”

“Kate.”

The blonde dropped the pen into the trash and turned towards the bedroom door, eyebrow lifted in silent question to the older hunter - Paul.

“The Sheriff’s room was clean, but I found traces of blood in his bathroom.” Paul shrugged as she made a questioning sound, and further explained, “It wasn’t much, but definitely more than you’d get from a shaving nick; there was some around the shower drain and a bit on the carpet. Someone tried to clean it up.”

“Question is, was it the kid, the sheriff, or someone else?” She huffed in frustration before she asked, “You got a sample?”

“Three,” he confirmed. “Enough to do a typing test with the aconite.”

“Good.”

Kate shifted back to the balls of her feet before she grabbed the chair and tugged it back upright. Though her wandering hands froze at the rough ridges she felt beneath her fingers, hastily tilting her flashlight up to view the back of the seat. There she found the most damning evidence of the night, and felt a smug satisfaction as she wheeled it around to reveal to Paul.

“Well,” she coyly murmured to the other hunter, “I believe the prosecution rests, your Honor.”

“Agreed.”

After all, there was no mistaking the deep, long slashes in the back of the faux leather. Kate could practically feel the trap spring closed as she raised her own hand to the marks and dragged her fingers along the jagged paths.

“It’s a perfect match.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Kate ordered as she gracefully stood, stretching her legs with the movement. “I think we have enough to-”

“Oi! Katie!”

“Don’t call me Katie!” Kate snapped at the younger hunter as he ducked into view, some kind of thin box clutched to his chest. When the man only flinched and cowered instead of continuing his interruption, she urged him to speak with a quick, “What is it?”

“I found an old photo,” Lucas’ smile returned sharp and cruel as he held out the wooden box - a picture frame. “Thought you might find it interesting.”

Kate didn’t let her confusion show, nor did she allow for hesitation as she stepped forward and took the photo in question. It only took her a few moments to realize Lucas’ purpose in showing her the figure smiling behind the glass; a young boy of around ten posed for a portrait, face cut through by a strained Pan Am smile.

“Familiar? Isn’t he?” Lucas asked.

“Oh, wow,” Kate leered down at the child in the photo, tilting the frame this way and that in contemplation. “He’s grown so much that I didn’t even recognize the brat.”

“Me neither.”

“Wait,” Paul quickly cut in, stepping closer to Kate’s side so he could examine the photo she held. “You guys know the kid?”

“Stiles,” Kate ignored his question while she slowly sounded out the name, eyes crinkling in humor as she carefully rolled each letter along her tongue. “I don’t think I care much for the name change.”

“Yeah,” Lucas agreed - though it was unsure with who. “It doesn’t quite fit.”

Kate turned towards Paul with a huff of amusement, putting the man out of his misery as she explained, “His mother was the Hale’s gardener.”

Paul frowned as he asked, “Was she a wolf?”

“Naw,” Lucas answered, “she was a druid.”

“She wasn’t a druid,” Kate refuted with an exaggerated eyeroll.

“Well, she sure acted like a druid.” Lucas seemed to shrink an inch or two as she glared at him, and he quickly amended, “At least, she did before she went all Psycho.”

“Druids,” Kate pointedly stated, “don’t corrupt nexus points.”

Paul held back his frown as he gently cut in with a curious, “Did she die in the fire?”

“No,” Kate said. “She went dark, and the Hales killed her before we could do it. We held the bonfire not too long after that.”

“But wait,” Paul frowned as he pointed out, “if she was some kind of druid, doesn’t that mean her kid would be too?”

“We never found out what she actually was, but she wasn’t a druid,” Kate repeated, lips turning down in frustration. “And either way, it doesn’t matter. Druids don’t have claws, and,” she made a grand gesture towards the ripped computer chair before she continued, “we don't need to know what he is to know he's dangerous.”

When the men slowly nodded in agreement, she shoved the chair back towards the desk and turned the frame over in her hand. She made quick work of the back clasps and easily slid the photo free. The frame was then tossed in the direction of the bed and the photo was folded twice before being tucked safely into the side of her bra.

“We done here?” Lucas asked.

“We got what we came for,” Paul agreed, turning towards Kate for confirmation.

“Yes, and a touch more.” She felt her grin grow even wider as she strode from the room and made her way towards the stairs. “It's time for us to set a trap.”

“And plan a reunion,” Lucas furthered, smile twisted just as cruelly.

Kate made an agreeing hum as they descended and stalked back towards the kitchen door, voice lilting and full of amusement as she asked, “With us, or with his bitch of a mother?”

“Why not both?”

The trio laughed quietly to themselves as they blended back into the night, using the shadows to hide themselves from the rest of the street. However, just as they used the darkness to hide, so did another.

None of them saw the furred monstrosity writhing in the void of night, nor did they hear the growl that echoed through the air - turning the shadows evermore darker for the pain it promised. The trio, for reasons they couldn’t understand, found themselves unsettled and quickened their pace. If they had taken a moment to glance back at the house, they may have noticed the glowing, beady blue eyes that watched their every movement -

Cautious and Hateful and Protective

- of the boy that was theirs.

- - - - - -

“Achoo!”

Stiles sniffled softly and rubbed his nose to remove the unpleasant tingle that had set in, ignoring the rounds of ‘Bless you'. Instead, he simply nodded in reply and picked up his argument right where he had left off.

“I'm not saying no to having a tree house or two, or even to those tree houses being connected, but a Tree Library is simply not feasible-”