Stiles had gone completely numb sometime after that. He'd spent most of his day in denial that anything was wrong and convinced it was just his usual paranoia that had him believing something had happened to Stuart. It helped him get through the morning, helped him deal with the long car ride, helped him curb his impatience, helped him drift off into a peaceful slumber.
But now that he'd been told otherwise...
Now that he knew the truth...
That stinging, burning ache in his soul was back, flaring to life with a vengeance and feeling twice as hot. He was vaguely aware that he was still hyperventilating, that Lydia was rubbing his arms and telling him to breathe, that he was in the midst of a panic attack in front of all these people, these strangers. But just as quickly as it'd come on, it stopped. He didn't have anything to panic about, didn't have anything to worry over. His worst fear about his twin had come to fruition and there was no way it could get any worse.
Stuart was dead. That was it. Game over, no reset button, no extra lives. Done. Forever.
The numbness set in sometime after that, the burning sting in his gut icing out and leaving a frigid hollowness in its wake. He thought about all those legends that said that twins were one soul that was so grand, so powerful, so incredible that it couldn't be contained in one body, so it split into two. Stuart had said it was bullshit, was just some old hippie story told by cavewolves to amuse themselves before books, TV, or the internet, but Stiles kind of believed it. It explained how he knew when something was bothering his twin, even when Stu didn't say anything. It explained how they could feel one another's physically pain, and it wasn't just psychosomatic bullshit out of sympathy but genuine pain. It explained why neither one of them needed to say a damn word to express themselves, despite having created a language only they understood.
It explained why Stiles was so convinced that his dream wasn't a dream, but Stuart subconsciously reaching out to his twin during his final moments.
It explained why Stiles now felt like half of himself, like there was a giant vital piece inside of him that was missing.
His wolf had gone strangely quiet, wrapped up in a ball with its nose buried in its tail and its ears flopped down against its head. It knew something was wrong, something was missing, that the human-half was upset and felt broken, its misery a direct reflection of Stiles'. He thought of the cliche about misery loving company and mentally let out a hollow laugh, then wondered if he'd ever laugh out loud again, if it would ever feel real and genuine like it had before.
He'd managed to do it after his mom's death—granted it had taken a long time, but eventually he could laugh and joke and goof off like he had before, if not in a more subdued fashion. His friends and family could tell it wasn't exactly the same as before but no one ever called him out on it or made it into a big deal. They all understood what a huge loss he'd suffered and to be completely himself after was an insult to his mom's memory, like losing her didn't even matter.
But losing her was different than losing Stuart. He'd still had his dad and his brother after her death, had people to fall back on, had someone next to him who completely understood what he was going through and helped eased the pain of her loss. This was worse. This was losing his soul and there was no one around to help or understand or relate. He was alone, and would be for the rest of his life.
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his next exhale shuddering out of him. Why'd it have to be Stu? He was the better twin, the more attractive one, the smarter one, the one with all the potential in the world. The one with a Mate.
Oh fuck. Stu had a Mate. The guy had to be beside himself with grief, feeling like he'd lost a huge part of himself. His mind flooded with flashes of memories of his dad after his mom's death, of how hollow and empty he'd looked, staring vacantly as he went about his day like a zombie in a trance—if he even left the bed in the first place. He was there physically, but not emotionally or mentally, solely going through the motions of what he was supposed to do. He'd nearly lost his job as sheriff, nearly had his kids taken away, and it was only the threat of losing even more that had snapped him out of it and brought him back to reality. But he still hadn't been the same dad, still wasn't fully present, and to that day, Stiles will still catch him staring blankly at nothing, lost in the past and his grief.
Stiles imagined that Stu's Mate—Derek, his mind supplied—had to be the same way, only to remember his twin's warning email.
"Mates don't always mean happy ever after."
His dream from the night before was of his brother being killed by an alpha and he just knew deep down inside that that alpha had been Stu's Mate, that Derek had killed his twin.
His fingers clenched into a fist where they were hanging off his knees, legs drawn up close to his body, left hand tugging at his own hair. A new sort of resolve took over and he was no longer in Oak Creek to find his brother, but to find his murderer, to prove that Derek was the one who'd slashed open his throat and ended his life.
He was dimly aware of his name being called, his eyes opening without even knowing when he'd closed them, coming across Lydia as she crouched in front of him. Her hands were resting gently on the sides of his knees, eyes watery with unshed tears, lips pressing and rolling together in a move he knew was her trying not to cry. Grief and sorrow were thick scents in the air, joined by Lydia's sympathy and worry over Stiles, her green eyes flicking back and forth between his whiskey ones, analyzing him.
She sniffed, cleared her throat, voice still holding its usual rasp with an added thickness. "They wanna know if you want a few minutes alone in an interview room before the intake process, just take some time by yourself to deal," she asked lowly, tremulously, words meant only for him.
He met her eyes, held the gaze steadily, not backing down. "I'm fine," he croaked out, a surreal sort of confidence behind his words. He should feel and sound weaker, should sound more broken, should be sobbing and crying and breaking down in front of everyone. But he wasn't. He just...was.
"Stiles, you're not fine," she argued, hard look in her eyes.
He sighed, eyes closing as his head tilted back, suddenly very tired and very much not in the mood for a debate. "Lyds. I just wanna get this over with."
"You have to grieve at some point, have to accept—"
"I've been accepting it all day," he interrupted flatly, eyes snapping open. "I'm. Fine."
She pursed her lips and worked her jaw in a move he recognized as her aggravated face, lifting her hands from his legs and gesturing. "Fine," she fumed, slapping her hands against her thighs before rising up to her full height, stepping away from him and standing halfway between him and the group of S-Dubs who were lingering a few feet away.
Nodding once, he pushed himself up to his feet, brushing off the back of his khakis and peering at the group that was fanned out. All wore matching expressions of worry and sympathy, grief visible in their eyes and scent. Erica had her arms wrapped around herself in a protective manner, as though she was holding herself together. Boyd held her tucked into his side, arm around her shoulders, hand rubbing up and down her arm as he studied Stiles with an inscrutable expression. Lahey stood with his head ducked down staring at the ground, fidgeting back and forth between his feet, sniffing every now and then. Jackson was near him, eyes darting back and forth between Lahey, Stiles, and Lydia, brow pulled in a sympathetic expression Stiles didn't think he was capable of. Parrish's face was more analytical, lips parted as he studied Stiles, as he tried to figure out if the insistence of being okay was genuine or just an act, if he was about to blow and they were all gonna be caught in the blast and destroyed by the shrapnel.
"Let's just go," Stiles sighed out, longing for the whole thing to be over with so he could get on with his next mission: finding his twin's Mate and killer.
"Are you sure?" Parrish questioned, head tilted towards the omega in expectation. After getting a nod in response, he double-checked with Lydia, who threw her arms in the air in exasperation before placing them on her hips and nodding, too, face still twisted in annoyance. "Okay, then," he dismissed with a bob of his eyebrows, turning to his coworkers, face all business. "Lahey, you process Stiles, Boyd, you take care of Lydia. Erica, you get back on the cams and gates. Jackson, you're on front desk and I'm sure the Captain is gonna wanna talk to you about knowing these guys and therefore probably knowing Stuart. I'll search Lydia's car and update the Big Guy on all that's happened."
Everyone nodded as they took in their orders, Jackson wincing at the reminder that he'd been caught in a lie.
Erica cocked an eyebrow at Parrish as she turned her head to him, blonde curls swinging with the motion. "You really think bugging him right now is a good idea?"
Parrish snorted, head rocking with the noise. "No, but what choice do we have?"
She seesawed her head in concession, running a hand through her hair. "Point," she admitted, sighing, then kissing her Mate on the cheek and stepping away. She gave Stiles one last sorrowful look, sympathetic smile on her face, then headed back to the door she'd come from, scanning her ID and disappearing behind the metal.
Everyone took that as their cue to split, Jackson heading to the same door Erica had just exited from, Parrish turning and making his way outside. Boyd led Lydia to a metal door on the right side of the reception alcove, doing the whole scan ID card thing before they walked through the threshold, the door closing behind them from the weight.
Lahey turned to Stiles, gesturing with his head to follow him. The visitor nodded once and followed through the same door, on his way to deal with whatever bullshit was next.
He went through the entire intake process like a zombie, only halfway present, barely taking in what was happening to him. His fingerprints were scanned digitally, his photo taken, then blood drawn, mentions of "tox screens" and "checking for pathogens and diseases" fuzzily registering in his mind.
But he perfectly heard Lahey's declaration of "sorry for your loss" while the vial was filling with his blood, the quiet words snapping Stiles back into the present with a jerk. He stared wide-eyed at the other omega for a moment before the lids went back to their usual half-mast. He hadn't heard those words in years and responded the way he had back when people told him that after his mom's death: with a nod and a forced half-smile. Anything else would be disingenuous and bullshit.
Vial plugged and labeled, Lahey led Stiles down the hall to what he called the interview room, gesturing him inside and leaving him alone with the statement that someone would be in soon to talk to him, giving him another small smile before closing the door behind himself. The room looked a lot like the interrogation rooms at the sheriff's station back home, walls comprised of dark gray cement blocks, two-way mirror beside the door, a metal table bolted to the ground with three chairs placed around it. There were no windows, a fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling, the low hum of electricity filling the space.
Stiles scented the lingering smells of previous occupants, old chemosignals of fear and guilt and anxiety. It was as though the smells had soaked into all the cement around him, stuck there permanently. The interrogation rooms back in the sheriff's department were the same way and he'd once jokingly asked if it was purposely done as an intimidation tactic, as a way to put suspects on edge and force their hands. His dad had stared at him dubiously. Stuart had rolled his eyes.
The thought of his brother made his chest clench and he dug the heel of his hand between his pecs, scuffing his feet against the ground as he slowly made his way around the table. Sinking down onto one of the chairs, he buried his face in his hands, elbows on the table, reality slowly sinking in. He was never gonna see his brother roll his eyes at him again, was never gonna hear his cynical thoughts as he argued something, was never gonna beg the guy to look up from his phone or his laptop or whatever other device his face was buried in at that moment. It was depressing enough when it wasn't happening just because the guy was missing and it was unclear if he'd be able to look his twin in the eye, but knowing there was a chance it might happen again. But now? It was a thousand times worse knowing for complete sure that it definitely wasn't gonna happen.
Shit.
The door opened and he peered up to see Lydia walk in alone, dropping his forearms onto the table. The annoyance was gone from her face and her scent, replaced with a genuine concern and worry. Her heels clicked on the hard floor as she strode over and lowered herself down onto the empty chair to his right, sitting so she was facing him. He didn't look at her though, just stared down at his hands as one shook up and down, tapping at the air.
"I knew he was dead," he rasped lowly, voice thick, words heavy. "I could just feel it. I tried to do like you said, tried to act like everything was okay until proven otherwise, but I just. Knew."
She licked her lips and rubbed them together, sniffing. "You think that dream was Stuart reaching out to you," she stated, not asked, already knowing his answer.
He nodded, free hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. And I have a good feeling I know who killed him."
"'Mates don't always mean happy ever after'," she quoted the email, well aware of what he was inferring.
More nodding, but he didn't get the chance to comment further. The door opened once again, this time with Parrish making his way through, manila folder in his hands. The kevlar vest was gone, revealing a black tactical shirt with a black patch over the left chest pocket, "PARRISH" stitched on in all white letters. Lydia's scent blossomed automatically at the sight of him and Stiles didn't have it in him to be annoyed with her lack of sympathy towards his current situation. It wasn't like she had any control over it, so it wasn't really her fault. Besides, someone needed to have something positive come out of this shit-show of a road trip and after everything she'd done for him so far, she deserved happiness and a good Mate.
Parrish pulled out the chair across the table from them, sinking down and placing the folder on the metal surface. He folded his hands on top of it, gave Lydia a small smile, light green eyes sparkling, then turned to Stiles with a now-familiar sympathetic expression on his face. "I'm so sorry about your brother," he stated genuinely, brow pulled in sorrow. "He was a good guy and definitely didn't deserve to be taken so soon."
Frowning in confusion, Stiles analyzed the man across from him, not catching a lie. He was completely honest in his statement, truly believed that Stuart had been a good guy—which he had been—the words not coming across as something pre-scripted to say to someone who'd just lost someone close to them. "You knew my brother?" he asked, voice still thick.
The S-Dub nodded. "He worked here actually, mainly the comm for the outer gate and the front desk, but he did a lot of work on our computer system." A wistful smile formed on his face at a memory only he was aware of. "He was a whiz with anything technological, helped us upgrade our systems, kept everything running, even helped us program our personal smartphones." A small laugh gusted out of him at that, grin growing just a tad, scent amused for a brief moment before turning sad once more. "Yeah. Great guy. Kinda cynical and kept to himself a lot, not all that social, more of a homebody than anything, but still. He's gonna be missed by a lot of people."
The omega swallowed hard, cupping his fingers in front of his mouth. It was surreal to hear a stranger talk about his brother like that, to clearly know him so well when Stiles had only just met the guy himself. He was used to it in his hometown, to friends and acquaintances talking about Stuart in that manner, but to hear it out the mouth of someone from another city? Just weird.
And it seemed like Stu was exactly the same as he'd always been. Stiles had been the one to drag him to parties—mainly because he was being dragged by Scott, who was interested in going solely due to the prospect of Allison being there—to hang out with friends, to do something that didn't involve any sort of technological device and a wifi connection. But Stu was still cynical, still a loner, still preferred staying in to going out. He was himself to the very end.
Stiles wasn't sure why that surprised him. He figured with his twin having run away and hiding out that he would've taken on a whole new identity and become someone else. Clearly he'd been watching too many movies and had gotten caught up in the Hollywood dramatization of the whole thing. He and Stu both knew working undercover was more successful if you kept some aspects of yourself in your new cover, things like your actual first name, parts of your personality, your own likes and dislikes. Lies worked better when surrounded by small pockets of the truth.
He wondered what other truths Stu used in his new life, if he told anyone about where he'd come from, who his family was, why he'd run. It was clear he was hiding some parts of it, like knowing Jackson, given the surprised way everyone reacted when it was revealed the blond knew Stiles. But a small part of him was curious to know if Stu ever mentioned him or their dad and what was said about them. He wondered what it would mean if he had been hidden, if his brother never spoke about his life back home. It probably wouldn't have been anything personal, most likely just a way to cover his tracks and continue to hide from whoever he believed was after him or another way he was trying to protect what was left of his family since he seemed to believe they were in just as much danger as he was.
Still, a small part of Stiles was hurt by the idea that he'd been hidden away.
Then again, no one seemed surprised that Stuart had a brother. Erica hadn't questioned them over the comm system by the first gate when they mentioned they were searching for him. If anything, people were surprised they looked so much alike, meaning Stu most likely hadn't told them they were twins, just that he had a brother.
"He ever mention me?" he questioned lowly, almost worried about the answer.
"Sorta," Parrish admitted, seesawing his head. "He let it slip that he had a brother, but never told us your name or that you guys were twins. That's why everyone was so taken aback when we saw you for the first time. We weren't expecting you to look so alike."
He nodded, figuring that had been the case. Seemed like typical Stu really.
"Did you—?" the guard started then paused, curiosity coloring his scent. "There are rumors and stories that twins, especially identical ones, that they can feel each other's pain. Did you feel it when—?" He cut himself off, not mentioning the obvious but letting the inference hang in the air.
Stiles swallowed hard, pain flaring in his chest. He felt an echo of the ripping, tearing, burning sensation he'd experienced when he'd woken up in the middle of the night, when he just knew that his twin had been killed. "It felt like my soul was being torn from my body," he rasped, eyes focused on his hands as his fingers tangled on top of the table.
The thick scent of sorrow hit him, an underlying note of regret joining it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
The omega shrugged it off, shaking his head, fingers cupping his mouth once again. Lydia slid her hand over and covered his free right one as it sat on top of the table, squeezing it in sympathy and solidarity, a silent reminder that she was there and that it was okay to not be okay. He shot her a quick smile behind his hand, aware of Parrish's eyes on their clasped ones and the mix of curiosity and possessiveness in his scent.
"Are you two—?" he began then paused, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat. "Do you—?" he struggled and Stiles was fully expecting him to finish with the word "fondue".
"We're friends," Lydia saved him, voice soft but with a finality that was impossible to argue with, Stiles nodding to back her up.
Parrish seemed to physically relax at that, sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Sorry. I just. Had to ask."
Lydia waved him off, Stiles shrugged it off, brow drawing in determination. "What happened to my brother?" he asked bluntly, ignoring his friend as she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, obviously displeased by his forwardness. Although really, she should've been used to it by that point.
Then again, she'd warned him to keep his mouth shut and not speak out of turn and he'd once again done the complete opposite of what she'd advised. Which, once more, she should've been used to by that point.
The guard's face grew serious, eyes narrowing, lips parting as he stared the chatty omega down and for a brief moment, Stiles actually worried that he'd fucked up. Not that he showed it. No, outwardly, he remained confident and calm, not backing down, not regretting what he'd said. He needed to know, needed the peace of mind that could only come with that knowledge, needed to find out for one-hundred percent sure that his dream had been Stuart's actual reality and that what Stiles had seen was the truth. It would help him find his brother's killer, find his brother justice, and allow his brother to rest in peace.
Parrish leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, putting well-endowed biceps on display. "Pretty sure I'm the one who's supposed to be asking the questions here," he insisted, giving the other man a hard look.
But Stiles still refused to back down, leaning over the table to get closer to the beta. "And I'm not answering a fucking thing until you answer all my questions first."
Lydia screwed up her face, eyes shut tight, scent full of disbelief and embarrassment. She took a deep breath before reopening her eyes, tight smile on her face as she looked at the man seated across from them. "I would blame his current behavior on his grief, but unfortunately, he's always like this."
Stiles remained unapologetic, staring unflinchingly at the beta, watching as the guard flicked his eyes back and forth between the two visitors. He swallowed hard, hands shaking as they hovered over the table, but the rest of him remained firm and unwavering. "I need to know," he stated lowly, plowing on as though Lydia hadn't spoken.
A sigh left Parrish as he dropped his arms, sitting up straighter, shoulders slumping in defeat. "His Mate reported him missing this morning," he began reluctantly, quietly, like he wasn't supposed to say anything but had been cajoled into it.
Which he had been.
His brow furrowed. "Wait, this morning? I thought this place had a curfew?"
"To leave the city, yes, but he didn't leave the outer gate," he clarified. "Besides, Derek, his Mate, he explained that the two of them had gone to bed together at their usual time. He didn't notice anything was wrong until he came here expecting to find Stuart, only to discover he hadn't showed up early like Derek had figured he had when he'd woken up to an empty house."
"What happened to him?" Lydia rasped, hands clenched on her lap with white knuckles, scent reluctant.
The S-Dub rubbed at the back of his neck, taking a deep breath before speaking. "They found him face-down in a creek in the middle of the woods within the second ring. He was naked, glasses and phone missing, and had been washed down with scent-neutralizing soap."
Something wasn't quite right, a piece missing, but Stiles kept his features flat, kept his scent the same as it had been. "So he was drowned?" he questioned shakily, knowing the answer, afraid to hear it out loud.
He slowly shook his head. "Throat was slashed open."
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Stiles smeared a hand over his face then cupped his mouth and chin again, knee bouncing beneath the table. His brother had been brutally murdered and he'd gotten a first-hand account. Aside from the killer himself, he was the only witness and it was on the tip of his tongue to let Parrish know that he had some info himself.
But he didn't say it.
Because he didn't know these people, didn't trust them. They might've been Stu's coworkers and possibly even his friends, but they weren't shit to Stiles, and as far as he was concerned, everyone was a suspect.
Okay, not everyone. Non-alphas were clearly ruled out, which meant most of the S-Dub team that he'd met were innocent. Jackson was left on the list of possible do-ers though, along with any other alpha in town. But the top of his list was Stu's Mate, Derek. It was just too much of a coincidence to get an email from his twin talking about Mates hours before his brother's death and his gut was screaming at him that it was a connection, a clue, a sign to look into his brother-in-law and investigate.
But he was a stranger in town, a visitor under suspicion himself since he'd shown up with no entry papers. No one was gonna help him out or even believe him in the first place. If he were in their shoes and some random jack-off showed up claiming to have a "gut feeling" about who killed a friend and coworker, he'd be incredibly skeptical, worried that the guy was trying to keep them off his scent and leading them in circles as he got away with murder. Yeah, they might've been twins, but fratricide was a thing and in recent times, the family seemed to be the first people accused of the crime.
Especially Mates.
His mind flashed to poor Tracy at the sheriff's station and her unrepentant Mate who'd beat the shit out of her. Despite years and decades and centuries of belief that Mates meant security and protection and balance and caretaking, it wasn't always the case and some pairs fell outside the norm in that aspect.
"Mates don't always mean happy ever after."
"Look," Parrish began softly, leaning forward over the table, yellow-green eyes meeting Stiles' whiskey ones. A soft expression was on his face, scent colored with compassion, and the omega was glad that this was the guard they'd entrusted to do the interview, that this was the man fate decided should be with Lydia. "If you know something, anything that can help us find your brother's killer, we'll be pretty damn grateful because so far, we've got nothing."
Stiles swallowed hard, resisting the urge to blurt out that he had a suspect in mind thanks to a coded message from his twin not long before his death. He heard his dad's voice in his head telling him to cooperate with authorities and let the S-Dubs do their job, but he ignored it, much like he did back home. A small sort of possessiveness took over and he held on tight to his info, fully believing that this was his case to solve, that it was up to him to put the bastard away.
Shaking his head, he let out a small "no", the sound muffled by his hand.
The beta nodded, glancing down at the folder sitting beneath his folded hands, brow pulled in thought. "I gotta ask," he started, pausing before looking back up at the man across from him. "Stu's been living here for nearly two years and you showed up today, the day we find his dead body. I hate to sound accusing, but it's a pretty huge coincidence, don't you think?"
Lydia shook her head vehemently out the corner of his eyes, lips pursed in annoyance, crossed leg bouncing up and down under the table. Stiles paid it no mind, staring dubiously at the other male.
"You think I killed my brother?" he double-checked, unable to believe what he'd just said. Then again, the thought had crossed his mind earlier that if the tables were turned, he'd be thinking the same thing. It shouldn't be that hard to comprehend the fact that someone had, in fact, accused him of it.
Parrish shrugged helplessly, like he didn't wanna say Stiles did it, but had to. Requirement of his job, the fact that highly circumstantial evidence pointed to him, all that shit. "I gotta cover all my bases here," he pointed out, hands held up.
The omega bobbed his eyebrows in concession and dismissal, rubbing the back of his neck before laying his hands on the table limply. "I didn't do it," he stated. "Until yesterday, I thought my brother was in New York. It's where his last email had said it'd come from, but like you said, guy's a computer whiz. He might've somehow attached a fake IP address or something."
He slowly nodded, brow still furrowed, curiosity and suspicion still coloring his scent. "What happened to make you realize he was here?"
Shit. He took back what he'd previously thought about being glad over Parrish doing their interview, wishing instead for a moron who'd just skim over all the details and not pay such close attention. Who was the Deputy Haigh of their unit? They needed to be questioned by that guy.
"He sent another email," Stiles admitted, tapping his fingers against the table. "And before you ask, I have no clue what it said. It was all in gibberish, I couldn't understand it." It was a blatant lie but he hoped the trauma of the day explained away his erratic heartbeat and the tick that had surely just sounded out.
Lydia played along perfectly, remaining cool and confident, face, body language, and scent all betraying nothing. He owed her so fucking big for this. Like, lifetime of indentured servitude big.
Parrish nodded some more, seeming to buy it, sitting up straighter in his seat as he righted the manila folder. "I believe you, and I'm sure my boss will, too, once you talk to him. But for now, I need to get this process interview done." He paused, giving Stiles a pointed look. "Unless you have more questions."
He shook his head "no", fingers still tapping, knee still bouncing, eyes staring unseeing at the S-Dub's black shirt.
The beta glanced over at Lydia, who bobbed her head in acknowledgment, then opened the folder. Two stacks of clipped together papers were revealed and he moved them so they lay side-by-side. Stiles peeked down, only able to see the top sheet of each packet. The pictures they'd just had taken were printed in full color on the top left corners, copies of their fingerprints along the bottom half, the remaining quarter of it filled with tiny type he assumed was their basic bios: name, birth date, dynamic, Mate status, height, weight, all that good shit. A small part of him was glad to see that "omega" wasn't bright red or all in caps, blending in perfectly with the rest of his pertinents, but he shoved it all aside to focus on the other man's words.
"Your fingerprints match up to the ones on your files so you are who you say you are," Parrish informed them, staring down at the stacks, flipping the first pages of each back to scan the second. "Your exit papers for Beacon Hills also check out, but they claim you were on a random road trip with no real destination." He peered up at them at that, eyebrow cocked in question, earlier suspicion leaking into his scent.
"We may have told a tiny lie on that," Lydia admitted, resting her elbows on the table and twisting her fingers in the air, head tilted to the side. "But it was solely to get out of town. My mom's the County Alpha and his dad's the sheriff and there was no way they'd let us come here by ourselves. They'd want us to wait until they got back from the Meeting so they could handle it or accompany us." She pursed her lips in a pout and shook her head. "Wasn't happening."
The S-Dub looked at her with a confused frown, but so far, was going along with her story. "Why didn't you wait?"
Stiles smeared a hand over his mouth, knowing it was in their best interests to keep it shut and let her handle it. Not due to any sort of dynamic bullshit. He'd pretty much thrown that out the window the second Parrish had joined them in the room—if he was even going along with it in the first place. But because he knew that she was a sweet talker and could lie with the best of them. Because he knew that as an alpha, she held a certain authority that he could only dream about. Because he knew—or at the very least had a damn good feeling—that Lydia and Parrish were Mates and therefore she'd have a better chance of getting him to just go along with her, no matter how insane or ludicrous.
So he finally followed her advice, shutting up and letting the alpha handle it.
"Stuart's been gone for two years with no trace of where he went and barely any communication," she stated, gesturing with her hands. "Stiles is his twin. The two have a connection you and I will never understand. So if you think this idiot here was gonna wait however long it took for that Meeting to wrap up before tracking down his brother, then you're sorely mistaken. And I am not about to let my best friend trek all this way up here and deal with a whole bunch of strangers by himself, no matter his dynamic."
The omega hid his parted lips behind his hand, impressed by her superior level of bullshitting. She'd been so convincing even Stiles thought it was the truth. And yeah, he'd been anxious as hell to find Stuart after all that time and no matter what the email said, he'd go charging after the guy as soon as freaking possible. It just so happened that the message was terrifying and anxiety inducing to the point where just waiting overnight had been its own brand of torture.
Parrish seesawed his head, lips turned down as he considered her story and went along with it. "Makes sense," he murmured, pulling a pen out his left chest pocket and scribbling notes on both their papers. "And you swear that finding Stuart was your only reason for coming here?" he double-checked, peering up at them with hard eyes that were almost pleading for that to be the case.
"I swear on the life of my mom and his dad," Lydia confirmed. "Who, by the way, is now Stiles' only remaining family member."
Stiles didn't correct her that Scott and Mama McCall were practically family, but he'd swear on their lives, too, in all honesty.
At least in that situation.
Either way, he still nodded to back her up.
A smile formed on the S-Dub's face as he let out a relieved breath, shoulders relaxing as his worries were eased. "That's good," he commented before clearing his throat and shifting his face back to a more neutral, business-like expression. "So your background checks were cleared, the results of the blood tests should be back in a few days, and Jackson is currently giving a sworn affidavit to vouch for you both, which will go a long way in speeding up your admittance to the city. Hopefully, you both can—"
He never got a chance to tell them what they can hopefully do. The door flew open, all three heads snapping towards it, all three staring wide-eyed at the man who'd burst in.
And there was a whoooole lotta staring on Stiles' part.
The guy was gorgeous, with black hair styled longer at the top than the back or sides, dark whiskers covering his jaw and cheeks, bright eyes surrounded by lashes so thick, Stiles could see them from where he sat. He wore the usual all black outfit that was the S-Dub's uniform, the color standing out stark against tan skin, but somehow the utilitarian outfit was sexier on him, more attractive. He figured it had to do with the biceps threatening to rip the sleeves and the ass perfectly cupped by the pants and the hint of that V shaped torso that came from hours of weight lifting and strength training. His jaw was strong, perfectly cut, cheekbones that could chisel diamonds, and a sharp nose that ended in a point like a blade. Thick brows were pulled together in a frown and it was then that Stiles noticed the guy's hair was disheveled not for style but because he'd been running his hands through it, that his bright eyes had heavy bags underneath like he hadn't slept in weeks, that his face was pale due to exhaustion while his arms were naturally tan and healthy looking.
But no matter what, he was still the most beautiful thing Stiles had ever laid eyes on. And he was sitting next to Lydia fucking Martin.
His scent reached Stiles' nose, carrying the strong hint of alpha, as well as a thousand different emotions, that Stiles couldn't even begin to sort through them. But he was harried, in a rush, had clearly sped his way back to HQ. Would certainly explain the slight flush to his cheeks and the sheen of sweat on his skin and the way he was panting more than breathing. The omega wondered if the guy had run there from wherever it was he'd been, if he hadn't bothered waiting for a car to start or didn't wanna deal with roads, finding it faster to cut through trees and across streets or whatever he'd had to pass over on his way there.
The alpha kept his hand on the doorknob, the other clutching something in a ziplock pouch as it rested on the door frame, eyes flitting about as he took in the scene he'd burst in on. Stiles ducked his head at the last minute, barely remembering to not look a strange alpha in the eye, especially in a more traditional town like Oak Creek. And given the way Parrish's scent sharpened in worry and his spine had gone ramrod straight, this was obvious an alpha of very high importance.
Which meant meeting his eyes was a five times "no-no" and he'd be lucky to come out of that without a few scars—both mental and physical—from being taught a lesson in respect.
Didn't mean he couldn't look his fill of the guy elsewhere, inexplicably fascinated with his jawline, the whiskers covering them, the sharp point at the end of his nose...
Eyes further moving south, Stiles caught sight of his nametag, "CAPT. HALE" displayed prominently, the surname tweaking something in the back of his mind. But all he could think about was how great it would sound alongside "Stilinski", how awesome it would be to have their last names joined together for all time as they were Mated, how he wouldn't mind his stupid fucking ID and its stupid fucking declaration of his dynamic if he were able to look at it and see "Stiles Stilinski-Hale" on it for the rest of his life.
"Sir?" Parrish spoke up tremulously, shifting around in his seat to face the alpha better. "Is there something I can help you with?"
The alpha snapped his eyes over to the other S-Dub, shaking his head rapidly as though snapping himself out of some sort of daze. He covered his eyes, fingers digging in and rubbing at the closed lids, harsh sigh leaving him as his breathing evened out. "Hall. Now," he ordered, turning around to leave the room. His shirt collar shifted with the move, Stiles' eyes drawn to it. Only for him to immediately regret it as he came across the top ridge of a Claiming Bite just peeking out from the stiff black cotton.
Shit.
Had to fucking figure. The most gorgeous man Stiles had ever seen and he was already spoken for.
Double shit.
Sinking down in his seat, he hid his pout as Parrish gave them an apologetic smile and asked them to excuse him. He sorted out his papers and closed the file before doing as he was told, closing the door behind himself.
Silence descended over the room before Lydia broke it, pointing to the room with a thoughtful pout on her face. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that's the Big Guy they were talking about earlier," she concluded, hand flipping in dismissal before playing with her hair. "Makes sense given his last name. Must be the Alpha's son."
Stiles just sat there stunned, staring at the closed door but still seeing the man standing there, still seeing dark hair and thick muscles and chiseled jaw and...
Chiseled jaw.
Blade nose.
Dark whiskers.
Holy. Shit.
Lips parting in shock, he turned his head towards his friend, eyes still locked on the door. "Lyds?" he began, waiting until she gave him a hum of acknowledgment to show she was listening. "I'm pretty sure that was my Mate." And like a slap in the face, the image of the alpha's Claiming Bite came to the forefront of his mind, taunting him with its existence. "Or he's my Mate's twin," he corrected, the thought just not quite sitting right in his gut. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands as his elbows rested on the table. "I dunno," he muttered before letting out a long groan.
A thoughtful "huh" came from his right, Lydia's foot still swishing up and down, finger still twirling her hair around. "What are the chances of that?" she questioned absently.
His hands dropped to the table with a loud thump, eyes still staring at that damn door but still seeing that damn Claiming Bite. What were the fucking chances indeed.
