AN I don't own TW, SPN, or any of the characters!

When Stiles got home from school, he was more than ready to just collapse into his bed and sleep for the next forty eight hours. His dad would wake him up at some point-probably-to do chores or homework or eat. But, still, the idea was more than appealing. As he unlocked the front door, however, he couldn't help noticing a single rose petal on the floor right where he normally put his shoes. Strange, but he shrugged it off.

He went to the kitchen, like usual, to grab his afterschool snack-which was more like him hoarding all the food he could reach into his mouth because he'd forgotten to pack a lunch again-but there was another rose petal on top of the peanut butter. Was this Scott's weird way of telling him to get a love life? Stiles honestly couldn't think of anyone else, besides his dad, who knew that he ate a spoonful of peanut butter after school almost religiously. It could have just been a joke, honestly, and it wasn't like an entire bouquet's worth had been spread around his house so he ignored his spidey senses and started for the stairs. There, he stopped.

Starting on the bottom stair, there was a thick, prominent trail of rose petals leading up to the second floor. Briefly, he thought of Lydia or, god forbid, Allison mistakenly doing this to his house instead of their intended victim's but this was Beacon Hills. Stiles retreated, checking to make sure his dad hadn't gotten home and somehow miraculously gotten a date. The driveway was empty aside from his jeep, though. With one hand, he reached out and grabbed his trusty bat while, with the other, he snapped a few pictures and got ready to call Scott if shit hit the fan.

Cautiously, Stiles started for the stairs. If this was some kind of prank he was going to kill Scott and Isaac for even daring to leave a mess like this, let alone break into his house. His dad would kill them too, assuming it wasn't a serial killer waiting for the Stilinskis specifically. There were candles on the upper stairs, alternating very carefully. They were all white, and they didn't look like they'd been burning for very long which only made Stiles grip his bat harder. He took another picture, and pocketed his phone.

His bedroom door was ajar. That sight set off so many alarms in Stiles' head that it was nearly impossible to keep track of what, exactly, the threat was. The candles didn't stop either, he could see them on his desk and his bookshelf. He was shaking, now, and his body was threatening to pee itself if someone jumped out or scared him right now-which, honestly, Stiles would not put past some of the pack to do. But he was home alone, and he was not going to call his dad for a prank. So, he gripped his bat even tighter and forced himself, shaking limbs and all, to enter his bedroom.

Before he even looked at anything, he checked the closet and behind the door. Nothing, thank god, but the window also wasn't open so Stiles didn't have the security of at least knowing whoever had done this might have left. Silently, he crept towards his bathroom. The door was ajar there, too, but there were no candles or rose petals on the tiles. His teeth chattered together. Adrenaline surged through his body as he checked behind the bathroom door, and then as he surged and attacked the shower curtain. There was nothing there, though.

Somehow, that was even worse than if he'd found someone hiding in his shower, though Stiles couldn't really explain why. Content that there was no one in his bathroom, he moved back to his room and closed the squeaky door so he would hear if someone opened it again. His spine tingled, and he was still on edge. Again, he checked the closet and under the bed and made sure his window was locked but there were rose petals everywhere. He thought he might drown in them if he were to lie down, now.

Stiles moved quickly, realizing the person could still be in the house, and locked his bedroom door with all three locks, including the mountain ash ones. Fuck this was how he was going to die. It wasn't even a cool or heroic death, and Stiles could see the news headlines now-killed in his own bedroom by crazed lover. At least that part would be interesting to read about, maybe? He felt at least slightly secure in his room, now, though, so he stopped and took the time to close the curtains-no way was he getting taken out by a sniper, not this time-and turned on the light to investigate.

The bed was completely covered in rose petals. All red, and all fresh to the point that the aroma nearly overpowered the room. Stiles brushed some onto the floor after taking more pictures and his eyes were drawn again to the bed, now semi visible. On it, was a brand new comforter. Completely identical to his old one, just without the bloodstains or giant tear in the bottom corner. Briefly, Stiles considered Derek. Was this just a really, really creepy way of apologizing and saying thank you? He knelt and smelled the comforter, noticing that his entire bed had been made very neatly, not just covered by the duvet, and almost choked when it smelled familiar. They'd used Stiles' normal laundry detergent. God, what if they'd even washed it in his house!?

The thought made Stiles' skin crawl and he resolved right then and there that they were getting a security system-with cameras-if it was the last thing they did. On his pillow, though, was a manilla folder and, just for a second, Stiles imagined opening it to see nudes. He'd never even taken nudes, let alone sent them, but that was what was always in folders like this in movies and he briefly wondered who's wife he'd slept with before remembered that he was very much a virgin. Deep breath, Stiles, get it together.

Inside the folder, were maybe thirty pictures of Stiles. Not nudes, thank god, but he would have almost preferred if they had been because the pictures were just of him, in all kinds of places doing all kinds of things. None of them were bad or incriminating but he'd definitely never realized he'd been under surveillance-for what looked like weeks-and that made it a thousand time worse. Had he pissed someone off? Was this some sick joke from Jackson, a way to announce his return?

But, as Stiles reached the end of the folder, he felt his blood run cold. There, printed clearly on the inner manila backing, was a red lipstick print. He felt like he was going to throw up. Stiles had no idea what any of this meant-none at all-but he just took more pictures and hid the folder in his desk drawer. His dad was going to be home soon and he needed a plan. So, quickly, he vacuumed and cleaned and grabbed all the rose petals he could possibly reach and threw them in a garbage bag that he stashed in the garage. They made him feel sick, but he thought Deaton might be able to use them to figure out who'd left them.

As the clock neared seven, Stiles opened his bedroom door and did a very thorough, very terrified search of the entire house with his bat. He checked all the doors and windows-all of which were still locked-and tried to ignore the bad feeling that gave him. When he heard a car pull up, he almost peed himself. Thankfully, it was just his dad and the Sheriff was tired enough that he didn't notice the few petals Stiles had missed or the way Stiles looked over his shoulder and quickly locked the deadbolt behind him.

Over dinner, his dad commented on how on edge he seemed. Stiles said he just was worried about a test at school.

Gradually, Stiles managed to let it go but he was still jumpy for a few days after that. He went to school, talked to Scott, but didn't tell him about the incident, and generally tried not to think about it or look over his shoulder too much. Stiles would tell the pack, he reasoned. Eventually, just not yet, because he wanted to be prepared for their questions with at least some kind of answer. His dad didn't know, either, because he didn't need more stress. Plus, if Stiles told the pack, Derek would freak out and get all protective which would only make his dad even more prickly towards the wolf.

By Wednesday, he was able to focus on school-at least as much as usual-and was planning his newest research binge when he got in his jeep, ready to tell Scott everything. He buckled his seatbelt and started it. He adjusted the radio, locked the doors because he was overly cautious now, and checked behind him before backing up. And, then, he almost shot across the parking lot. Stiles slammed on the brake just in time and managed to get out of the parking lot before he pulled over and just stared at the driver side mirror. There, on the reflective glass, was a bright red lipstick print.

He started to get out, feeling like he just had to run away from this all and maybe throw up a couple times, when his stomach dropped. His mind went to Lethal Weapon. What if there was a pressure plate under his seat? Barely breathing, he pulled out his phone and very carefully lowered it to take a picture of under his seat. He held his breath.

There were wires.

Holy fucking shit Stiles couldn't breathe and he was going to die like this, he just knew it. Wait, no. He couldn't panic yet-not until he had some kind of plan. Who the hell would know how to defuse a bomb? He honestly considered calling his dad because he really felt like he needed his parent right then because there was a fucking bomb underneath him and he was going to die- Braeden. Braeden, the fucking mercenary, would know how to defuse a bomb.

But he had no way to contact her. Crap, think Stiles! He didn't know who else to call, so he whipped out his phone and dialed the only other person he could even imagine helping this situation rather than making it worse. Derek. The wolf answered almost instantly.

"Stiles? Is someone dying?"

"I need Braeden." He could physically feel Derek grimace through the phone but he couldn't fucking care because he was sitting on a goddamn bomb and this was not the time for personal hesitations or grudges. "I need Braeden. Get me Braeden."

"Why?"

"Just fucking do it Derek!" Stiles had never raised his voice at Derek, never. He'd made it a point to never raise his voice at anyone who's history he didn't know. After Scott's dad... Stiles found it hard not to just assume that yelling was a trigger for others, even if it was just playing it safe. But especially Derek. The silence made his gut churn.

"Okay. Where?" Stiles could have sworn he heard a tremor in Derek's voice but now was not the fucking time. Where could a bomb safely go off? Immediately, Stiles tried to minimize casualties.

"Tell her to meet me at the old Hale house." Derek hung up.

When he got there, Derek and Braeden were both already waiting. Derek looked stoic and bitter as ever but Braeden looked annoyed at having been summoned like some kind of mercenary butler. Stiles pulled right up to them, spraying them with gravel, but didn't get out of the car. He rolled down the window.

"What the fuck Stiles?" He swallowed hard.

"I think I'm sitting on a bomb." For a moment, no one seemed to breathe. Derek looked like someone had just punched him in the face and Braeden... Braeden looked intrigued.

"Unlock the door but don't open it. Don't move." Stiles did as she said, Derek watching from the sideline, and she opened the back door. Slowly, she leaned down to look beneath the seat.

"Hmm..."

"What does that mean!? What does hmm mean Braeden?!" She stepped back and calmly met Stiles' face. Thank god, because if another person started freaking out right now Stiles was going to lose his shit.

"It's something, that's for sure. You can open the door, though, and kill the engine it's completely independent from the car's wiring and machinery. But don't move, I can't tell if there's a pressure plate or a timer yet." Stiles killed the engine and tossed the keys out the window to her, but they all held their breaths as Braeden slowly opened the driver side door.

"Okay, Stiles, don't move."

"No shit, really? My first plan was actually going to be jumping up and down on the bomb, Braeden!" Thankfully, Braeden ignored his outburst and just settled herself on the floor of the backseat where she was out of sight. Stiles physically could feel his life counting down, like a timer. Braeden investigated, and slowly undid a couple wires while Stiles still felt like he was going to pass out. Derek actually looked... scared? Why would Derek be scared? Stiles couldn't understand, for a second, why Derek would even be remotely concerned about Stiles dying until it hit him that it was probably because the fucking bomb would blow him up too.

"You should get farther away." Derek met Stiles' eyes. He looked hurt that Stiles would even suggest such a thing and slowly shook his head, taking a step closer just to prove his point. Stupid stubborn werewolf, Stiles thought, he didn't want to be the reason more people died. Slowly, Braeden wiggled out and made Stiles look at her.

"Okay, so it's not a bomb. I'm ninety seven percent sure. There is a pressure plate, though, and wires and batteries which tells me that it will do something if you move, even if that something isn't blowing us all up. Stiles, look at me. You're panicking and I need you not to do that. If you pass out, your weight will shift. So look at me and focus on me, I'm going to try to stabilize the plate." He nodded and tried his best but he felt like he was jumping out of his own skin. Why hadn't he checked the car!? Wait...

"Ninety seven percent!?" Braeden shrugged, not looking up from where she was messing with the thing under his seat. How the hell was she so calm!?

"I'm not going to lie to you or sugarcoat it, if that's what you were looking for. Besides, it could still be a bomb detonator and the bomb might just be somewhere else. Like your house, for example." God his house. His dad!

"But Braeden doesn't mean that there's a bomb at your house, right Brae?" Derek shot the mercenary a very sharp, very meaningful look and she sighed.

"Right, of course not." Stiles sat there for what felt like years, never breaking eye contact with Derek, though the alpha didn't seem to mind. Wouldn't that normally have been seen as a challenge? A threat? But Stiles didn't really have the attention span to focus on that right now. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Until Braeden pulled back and tucked a few tools back into her bag.

"Okay, you should be able to get up now. I think I disabled it."

"You think!?" But Braeden gave him a look and he nodded. Slowly, shakily, he turned in the seat and edged towards the exit. Freedom.

"So like... if this does end up exploding..."

"It's not a bomb, Stiles. At least not here. Someone tried very hard to make it look and feel like a bomb, to make you think it was a bomb, but it isn't. I'm pretty sure." Pretty sure was not certain.. But he nodded, trying to take deep breaths, and finally threw himself from the car and straight into Derek. He braced, grimacing, but nothing happened.

"See, perfectly safe!" Stiles was going to snap at her but Braeden was already leaving and Derek was still holding him, surprisingly close even though Stiles had basically crashed into him. Stiles realized suddenly that his hand was over the fresh bullet wound on Derek's chest and yanked it back, already apologizing, but Braeden was already getting into her car.

"Thank you!" She tipped her hat to him and sped out of the gravel drive, leaving them alone.

"Uh, thanks... for getting her I mean. Sorry about on the phone earlier." Derek ignored it, shaking his head. Was the wolf… clammy?

"Why the hell would someone put a fake bomb in your car?" Stiles just shrugged. He really didn't want to get into the whole thing right now and he knew the second he told Derek about the rose petals he wouldn't be allowed to go home. And he needed to go home, to make sure his dad was okay.

"Don't say anything about this, okay?" Derek gave him a look. "I want to tell them at the right time."

"Okay." And with that, Derek got into his camaro and left. Stiles stared at his jeep with something like betrayal because his bedroom was one thing but his baby? That was just cruel.

Thanks for reading! Please please please review especially because this chapter was all new stuff!