Oliver was silent as he flicked through the file of things Felicity had put together regarding Roy's life back when he was Jackson Whittemore, trying to learn more about his younger half-brother. By Roy's own admission Jackson Whittemore had been an arrogant, selfish, jealous boy, with a desire to be number one on the lacrosse field that boarded on the obsessive. Jackson's jealousy and his desire to be the best player on the team were the reasons he'd asked to be a werewolf, ignoring the dangers that it would involve, not only to Jackson himself, but those around him as well

There was a part of Oliver that was glad that he hadn't known about Roy back then, and that his father had kept his distance. It would have hurt to see the younger man tear himself up in his jealousy, only for his plan to backfire on him badly when he became a Kanima.

Oliver remembered the night that Sara had reunited Stiles with Laurel and Detective Lance. Diggle had been spending some time with Lyla, and Felicity had gone home early, planning on catching up on Game of Thrones with a glass of red wine and a large bowl of ice cream, leaving Oliver and Roy alone in the lair.

Oliver had taken the opportunity to watch the younger man, trying to notice anything that would have given away the fact that Roy wasn't as human as Oliver had thought.

"Would you stop staring, it's starting to freak me out," Roy had complained after a short time, stopping his assault on a punching bag and turning to face Oliver.

"I'm not staring," Oliver protested, although it was far from his most convincing.

Roy snorted, "Even without using my werewolf powers I know you were lying."

"How do werewolf powers relate to telling if people are lying?" Oliver asked, confused by Roy's comment. The younger man rolled his eyes.

"My hearing," Roy explained, "I can hear your heat beat…track it. Your heart beat jumps when you lie…just like it does for most people…you should hear Stiles' when he get going. It's like I'm a walking lie detector."

"And you couldn't have mentioned this earlier?' Oliver sighed, although he couldn't blame Roy for keeping it to himself.

"Would you have believed me?" Roy replied, and Oliver knew he had a valid point. Roy had, in the past, said that he thought someone was lying, but Oliver hadn't put much thought into it, assuming that Roy was judging simply off his gut feeling and a lifetime's experience living in the Glades. Now that he knew the truth about Roy being a werewolf Oliver knew the error in his ways.

"Not without knowing that you were a werewolf and that you could hear people's heartbeats." Oliver had admitted guiltily, conceding that Roy was right.

Roy had nodded, obviously pleased to have made his point, before he turned back to the punching bag and taking a couple of swings at it.

"Has it been hard…to hide what you really were?" Oliver asked. Roy landed one last hit, the punching bag swinging wildly from the impact, before he turned back around to face Oliver.

"It wasn't hard," Roy admitted, "Up until I joined you guys. Even after Thea and I got together it wasn't too bad. I really wasn't doing anything that involved me using my powers. The only time I almost blew it was when she saw me get stabbed. By the time she got me to the clinic it had almost completely healed over again. Luckily she went to deal with some paperwork and I was able to open it up again with one of my claws before anyone noticed."

Oliver had choked at the comment, the carefree way Roy had shrugged his shoulders, as if using his own claws to cut himself open wasn't a big deal.

"You cut yourself open with your own claws, just to cover up the fact that you were healing too quickly after being stabbed?" Oliver had asked. Roy had shrugged, and Oliver had seen the dark look crossing the younger man's face.

"Trust me, it's not the worst thing I've done to myself Beacon Hills has nothing on Starling City when it comes to sick mind games…and If you don't believe me, just ask Stiles, he probably knows the most about that kind of thing than anyone. What I went through has nothing on what he got to experience."

Roy hadn't given Oliver any further details, which in itself told Oliver how lucky he was to have met Roy at all, as if it hadn't always been certain that Roy would have lived to see the news about the Queen's Gambit going down. The thought alone had send a shudder down Oliver's spine, even before he'd learned that Roy was his half-brother.

"I'm sorry that felt as though you had to keep this hidden," Oliver had apologised after a lengthy pause. Roy had blinked up at him in surprise, although he hadn't said anything.

"Look…I know that you being a werewolf…it's not something I would have expected, but I should have done more to make you feel comfortable about coming to me about it, or any other issues you were having. Even though you've been surrounded by people in the Glades you've been on your own for a long time…I know a bit about what that feels like. You don't have to be alone anymore, Roy."

"I haven't been alone," Roy had shaken his head, "Not since you saved my life in that subway train. You and Thea, Felicity, Sara and Diggle, you became like my pack, even though you're all human."

It wasn't the first time Oliver had heard Roy say that He and the rest of their group had become Roy's 'pseudo pack', but there was something about the way that Roy said it that made Oliver feel extra protective of the younger man.

Oliver wasn't sure why he'd done it, but at that moment, with just the two of them in his lair, he'd slung his arm over Roy's shoulder. Roy had tensed briefly, before Oliver had felt the muscles in Roy's shoulders and back relax, and the younger man had leant against Oliver's side. Oliver wasn't sure how long they'd stayed like that before he felt Roy rubbing his cheek on Oliver's side, and the soft noise of Roy sniffling. For a moment Oliver had thought that Roy was crying, but then he'd remembered the first night, when Stiles and Roy had been reunited, and Stiles had hugged Roy, and Roy had tried to sniff Stiles without anyone else noticing.

Thinking back on the nature documentaries that he'd sometimes watched with Thea when she was smaller, Oliver realised what Roy was doing. He wasn't crying, he was scenting, getting his scent on Oliver, and getting Oliver's scent on him.

For a moment after realisation dawned on him Oliver had stiffened up, his mind struggling to deal with what it had just realised. It was only for a moment, before Oliver stopped thinking about it. It was what Roy needed, and Oliver would ignore every part of him that found the behaviour unusual just so he could offer some comfort to Roy, who seemed to have spent the past seven years ignoring a part of himself.

As if he could sense Oliver's acceptance Roy had visibly relaxed even more into Oliver's embrace, "Thank you," he had murmured, his fingers curling slightly around the material of Oliver's t-shirt.

Looking back on that moment as he sat in the basement, surrounded by Felicity's information about Jackson Whittemore, Oliver came to the realisation that he shouldn't have been so shocked to learn that Roy was his little brother. He'd already regarded the younger man as if he was his brother. Felicity's findings had just added the fact that they were brothers by blood, not just in every other way.

Silently Oliver vowed that he would do anything he could to protect Roy, both in the vigilante life that Oliver had started that Roy had willingly jumped into, but the supernatural world that Roy had become entangled in as a misguided teenager too.

TW/A

"Hey, Stiles," Sherriff Stilinski greeted as he entered the room. Stiles looked up from the newspaper he was reading at the sound of his father's voice.

"Hey Dad," he replied, "Melissa went to the shops to pick up some things, she asked me to tell you where she was."

"Thanks," the Sherriff nodded, "how was your…walk this morning?"

Stiles blinked. Talking about his mother was always a touchy subject with his father. Once Stiles had turned fourteen they had barely ever visited the cemetery together, with the notable exception of Claudia's birthday, when they did go together, or at least, they had up until Stiles had left Beacon Hills and not come back for seven years.

"I told her about some of the stuff I saw…things I did when I was away," Stiles eventually admitted, his throat more than a little tight as he avoided his father's gaze. Telling his mother's grave, or even talking to Derek about it was one thing. His dad was a completely different scenario.

Stiles missed the sympathetic look his father gave him, "Derek called, said that he'd seen you up there, talking to your mother. He said that the two of you had spoken…that you left upset."

"Melissa told me," nodded Stiles, "Coming back home…it's made me realise a few things."

Stiles' father said nothing in response, instead reaching out and resting his hand gently on Stiles' shoulder, gripping it reassuringly. Stiles stiffened briefly at the contact, before his body relaxed, his mind resisting the instincts that the league and life on Lian Yu, had literally beaten into him.

"Come on, I've got something to show you…get your mind off whatever it is that has you so bothered."

"Ok," Stiles shrugged, rising to his feet and following his father out the back door, walking around the back of the house until the came to a door leading into the garage.

Wordlessly, Stiles watched as his father pushed the door open, leading the way into the garage, flicking on some lights as he went, before Stiles followed him into the garage, his senses tensing in the unfamiliar setting, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the dim light,

The Sheriff pulled on a tarp that Stiles realised was covering something large, and he automatically reached out to help…although is arm dropped to his side as he realised what it was that his father was uncovering.

"Roscoe?" he choked out, taking in the sight of the blue Jeep…his mother's car, and then his the moment he turned 16 and got his licence. The car that had carried him into, and safely back out of, so much danger and so many battles, despite her age and her failing mechanics.

"She's been waiting here for you," the Sherriff offered, "I always hoped that, one day, you would come back, and be able to drive her again. Derek's helped me out with her, fixed her up…she runs better now than she did when your mom got her, and the pack all make sure that she stays nice and clean and that she gets driven around every now and then, just to keep her going."

Stiles sniffed, his eyes feeling with tears as he reached out a trembling hand and touched the bonnet of the car, his fingers tracing the familiar smooth metal, feeling the curves of the hood of the car.

"I won't ever be able to drive her again though, not here." Stiles sobbed, "I'm dead, Dad…legally. I shouldn't even be back in the states,

"Stiles…can't you, I don't know, go to a government office and get it reversed?"

"Dad…they're going to want to know how I got back into the country…which wasn't exactly through legal channels," Stiles pointed out with a hushed voice, glancing around as if there was a federal agent hiding in the garage to arrest him.

"But Queen came back, you can too."

Stiles took his time responding, walking a couple of steps along the Jeep, running his fingers along the side of it, until he could peer through the drives side window and see the interior of the car, just as spotless as the outside was. He caught sight of his own reflection in the side mirror, and sighed, taking in how much he'd changed physically since the last time he'd driven the car. It was a minor miracle that anyone had recognized him.

"It's different Dad," Stiles eventually sighed, "maybe one day I can come back properly…but not yet."

TW/A

Stiles was sitting in the backyard of the house his father and Melissa shared, his legs brought up to his chest, his forearms crossed over his knees on top, with his chin resting on his arms, lost in his own thoughts, although he kept his senses alert, unable to let himself truly relax.

The soft sound of footsteps approaching reached Stiles ears, but Stiles didn't move, recognizing the steps as those belonging to his father, and although the footsteps had been quiet, he was prepared for the sound of his father's voice.

"Hey Stiles?"

"Yeah Dad,"

"Melissa and I are going to the pack meeting at Derek's loft. You sure you don't want to come?"

"No, it's alright." Stiles shook his head, looking over his shoulder at his dad, "I'm just going to relax here for a bit, take a moment to chill out. I might watch some TV later."

"OK then," the Sherriff frowned, the concern visible in his eyes before he turned away from Stiles, "You know our numbers in case something happens. I don't know how late we're going to be, don't stay up and wait."

"Dad, I'm 23 years old, I'll be ok on my own," Stiles pointed out with a wry smile. The Sherriff sighed and nodded, heading back into the house with a wave in Stiles' direction. Stiles watched him go, listening as he heard the sounds of his dad and Melissa getting into Melissa's car and leaving the house.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Stiles went back to looking out at the backyard, enjoying the pleasant summer evening air. For one of the first times since he'd returned to Beacon Hills he was alone, and he took a moment the savour the solitude. His father and the pack had meant well, Stiles understood, but their near constant presence at his side had been surprisingly draining. Stiles was fairly sure it was because he was feeling indulged. Ever since he'd joined the league, or even before then, he'd been pretty much looking after himself. Yes, he had slept at Oliver's side when they were on the island together, and Sara, Slade, Shado and Yao Fei had helped make sure that Stiles hadn't died of hunger, but other than that Stiles had been in charge of making sure that he didn't end up dead.

Now that he was back in Beacon Hills, however, Stiles felt as though everyone was treating him like he was going to shatter into a thousand pieces, a concept that Stiles knew he hadn't really helped dissolve. He felt guilty for how emotional he had been ever since coming back to Beacon Hills, but that didn't stop the constant presence of concerned pack members from quickly becoming suffocating.

Even Jackson had chosen to go to the pack meeting. He'd said something about going for a run in the woods afterwards with the other wolves and Kira. It was still another week until the full moon, but Jackson hadn't run with other wolves since the full moon after Stiles boarded the Queen's Gambit, so nobody was blaming Jackson for wanting to take advantage of being close to other werewolves for the first time in years. Derek and Scott had practically insisted on Jackson joining them. Scott and Kira had already picked Jackson up so that they could relax up at the loft for a bit before the meeting, although Stiles' father and Melissa hadn't been able to leave earlier due to the Sherriff only just getting home from work.

On the other side of the fence Stiles heard a tree creak gently in the wind, and Stiles let out a sigh, letting his body relax, enjoying the quiet stillness of the evening. Using meditation techniques that he'd learned in the league, Stiles focused on relaxing each part of his body, as much as he could anyway. Stiles wasn't even sure that he would ever be able to be completely relaxed ever again, not after everything he'd been through. Even before the Queen's Gambit, or even the Nogitsune, Stiles had known he had been struggling mentally, that his constant feeling that something bad was going to happen. He'd once admitted that it had felt like he was drowning.

The feeling had never gone away, not completely, despite the fact that so many years had passed. It felt like there were brief moments in time when he'd been able to fight his way to the surface and suck in a few hurried breaths, but then he'd always been dragged back down by something.

Not for the first time, Stiles wondered if it would have been better if he had gone down with the Queen's Gambit. Up until he'd returned to Beacon Hills the pack had been reasonably secure in their knowledge that he was dead, and they had gone on with their lives. Even his dad had shown that, with the support of Melissa and the pack, he'd coped without Stiles in his life.

Stiles forcibly pushed back his darker thoughts. He'd survived the Queen's Gambit going down, and everything his life had thrown at him since then. He wasn't going to let himself dwell on what ifs and speculation. At least it was a relief for Stiles to know that, when he left Beacon Hills again, this time probably for good, he wouldn't have to worry as much about the pack than he had done the first time he'd left. They could survive without him…they didn't need him.

And they would be far safer once he was gone.