AN: This chapter's for ManicTater for being the ONE and ONLY review to chapter ten. Thanks a bunch, Tater!
Warnings: Language
Disclaimer: I don't own "Teen Wolf".
Chapter Eleven
Say "Werewolf"!
Jackson, having heard the entire conversation—as opposed to just Stiles' half—doesn't give the little nerd the option of relaying Derek's orders. Mostly because that would feel too much like taking orders from Stilinski. And that shit's just not gonna happen.
"Ay, yo! Danny," Jackson grins, swooping in on his best friend. The grin is one hundred percent real too, because he loves Danny—strictly platonically—and he wants to share this with the guy who's his brother in every way but blood.
"Hey, Jacks." Danny smiles a little when Jackson puts his arm around his shoulders. He knows the beginnings of a conspiracy when he sees one; Jackson isn't usually so touchy-feely.
"I'm going out to get a top notch I.D. You want in?" Jackson whispers conspiratorially against Danny's ear, careful not to be overheard. The last thing he needs is for half the lacrosse team begging him to take them too. Something tells him Derek would not be happy to see a dozen teenage boys he's not giving the Bite to following them around to wherever to they're going. And Jackson doesn't want to get his face mauled again. Especially since he's just finished healing from the last time.
"Yeah, man. Let me pack up my kit." Danny grins and Jackson leaves him to it, shooting a superior smirk towards Stilinski and McCall who seem to be having difficulties convincing their target.
Isaac is shaking his head 'no' pretty seriously, and Jackson, being a kind and helpful man, goes to fix the hold-up.
"Look, I have to go home right after practice." He's saying with conviction and the slightest tremor of fear. "My dad…he's kinda strict."
"Come with us." Jackson coaxes with a wide, knowing smile. "And that won't be a problem anymore."
Isaac pales a little at that. Because if there was ever anyone to know about his dirty laundry, well the neighbor kid was probably it. "I don't see how."
And then Jackson takes a risk that just might get him mauled again. But, the way he figures it, Derek is going to Bite him, so Isaac is already going to know. And it's not like Isaac has any friends to tell. His eyes flash, luminous blue, and Isaac takes a step back, frightened again. Derek's going to have to work on that because no chance in hell this kid's gonna be anything more than cannon fodder if he's afraid of his own freaking shadow all the time. "Trust me. It won't be a problem."
Isaac is silent and pale and Jackson doesn't actually wait for him to put himself back together and respond in any way, shape, or form. He just puts a hand on his shoulder and semi-gently guides the kid outside. Scott, Stiles, and Danny—shooting Jackson a strange look when he sees the rest of his company—follow after him.
Derek is waiting outside, lounging against the side of his car and looking every inch the drug dealer Jackson first thought he was. Seriously, he has "bad news" painted all over him. From the black combat boots on his feet to the black jeans, black v-neck, black leather jacket combo he's wearing to the five o'clock shadow clinging to his jaw and the dark glasses hiding his eyes.
"Miguel?" Danny says with a distinct air of confusion, and…what? Derek promptly turns what can only be a ferocious glare at Stiles.
"Actually." Stiles blurts, flushing red and looking generally flustered. "Kinda not my cousin. See, this is my friend Derek. Hale. Derek Hale. And I told you he was my cousin named Miguel because I didn't want you to know I was harboring a fugitive from my dad. But he was innocent! He totally had nothing, or well, very little to do with all the dead people!"
"Stiles. Stop talking." Derek orders and Stilinski shuts up. "Who're your friends?"
"Danny," Jackson gestures to his bud who's looking a bit worse for wear. "He's cool."
"Isaac." Scott says with the slightest growl in his voice. Apparently not down with the whole semi-kidnapping thing going on here. Pussy.
"Excellent." Derek smiles, and it's just like the one he was wearing right before he shot him. Jackson suppresses a shudder. "Divvy up however you like and follow me."
And then Derek is disappearing into his Camaro.
This is kind of the weirdest day of Danny's life. He'd been pretty sure nothing was ever going to top: holy shit, I think I'm gay. But this is pretty close. Because he's sitting next to Jackson in the porsche and they're tailing Derek freaking Hale, who isn't Stiles' cousin Miguel but a former fugitive wanted for multiple murders. And Jackson is just sitting there, completely calm, and following him. No concern about this at all. About following a suspected murderer to some as of yet undisclosed location out of town.
Danny seriously regrets getting in the car. No I.D., no matter how good, is worth the chance that he might be dead in a few hours.
"So…" He starts awkwardly, not really sure how to go about interrogating his best friend about his connection with a guy who could, maybe, be a serial killer. "How do you know Derek?"
"He's training me."
"Oh. Okay." Yeah, that doesn't sound weird or anything. God, he hopes Jackson hasn't gotten himself involved in some kind of freaky cult thing. That would so not be cool. "For what?"
"I'll tell you when your heart isn't about to beat its way out of your chest." Jackson smirks, and that's embarrassing. Apparently, yes, everyone can hear your heartbeat when it's pounding in your ears. Good to know.
Forty minutes of semi-terrified silence later, their little convoy reaches its destination. H&J Photography Studio. Well, alright. Maybe Mr. Illegal isn't a creepy cultist-killer guy. Maybe he really is just helping them get some quality fakes. Danny was probably just being paranoid. After all, Stiles is the sheriff's son, and he'd hidden Derek from his father; he wouldn't do that if Derek was guilty, right?
Unless Stiles is a part of said freaky cult and was protecting his "holy leader" or some strange-ass shit.
But Jackson and Scott and Stiles aren't acting like brainwashed, mindless drones. They aren't acting any different than they always have, aside from the whole hanging around with each other and Derek thing. So there's that. Danny takes a deep breath and gets out of the car. He's being paranoid. That's all. And now he's going to stop being paranoid. It's that simple.
Scott, Isaac, and Stiles clamor out of the latter's jeep. Isaac looks a little green around the gills, a little like he isn't sure if he wants to be here. But that makes sense. The kid's only fifteen, he's probably never gone to get a fake I.D. before. First time nerves. Yep. He absolutely hasn't been kidnapped by the same cult that suckered him into showing up too. See? Not paranoid at all.
"Seriously, Dan," Jackson smiles, and it looks the same as it always has, "relax before you have a heart attack or something."
"Uh-huh." Danny is ashamed of the squeak in his voice. "I'm good, dude. Totally."
The door to the studio swings open and some guy with the general style of a surfer bum comes out, grinning wide. "Erik, you bastard!"
"Tommy, my cousins." Derek says without any kind of emotion. His face doesn't change either. Seriously, boyfriend needs to get himself some expressions, stat….And that sounded really gay. Even inside his own head. "Cousins, Tommy."
Danny's pretty sure that he and Jackson could pass as blood relations. And maybe Stile, Isaac, and Derek. But Scott's darker complexion doesn't fit in with any of them. But Tommy doesn't seem to care all that much. Which, hey, the guy sells fake I.D.s. What does he care who he's selling them to?
"Always a pleasure to meet more Hydes, Erik." And Danny isn't quite sure if the guy is messing up Derek's name, or if he thinks it is Erik. Probably the latter. Which is scary, because how do they know this isn't some guy named Erik Hyde pretending to be Derek Hale? Not that it would do much on the crazy-killer scale, cause Danny has already awarded the older man a perfect score on that one.
Dude is seriously creepy. Gorgeous bod notwithstanding.
"You all set up in there?"
"Of course. Only the best for Erik Hyde. Just need their pretty faces and personal details slapped into Gloria."
"Then let's get this done. I have a delivery waiting at home."
"Hyde, party of six?" Tommy grins and gestures like the host at a lackluster restaurant, hanging on the door like an overgrown kid. "Right this way."
"You need yours touched up, Erik?" Tommy asks as he pokes around his equipment. "How do you feel about being a Sean? Or a Tyler? You have a Tyler's face."
"I haven't burned through Erik Hyde or Frank Dirge yet."
"You sure you don't want to be a Tyler? I have a lovely Tyler Twist on hand."
"Not a fan of alliteration. Take care of the boys." Derek growls, and Tommy doesn't argue any more after that.
"Fantastic! Who's first?" Tommy wheels around to stare at them all, and Stiles has the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of being singled out. "You! Short hair, toffee eyes. You're up."
"Me?" Stiles points to himself but there isn't really another option. His semi-buzz is by far the shortest cut in the room.
"Yes, yes, yes." Tommy waves him over. "Stand there and smile like this is the DMV. Because, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, it is."
"Wait." Derek interrupts before Tommy can take the picture. "You need the filter."
"You mean they're actually related to you?" Stiles has never heard a man sound so scandalized because he was told the truth.
"He has the same eye condition. So do those two." Derek says boredly, pointing to Scott and Jackson. And Stiles suddenly remembers mug shots with no clear pictures, a strange flash blotting out the face. Ohhhh…
Everyone else looks a little confused about said "eye condition". Including Scott and Jackson who apparently have it. But Stiles would probably be confused too if he hadn't already seen the police department's attempts at photographing a werewolf.
Stiles pastes on the generic grin of the bored and annoyed. The camera flashes. The other guys take their turns, all putting up similar masks of tedious expectation. Even Isaac who hadn't stopped looking vaguely nauseous since Jackson manhandled him out of the locker room.
Throughout the process, Stiles starts inching towards Derek. Because he's too antisocial to stand around with the rest of the group. He's not really sure why he doesn't just walk over there like a normal person, but he doesn't. "Hey, hey, Derek?"
"What, Stiles?" Derek doesn't even look at him, too busy watching Tommy the photo-guy do his work.
"Are you gonna Bite em? Cause I think you should tell them the details first. You know, the hunters and the war and the craziness that comes with the full moon. No one likes to be surprised by that kind of thing."
"I was planning on it. Now go away."
"Going. Now. Away. Like, over there." Stiles agrees quickly, walking briskly back towards the guys.
Tommy finishes taking his pictures and settles himself at his computer, getting oddly quiet. Mouthing words without any sound coming out, even to preternatural ears. And then, an explosion of motion. "Yes! I have it! Erik, come see!"
Derek stalks over, peering at the screen. "Acceptable. Birth certificates and passports?" Okay then. So the fake I.D.s weren't just a bribe to get Isaac and Danny to come. Okay. That's concerning. What the hell do they need passports for?
"Une momento, me amigo." Tommy is a flurry of motion again. Printing and laminating and bundling all sorts of things together, and Stiles has never seen the process of assembling "Mission accomplished. Anything else you need?"
"I said six spreads, didn't I?"
"You sure did. Where's lucky number six?" Tommy spins around in his chair.
"Scott!" Derek barks, startling every last one of the group about two feet in the air. "Come here."
Scott moseys on over, and Stiles trails after him. Because that's kind of what he does. "Yeah, Derek?"
"Give me your wallet."
"What?"
"Give. Me. Your. Wallet." Stiles has the oddest flashback of Derek telling him to take off his shirt with the exact same tone. Scott doesn't bother putting up a fight, just sighs and hands it over. Derek leafs through it quickly, pulls out something—a photo?—and tosses it back. "Can you use this?"
Tommy takes it. Yep, definitely a picture. "Can do, Erik." He goes about doing his thing, scanning the photograph and doing all the other things forgers apparently do. "Pretty lady." Tommy tosses out when he hands the pic back. Derek promptly returns it to Scott who looks highly offended, and Stiles sneaks a peek. Allison. Of course, Scott cares around a picture of the undying love of his life in his wallet. Because that's what people who are sickeningly in love do.
"That'll do it, Tommy."
"I can seriously make you a Tyler. You look like a Tyler."
"I'm not a Tyler, Tommy. Let it go."
"Going. Going. Gone." Tommy smiles again, shoving six folders into his hands. "Take your illicit paperwork and be gone, Erik. If that is your real name."
"You know it's not." Derek does his creepy smile again. And Stiles really needs to talk to him about that. Almighty Alpha werewolf he may be, but he seriously needs to branch out beyond angry and creepy.
"Indeed I do, random sir who doesn't trust his forger with his real name." Tommy makes a shooing gesture that Stiles is half afraid is going to end with Derek breaking his fingers. "Buh-bye now."
"Cars. Now." Derek demands, stalking out. And Stiles and the others follow. Three-fifths of them because he's the Alpha, the other two because the first three are their rides.
"Dude. He still has my I.D." Danny complains to Jackson who pretty much ignores him.
