Stilinski was pissed.
Beyond pissed.
His scent was spiced with anger, face red, knuckles white as he clenched his fists on his desk, leaning forward in his chair as he glared up at his son and his deputy with eyes of blue fire.
Christ, Derek was gonna be lucky to get out of this one with his job still intact. He was gonna be riding a desk for a while, watching McCall take all the credit for solving this case—not that he wanted the credit for himself, it was more the principle of the thing—unable to help take down the bad guys he'd discovered with the evidence he'd found.
"You two," the sheriff grit out, jaw clenched, trying hard not to yell. It was a step beyond just being mad and shouting, making the man even scarier, and Derek felt his wolf whimpering from his own anxiety and his Mate's. "Better have a damn good reason for being at Brunski's apartment."
Oh fuck. It was worse than he'd thought.
Derek kept his poker face up, internally freaking out, wondering how in the hell Stilinski had known where they were. Were they that predictable to where he could just tell, could just correctly assume it? Was it fatherly or sheriffly intuition?
"We were checking to see if he'd returned," Derek lied convincingly, Stiles nodding casually on his right as he played along.
Stilinski stared dubiously up at them, brow furrowed, bottom teeth on display. "You do realize we have a patrol car stationed across the road from his building, right?" he pointed out, pointing a hand at them. "How else do you think I knew you were there?"
"Magical sheriff-slash-dad intuitive powers?" Stiles answered, wiggling his fingers in the air.
The older Stilinski stared at him with a look of complete unamusement and Stiles immediately sobered up, hands dropping to his sides and throat being cleared.
"I'm still waiting on your excuse," he pointed out, hard eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them.
Derek swallowed hard, scratching at his jaw. "We were looking for Brunski's gun," he admitted, dropping his hand before reaching into the pocket of his sheriff issue windbreaker. "We found a bill of sale for a Walther and suppressor that match what Parrish described, as well as a receipt for a set of Punisher grips." Pulling out the papers, he stepped over to his boss' desk and handed them over.
Stilinski sat up straighter, glancing over the papers. "Where'd you find these?" he inquired, peering up at his deputy with an arched eyebrow.
He resisted the urge to wince, preparing himself for the older man's anger to return. "Brunski's office," he admitted lowly.
"Which we had permission to search!" Stiles quickly added, throwing a hand out in front of himself in defense. "The head administrator allowed us to enter and gave us permission to check it out."
"Which is perfectly legal since Brunski doesn't own that office so no lawyer can argue over the validity of the search," Derek pointed out.
"Right. And we didn't touch anything private or mess up doctor-patient confidentiality." The Kitsune gestured with his palm up, see-sawing his head. "Or orderly-patient confidentiality in this case. Whatever, you get what I mean." He waved his hand in dismissal before shoving both in the pockets of his jeans, nodding.
"Right," Derek replied, a little thrown off by his Mate's ramble, then turned to his boss. "We also found Brunski's day-planner," he stated as he put it on the desk, opening it up to the current week and tapping a finger in the page. "He marked the dates of every murder with a star and wrote down the start of Parrish's guard duty the day he was abducted."
The sheriff nodded slowly as he took it in, flipping through the planner. "A lot of coincidental stuff," he murmured, holding out his hands palms up and shaking his head. "Doesn't quite prove anything."
"The list might," Stiles muttered, signaling to Derek with a head nod towards his dad.
The deputy understood the wordless suggestion, pulling the final piece of paper out his pocket. "This was taped under one of his drawers," he explained a he unfolded it and handed it over. "It's a list of every Supe in Beacon Hills, if not the county, with some of the names crossed off."
"Those who were already killed," Stilinski filled in, eyes glued to the paper as he scanned the names.
"Yeah," the deputy breathed out, swallowing hard before continuing. "It's not Brunski's handwriting so someone else made this, someone who knows who is a Supe when that person doesn't even know themselves." At that, he pressed a finger to Parrish's name, noting how the sheriff's eyebrows raised.
"So what kind of Supernatural being has the power to know who has Supernatural genes?"
He shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck. "None that I know of."
A swear left Stilinski under his breath, eyes continuing to move about the paper as he flipped it over and read the names on the back. The blue orbs flicked up to Derek when he got to his family, scent becoming more worried, concern for his friends controlling his emotional climate.
He froze all over when he reached the end and the name that had been added.
Heart pounding wildly, his head shot up to stare at his son, jaw slack as his mouth hung open, no words coming out. The concerned scent became stronger, joined by fear, and Derek felt his wolf whimper at the memory of having experienced that same shock and worry only a couple hours before.
Stiles nodded, lips pressed into a hard line, hand scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah," he rasped out. "I'm on there, too."
Dropping the paper, Stilinski roughed his hands over his face, sighing harshly. His anger at their previous shady actions was completely gone, replaced by a fatherly concern over their well-being and safety. He looked exhausted, so tired from the stress of this case. And now with the added anxiety of this list, he was losing years off his life.
"This should be more than enough for a search warrant," Derek stated lowly, knowing it was a delicate moment, but also knowing he needed to strike while his boss was feeling favorable towards them. "Might even be enough to arrest the guy, not just bring him in for questioning."
Stilinski nodded, dropping his forearms into his desk with a sigh. "Yeah," he breathed out, glancing over the evidence he'd been handed then back up at the two young men standing in his office. "But there's nothing we can do at four in the morning. We'll have to wait for the courthouse to open in five hours."
Derek scowled at that, hating that his boss was right but hating even more that it meant more time was slipping by. And with more time came more opportunity for Brunski or Garrett or whoever else to kill another Supe, all out of some fucked up belief that they were doing the world a favor by cleansing it of so-called monsters.
The sheriff smeared a hand over his face, glancing between the two men. "Go home and sleep, guys," he ordered in a kind manner, eyes soft above dark circles. "And I mean it this time. Don't make me have Boyd trail your asses there."
Both of them nodded before exiting the sheriff's office, leaving the door open as they shuffled their way to the back exit. It hit Derek then that he hadn't mentioned the photos in Brunski's apartment, how he clearly knew Haigh, the Argents, Garrett, but he shoved aside the regret. They'd find out for themselves as soon as they obtained a search warrant and conducted a thorough legal search.
He unlocked the doors of his Toyota with the key fob, opening his door to get in, only to stop when he noticed Stiles hesitating on the other side of the SUV. His brow was drawn in worry, scent upset and nervous, bottom lip between his teeth as he frowned at the passenger side window.
"What's wrong?" he checked, concern dripping off every word, wolf whimpering over its Mate's distress.
"I just," he began then stopped, huffing as he glanced around. "Can you not drop me off at home?" he requested, voice small.
Derek arched an eyebrow at that, leaning a forearm on his still open door and placing his hand on the roof of the SUV. "Stiles, your Jeep is still at my place," he pointed out
"No. I mean." He paused and huffed again, shoving a hand through his hair. "I don't wanna leave you," he admitted softly, finally looking at the older man and meeting his gaze. His brows raised in the middle, eyes turned down at the corners, bottom lip barely sticking out in the hint of a pout. "Please?"
Derek was powerless before his pleading face and soft, begging voice and he swallowed hard against the emotions threatening to consume him. All he could think about was giving his Mate what he wanted so he'd be happy again, how it would help make himself happy because then he'd better be able to protect him and not have to worry if he was okay and safe.
With an absent nod, he breathed out an "okay", getting a shaky smile in response.
The twosome climbed into the Toyota, Derek starting up the engine and driving them to his loft. Stiles was fidgeting again, bouncing knee and thumbnail between his teeth—his left this time, since his right had been gnawed as far down as possible. Without even thinking about it, the Werewolf reached over and pulled his hand away from his mouth, twining their fingers together and resting their hands on the center console.
Stiles made himself at home immediately upon entering Derek's loft, tossing his borrowed leather jacket on the back of the couch then flopping down on it. The Werewolf headed straight for his fridge, grabbing two wolfsbane-infused beers before scuffing over to the sofa and offering a bottle to the younger man.
"Seriously?" the Kitsune questioned with a cocked eyebrow, reluctantly taking it. "Since when do you allow me to drink, rather than giving me a lecture about alcohol consumption?"
"Since you can legally drink," he stated while removing his gun, taser, and handcuffs from his utility belt and gently placing them on the coffee table along with his phone. "Besides, pretty sure we can both use it after the day we've had." He sank down onto the opposite end of the couch, slumping as he opened his beer and took a long swig.
Stiles saluted him with it before twisting off the cap and taking a big gulp, letting out a satisfied "ahh" and smiling at it. "Way better than the shit I drank back in New York. That stuff's weak."
The older man snorted, holding his bottle near his lips. "You were probably drinking beer made for humans," he pointed out before taking a sip.
His Mate pouted thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side in concession. "Probably," he admitted, fidgeting in his spot and rearranging himself so he was slightly turned towards Derek, right ankle resting on top of his left knee. "I keep forgetting I'm a Kitsune. And then I accidentally set something on fire." He smirked, playing it off as he drank, but his scent was slightly ashamed and embarrassed.
The Werewolf wasn't sure how to react, other than a thought about how he also kept forgetting the younger man was no longer human. "What's it like?"
"Setting stuff on fire?" his Mate asked back, eyebrow cocked and lips twisted to the side in confusion.
Derek rolled his eyes, reaching over and smacking the back of his arm, getting a chuckle in response. "Being a Kitsune," he clarified, slumping further down and resting his head on the back of the couch, face turned towards the younger man. "I don't know much other than they're Japanese fox spirits and there's thirteen types."
Shrugging, Stiles rested his bottle on his knee, thumb rubbing at the condensation on the neck of it as he stared at it. "I imagine it's like being a Werewolf but cooler," he said with a smirk. "We have powers, which is awesome. Like, I can manipulate fire and create it. Kira is a Thunder Kitsune, or Sanda, and she can absorb electricity and control it, which is really fucking handy in a power outage."
Derek turned more fully towards the other man, body language mirroring his. He was completely focused on Stiles as he told about the history of Kitsunes, all the hours of research he put into learning about himself, the things Noshiko taught him. He spoke of a Kitsune's tails and how each one was earned through learning a new skill, how some powers—like his fire manipulation—came naturally but others—like rapid healing and shifting—were acquired.
"I have three tails so far," he bragged, smirking proudly. "I joke that I'm earning one a year but some actually come with time." He paused to shrug and drink, leaning forward to put his now empty bottle on the coffee table. "But I've learned most of the fun stuff, like this." He held his hand out with his fingers curved up like claws, the ends of each digit lighting on fire.
Derek let out a gasp as he sat up straight, leaning more towards the other male. It was incredible, each tiny flame having appeared out of seemingly nowhere, flickering and dancing on the ends of his fingers like fiery claws.
Curious, he reached out and touched one, snapping his hand back when it burned him. "Holy shit, that's real," he murmured, eyes wide in awe, mouth hanging slack.
"Hell yeah it is," Stiles stated with joy, closing his fist and extinguishing the flames. "I can also do this." He opened his hand back up, this time creating a ball of fire floating above his palm. "I'm great at birthday parties. Papa Y doesn't agree since I keep reigniting his candles when he tries to blow 'em out but." He ended his statement with a nonchalant shrug, smirking as his eyes twinkled with mischievous delight.
The Werewolf's own eyes were glued to the ball of fire, completely mesmerized by the dancing flames, the blends of yellows and oranges, the way it lit up Stiles' face. He wished his own power would go out so he could see the light play off his pale skin, could see it sparkling in his whiskey eyes.
"What else can you do?" he murmured, still staring.
The younger man's scent like up with pride, joy, excitement, obviously glad that his powers had been accepted so well, so easily. But then the nerves came back and he fidgeted in his seat. "This one I haven't practiced as much so no judging when it looks like shit."
"I won't ever judge you," he replied honestly, making the other one gasp, mouth hanging open as the flames went out.
"Shit," the Kitsune muttered, shaking his head to snap out of it. "Okay, here goes." He shook his hands out, then his arms, cracked his neck and blew out a puff of air. His brow furrowed in concentration as he held out his hand again, palm flat this time.
Derek watched in fascination as a tiny flame emerged in the center of the younger man's palm, watched it grow taller and wider, the outline of a triangle taking shape. Stiles stuck his tongue out as he focused harder, the triangle growing until it was at least a foot tall. The top edge wavered as it became rounder, then dipped in the middle, shimmering and shaking all over the place as it took on a whole new shape.
A heart.
"Wow," Derek breathed out in awe, eyes roaming the whole thing, unable to believe what he was seeing.
"Yeah," the younger man whispered. "That's the quickest and easiest it's ever been to make that. And it's lasting longer than usual." He shrugged the shoulder that wasn't attached to the hand creating the heart-shaped flame. "Probably because you're here."
The Werewolf's eyes snapped to his face, noting how those whiskey eyes were already on him, paying zero attention to his creation. His own heart was pounding rapidly in his chest, skin tingling all over as he tried to figure out the implication behind those words, what they could mean.
He came up with nothing but a whole lotta hope and wishful thinking as he choked out a "what?", not entirely sure if he wanted a real answer.
The younger man swallowed, voice still thick with emotion when he spoke. "I still love you, too, Der," he admitted shakily. "It kills me that I hurt you and abused your trust like that. I thought I was protecting you but instead, I hurt you worse than I ever thought I could." He pressed his lips into a hard line, sniffed as his eyes grew watery. "You're not the only one who feels the Mate bond."
He had no idea where the thought came from, how or when the command was sent from his brain to the rest of his body, if his brain even wanted it to happen in the first place. But it happened and there was nothing he could really do about it.
Not that he really wanted it to stop.
Derek practically lunged at the younger man, sweeping the hand holding the fire to the side, inadvertently extinguishing the flames. He crashed their lips together in a hard kiss, smashing his own lip in his enthusiasm, hand slipping around to cup the back of his neck.
Stiles let out an "oomf" at the impact, scent turning to shock, body frozen and lips unmoving. But when Derek pulled back slightly and allowed them to actually kiss properly, he returned it, surprise and pleasure rolling off him in waves.
The twosome shifted so they were laying on the couch, the younger man underneath with his head propped on the arm of the sofa. Derek cupped his face, feeling the familiar shape of his expression, the surprise furrowing his brow, the smile curving his lips.
He pulled back to peer down at him, at his Mate, at the male he was still in love with despite everything. Stiles swallowed hard, nerves coloring his scent, uncertainty swirling in his whiskey orbs. It wasn't an expression Derek wanted to see on his face and he felt the overwhelming desire to kiss it away.
So he did.
He reconnected their lips, much more gently this time, the kiss returned instantly. Lips moved in well-practiced motions, Derek stroking his Mate's cheek with his thumb, pressing his body down onto his. The frame underneath his was familiar and new all at the same time, added muscles altering his shape.
But the scent in Derek's nose was exactly the same, all spicy citrus, that smell that was home and his and love and lust and, fuck, he just wanted to breathe it in for the rest of his life.
Arms wrapped around him, Stiles managing to work a leg out from under the larger male, hooking it around Derek's thigh. The Werewolf let his hips drop down, slowly rolling them against the other male's and making him gasp into his mouth.
Stiles pulled away, staring up at the older man with dilated pupils and half-lidded eyes. His cheeks were flushed, lips blurred and reddened, and his breathing was heavier than before. He was beautiful and he was in love with Derek, was Derek's Mate, was underneath Derek smelling of love and want and why the hell weren't they kissing again?
The Werewolf bent down and pressed their lips together, fingers gripping at the back of his shirt. He licked at the seam between his Mate's lips and was granted access, immediately slipping inside. He tasted the beer Stiles'd consumed, the mint of earlier toothpaste, the familiar flavor that was pure Stiles with no other way to describe it. It went straight to his head, making him groan, hips bucking down and pressing into a half-hard lump that wasn't there before.
"Ah, fuck, Der," Stiles gasped out, head tilting back, arousal flooding the Werewolf's nose.
Derek ran his nose up along the length of his Mate's neck, inhaling him, the scent making his head swim and his cock harden. His own arousal was a living thing, breathing fire into every inch of him and taking control of his body and actions.
His hips began grinding, slow rolls driving his hardening cock down onto his Mate's. Moans filled his ears, sparking his arousal more and driving him higher, further. His wolf was a howl in the back of his mind, growls emanating from somewhere deep within, rumbling his chest.
An answering growl came from below, making his dick stiffen up completely, hand shooting out to dig his claws in the arm of his couch rather than the male beneath him. He let out a shuddered gasp against a cotton covered collarbone, before snarling at the fabric for blocking his way to bare skin. Fangs descending, he hooked it in the collar of Stiles' tee and ripped it right down the middle.
"Oh fuck," the Kitsune groaned, hips bucking up. "That's so fucking hot."
Derek smirked, dragging the tip of it up between his pecs, along his collarbone, then the side of his throat, relishing in the shuddering gasp he earned in response. Making his teeth blunt again, he sank them into his jugular and held him in place, wolf rumbling in pleasure, his Mate groaning loudly.
"Oh God, get naked and inside me!"
Derek lifted his head then his body, reaching down and undoing the younger man's belt. Stiles followed his lead and worked on the Werewolf's belt and slacks, reaching inside and cupping him through his briefs. His hips bucked on automatic, grinding against the newly added source of friction, cock pulsing against the cotton. Precome spurted out, creating a wet patch, the Kitsune rubbing his finger in it and inadvertently playing with his slit.
"Oh my God," he gasped out, barely able to hold himself up above his ex, eyes drifting closed as the finger continued rubbing there and playing with him. His entire body trembled, the scent of his Mate's arousal and joy further spurring him on and causing him to become further turned on himself.
The finger slipped away and he opened his eyes to see Stiles slipping it in his mouth and sucking, groaning in satisfaction at the taste. Derek growled, feeling his eyes flash, and he crashed their lips together in a fierce kiss.
Somehow he managed to get the other man's jeans undone and parted, boxers shoved down enough for his cock to spring free. He pulled away from his partner's lips, ignoring the protesting whine that came from that action, spitting on his own palm before reaching down and curling his hand around the Kitsune's cock.
Stiles groaned out a few syllables he was sure were meant to be words—most likely swears—hips bucking up into the tight grip. He stared up at the older man, jaw hanging slack, eyes roaming his face before he glared at his torso.
"Too much clothes," he grumbled, setting to work on the buttons of the deputy's uniform shirt and slipping it down his shoulders. Derek sat up, straddling his waist, and helped him remove it, then tugged off the wifebeater that was underneath, tossing both aside. Leaning back down, he reconnected their lips, cupping the younger man's cheek as he kissed him passionately. His slacks and boxers were pushed down under his ass, hands cupping the globes before one slid around and wrapped around his dick. He smeared precome around it, using it as a weak lube to stroke him long and slow, grip tight the way he remembered Derek liked it.
Their lips parted when their gasping breaths became too much to handle, foreheads pressed together. The Werewolf licked his palm and reached down between their bodies, knocking the other man's hand away before wrapping both of them in his own. Matching groans escaped their lips in synchronicity, both bucking their hips. Derek stroked both of them together, whining in frustration when he couldn't get the friction he wanted, deciding on a new plan of action.
Stilling his hand, he started bucking his hips, rubbing his cock against the other man's. The head of his dick dragged against the sensitive part under the younger man's, his own bundle of nerves being massaged by the other man's balls. Stiles gasped, eyes going wide, claws pricking at Derek's bare back as the sweet scent of his pleasure intensified.
"Shit," he breathed, a whine following soon after. "Der. Gonna come."
The Werewolf growled, eyes flashing again, his own claws lengthening and staying that way. "Good," he rumbled, flashing fangs down at the other male. "Want you to come."
Stiles whined again, tips of his own fangs peeking out his parted lips, hips bucking in rhythm with his partner's. His eyes flashed orange momentarily, swearing again, claws now dragging down the other man's back.
"Come, too," he rasped out, moaning as Derek began rubbing their slits with his thumb. "Want you to come. Wanna wear your scent."
The Werewolf growled louder, precome flowing abundantly and making their dicks slide together easier. He was getting close, balls drawing up close to his body as his spine tingled, gun cocked and ready to blow.
But not before his Mate.
He nibbled on the other man's neck, playing on his biting fetish and making him pant and tremble. "C'mon, li'l foxy," he coaxed, voice rasping as he ran a fang along the shell of his ear. "Paint me with your scent."
Stiles' spine arched off the couch as he shouted out a swear then Derek's name, eyes wide open and glowing orange, claws digging into bare skin. His come spurted out in thick ropes, hitting both their torsos as he cried out.
Derek kept stroking until Stiles whimpered from oversensitivity, moving his hand as he sat up and straddled his Mate's waist again. He smeared a hand through the Kitsune's come on his lean chest, using it to lube his actions as he jerked himself off.
Stiles groaned, eyes half-lidded, a dull orange ring around blown pupils. He reached up and began smearing his come on the Werewolf's chest, rubbing it into his skin as he licked his lips.
"Fuckin' hell that's hot," Stiles commented on a whisper, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "Come on. Come all over me. My Mate."
Derek did exactly as he was told.
With a roar, he spilled himself all over the younger man, their seeds mixing together as he covered him with his scent, letting all who came near know that Stiles was his.
A satisfied growl rumbled up from his chest at the sight, hand reaching down to swirl it all together, bringing some to his mouth to taste. Their combined flavors made him groan, glowing gold eyes rolling to the back of his head, grin forming on his face.
He stared down at the male beneath him, loving the display he created. His heaving chest was covered in their smeared come. His usually pale skin was flushed from exertion and pleasure, whisker burn having turned the side of his neck an angry red. The bite marks were already healing, something that irked his wolf, but it was worth it to see the hint of fangs between parted lips and feel the prick of claws on his bare hips.
Fucking eh. Derek wasn't sure if it was due to that whole "absence makes the heart grow fonder" bullshit or what, but Stiles looked better than ever and he honestly had no clue exactly how much he'd missed the sight of his debauched and satisfied Mate until that moment.
"I love you," he spoke lowly, reverently, leaning down and pressing their bodies close together, tucking his head into the crook of his partner's neck and inhaling his scent. "I love you."
"Love you, too, Bae Wolf."
Derek's head popped up at that, scowling down at his smirking Mate. "No," he replied flatly.
"What?" the Kitsune asked innocently, still smirking, tips of his fingers—claws now retracted—lazily trailing up and down his spine.
"No 'bae'. Ever."
Stiles opened his mouth to argue but Derek's phone ringing on the coffee table cut him off. The deputy froze, eyes widening as he recognized the ringtone, immediately sitting up.
"Nooo," Stiles whined, reaching up to try and grab hold of the other man's shoulder, hands slipping on sweat-dampened bare skin. "Don't kill the afterglow."
"It's your dad," he stated flatly, leaning over to snatch up his cell.
"Afterglow killed."
The older man nodded once, sliding to answer. "Hale."
"Get your ass down to Beacon Memorial," Stilinski barked down the line, but with a lot less venom than earlier. "We got two new vics, both still alive."
Reality came crashing in at that moment, making his eyes go wide. He was vaguely aware of replying with a "yes, sir" and hanging up, smearing his hand over his face. Christ, he'd been fooling around with his ex, getting off like a selfish asshole while a group of killers were out free and attacking someone else.
Someones, actually.
He felt vaguely nauseous, felt like an asshole, felt like a failure and a disappointment and a complete fuck up. He was supposed to be protecting the people of Beacon County, not participating in carnal activities and smearing his come all over someone.
Total fuck up.
He stumbled onto his feet, hand shoved in his hair, gazing around the room and taking in the state of things. His equipment was on the coffee table, uniform shirt hanging off the edge of it, slacks still hanging open as they barely clung to his thighs. He was surrounded by symbols of his job and he still managed not to do it, all because he was weak and gave in to someone else.
No more.
He quickly strode through to the bathroom, quickly wiping himself off and tucking himself back into his pants. Shitty cleanup job, but he was failing at his actual occupation, too, so it made sense.
Heading back into the living room, he found Stiles standing there buttoning his flannel up, remnants of his torn tee beside him on the couch. His head was ducked down, shoulders slumped, scent upset and defeated.
Derek scuffed his way over to the coffee table, slipping his wifebeater over his head and his arms through the sleeves of his uniform shirt. "Can I call you later?"
A small smile curved up the corner of his lips, scent turning happier and sweeter again. "Yeah," he replied, lifting his head and smirking. "I programmed my new number in your phone already."
Derek snorted, ruffing the other man's hair and getting a chuckle in response. A small smile of his own formed in his face and he leaned over, kissing his Mate. "Drive safe and text me when you get home."
Stiles saluted then gave the older man another quick peck on the lips, sashaying his way out the loft.
His Mate being happy was one less problem he had to deal with, even though it didn't ease his guilt over slacking off with killers in the loose. But maybe these new still alive victims would be able to help him solve that problem, too.
Parrish was waiting in the ER for him, smirk forming on his face as Derek grew closer. "Okay, you are officially no longer allowed to comment on the smell of my apartment," he stated with a chuckle, waving a hand in front of his nose as if ridding himself of a bad scent.
"Fuck you, Parrish," he grumbled in return, self-consciously checking his clothing for stains. Bit late to do anything about it though.
Luckily he was fine.
His partner chuckled more, shoving playfully at the other male. "Thought getting laid was supposed to make people lighten up."
The Werewolf snorted, glancing around and feeling glad that everyone was too busy to hear their convo. "Yeah, well, kinda hard to be happy and lighthearted with a bunch of serial killers on the loose, brandishing a list containing the names of your family, friends, and Mate."
Parrish sobered at that, scent shifting to something distressed. "Sheriff told me about that list, about how Lydia and I were on it, too. Makes me wonder how the hell they knew about me."
"Only one way to find out," Derek stated, folding his arms over his chest. "So what do we have?"
The Kitsune flipped open his notepad, reading the top page. "Aidan and Ethan Wolfe, twin brothers, both Werewolves."
"Shocker," he deadpanned. Werewolves with the surname "Wolfe". Quite a stretch.
His partner made an agreeing humming noise before continuing. "Aidan was admitted with a bruised larynx after being choked with a blunt object and is still unconscious. Ethan is currently in surgery being treated for multiple stab wounds and defensive gashes. His boyfriend is in the waiting room, name's Danny—" He paused, frowning at his note. "Mah-hee-ay-lay-nigh." He stuck his bottom lip out, clearly not sure if he was right, then shrugging as if to say "close enough".
Derek frowned himself before leaning over and peering at the other deputy's notepad. "May-hee-ah-lah-nee," he corrected, recognizing the name immediately.
Parrish lifted his head and met his eyes. "You know the guy?"
"Used to," he admitted, stepping back and scratching at his jaw. "Friend of a friend."
Parrish nodded once then placed a hand on his shoulder, flipping his notepad closed and smirking. "Then you get to interview him." He clapped his shoulder twice before dropping his arm and walking off.
The Werewolf sighed, punching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. Really, talking to Danny shouldn't be that big a deal now that Stiles was back in his life and they were...
They were what exactly?
Right. Not the time for an internal debate regarding his own relationship status. He had someone to talk to, someone he was familiar with, someone who was currently upset over his boyfriend being in surgery. Getting his mental shit together, Derek headed down the hall, soon finding the waiting room he needed and the human he wanted to talk to.
Danny was on the edge of one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, fingers steepled in front of his face. He was dressed in gray sweats and black fleece pullover, blood and dirt splattered on his clothing, on his face. There was a slight tremble to his body, but it might've just been where his feet were tapping out an unknown rhythm as a way to get rid of nervous energy. God knew Derek had seen enough of that coming from Stiles.
Knocking on the doorframe, he stepped into the room, noting the surprise flooding Danny's scent and the look of realization dawning on tan features.
"Derek?" he double-checked. "Hey, man."
"Hey," he returned the greeting with a head bob, sinking down onto the seat on Danny's left. "I'd ask how you are but." He cut himself off and shrugged, figuring there was no need to finish that statement, especially with the snort he received in response.
"Yeah," he sighed out, staring straight ahead at sterile white walls and gray chairs. "Kinda obvious how shitty I'm feeling, considering my Mate is currently in surgery after being stabbed."
The deputy's eyebrows raised in surprise before he schooled his features. "I didn't know you were Mated," he commented, thinking back to Parrish's statement over Ethan's boyfriend. Actually being Mated was the human equivalent of being married, meaning the term "husband" would've been more accurate. He was pretty sure he'd made that distinction clear to the Kitsune, but maybe he was wrong or things were blurred when he brought up Stiles...
"I'm not," Danny clarified, bringing him back to the moment. "My family won't let me get Mated or married or anything like that until after I graduate MIT. But I know Ethan is it for me, so we use the term." He shrugged, smoothing down the hair at the back of his head. "Feels more accurate and fitting than 'boyfriend', ya know?" He turned his head to the other male, brow raised in question.
"Yeah, I get it," Derek replied honestly, having firsthand experience with that very thing. Even when he and Stiles were apart, it still felt wrong to think of him as anything but his Mate. The word just fit, was the most accurate way to convey his feelings for the guy and how much he truly meant to Derek.
He shoved all those thoughts aside though, focusing once again on his job. Sliding his notepad out his belt, he flipped to a clean page, jotting down the time and date, Danny's name, making sure his notes stayed accurate and unjumbled. "Wanna tell me what happened?"
Danny puffed up his cheeks and blew the air out, head hanging again. "My family wanted to meet Ethan's—which is pretty much only Aidan really—so we came here for the holidays. But there are a lot of people in my house and it got to be too much for them, so we decided to go for a run in the Preserve."
Derek cocked an eyebrow at that. "At this hour?"
The human shrugged, sheepish smile on his face, deepening his dimples. "We'd actually been out all night," he admitted. "The three of us were all hanging together drinking, but then Aidan said he had to take a leak so he wandered off."
The deputy nodded as he scribbled it all down, the distracting sounds and scents of the hospital all disappearing as he focused.
"Ethan heard a strangling noise and took off running and I followed." He paused to swallow hard, scent turning salty from upset, heartbeat picking up speed from remembered anxiety. His brow furrowed as he focused on the memory, fingers tangled together between his knees. "By the time I got there, Aidan and Ethan were both on the ground unconscious with this blond kid standing over them wielding a lacrosse stick. I yelled that I was gonna call the cops and he took off running."
Derek felt his own heart speed up at the description of the attacker, the vague details sounding familiar enough for him to know exactly who Danny was talking about.
"Think you could identify him if you saw him again?" he asked, hating how hopeful he sounded.
At the human's nod, he slipped his phone out his pocket, pulling up Garrett's Facebook profile picture that Stiles had saved on his device. He held it up so the other man could see it, noting how his dark eyes lit up with recognition and he sat up straighter, leaning away from the image.
"Yeah," Danny breathed out, swiping his sleeve under his nose. "That's the kid I saw getting ready to stab Ethan again."
Phone back in his pocket, Derek hid his smirk as he jotted down Danny's positive ID. There was no way Stilinski wasn't letting them haul in Garrett Smith now. And with three of the killers positively identified with more than just circumstantial evidence and a gut feeling, they were one step closer to taking down the entire group and making Beacon Hills safe once again.
"We got really fucking lucky with this one."
It wasn't often that the sheriff actually swore—especially while in uniform—so to hear the f-bomb being so casually dropped, it further solidified the meaning behind the words.
Both Derek and Parrish went wide eyed as they stood in an empty waiting room, updating each other on the latest vics. Aidan was healing rapidly—as the case usually was with sleeping Werewolves—but his injuries had been documented, photos taken of the bruise across his neck where he'd been strangled with a long, blunt object. Nurse McCall had been the one to inform the sheriff of that fact, agreeing when he asked if it was possible that the mark was caused by a lacrosse stick.
Ethan was also healing up well, now out of surgery and in a recovery room with his twin and Mate. The wounds he'd suffered from were deep and ragged, inflicted during an obvious struggle and leading to massive blood loss. Nurse McCall said he was close to being brought in in a body bag rather than on a stretcher.
The sheriff's profane comment had been delivered after the human female had departed, needing to check on other patients. His two deputies exchanged twin looks of surprise before focusing on him as he ticked off items on his fingers. "Live victims who can tell us what happened, an eyewitness with a positive ID, and DNA of the attacker found in blood under both vics' claws." A relieved smile formed on his face as he refolded his arms, eyes seeming brighter despite the darker circles under them. "We might be getting close to solving this case."
Parrish grinned, Derek's smile not quite as big or bright. He tried to remember when exactly he'd slept last, fairly certain he'd been up for over twenty-four hours at that point. Ironic since he'd been hoping to sleep right through Christmas Day.
Where was a coffee machine when it was needed?
"So what's next, sir?" Parrish questioned, both deputies locking eyes on their superior.
"We've got a rush on the DNA, so no arrest yet," he informed them, rubbing at his jaw, the action creating a rasping noise from the missed day or two of shaving. "But we've got enough to bring Smith in for questioning."
"And his mom," Derek tacked on. "He's under eighteen, needs a legal guardian to be present."
Stilinski nodded with a smirk. "Which is the perfect excuse to bring in Kate Argent and see what she knows."
The Werewolf grinned, liking his boss' train of thought.
"In the meantime, Parrish, I want you to get an array made with Smith's photo in it, make Mah-hee—May-hee—Danny's ID more official," he ordered before turning to his other deputy. "When's the last time you got a good night's sleep, Hale?"
"About three years ago," he answered honestly, statement backed up by a jaw-cracking yawn.
"All the more reason to head home and get some shut eye. More shut eye," he corrected himself with a bob of the head, face contorting into a grimace. "And I'm sorry for dragging you here, but I figured you'd wanna know about this firsthand. Didn't mean to interrupt your sleep."
Parrish snickered on Derek's right and he snapped his head over, flashing gold eyes and baring a fang in warning. Definitely not the appropriate time or place to make wisecracks regarding the Werewolf's sex life, especially not when the third person in their convo was well-aware that he was the father of the one person Derek wanted to have any sort of a sex life with.
Who just happened to also be his boss.
Stilinski narrowed his eyes, lips parting as he frowned in confusion, holding his hands out in front of himself. "I don't even wanna know," he decided. "Just. Go."
Parrish continued to smirk as they both headed towards the exit, Derek scowling and hating the amused scent his partner was giving off.
"Keep it up and I'll tell Lydia all about your cross-dressing habit," he warned as they neared his Toyota and he unlocked it with his key fob.
The Kitsune paused by the rear of the SUV, brow furrowed in puzzlement. "But I don't have one," he argued, watching as the other man headed to the driver's side door.
"True," he admitted, opening it up. "But Lydia doesn't know that." He grinned wickedly at his friend as he climbed inside his car, laughing at the middle finger he received.
