a/n: its long and it's late forgive me. chapter accompaniment this time is wolf in winter, by ali project. have fun, reviews give me life.
Stiles sat on the information Derek had given him for a couple of days, debating his next move. He didn't go back into the sanctuary to see either Scott or Derek, but he couldn't wait for the dice to roll for him to take the next step. So he did what everyone does when they're out of options: Go to the internet and let it find it for you. He tried sites he hadn't thought of before, narrowing down public records for lands set aside for sanctuary use, and see where the needle was in this invisible haystack. After some more extensive digging involving an all-nighter and a truly gargantuan amount of Red Bull making his fingers buzz from a caffeine high, Stiles managed to find just one document that could potentially verify Derek's story. A lot outside of town popped up on a listing, something to do with deforesting permits, but however obscure it was linked to sanctuary usage in the time frame Derek had told them about. This small bit of information gave Derek's story a little credibility after all. Not that he doubted the guy, Stiles just had a very thorough mind for investigation is all.
All he had to show for that effort was a printout of the list, but he tacked it up on his wall regardless.
He was reluctant to update Lydia for a reason he couldn't quite put a finger on, but eventually he decided to tell her. It seemed only right, after she had done for him so far.
The day he made up his mind to tell her, he grabbed her the first chance he got. After an unusually busy morning and six full tour groups, that didn't end up being until his lunch break. She was still technically on duty but he told her it was important and she got one of the other girls on duty to cover for her. She joined him upstairs in the café and sat down across the table from him.
"Stiles what the Hell is going on,"? she asked, leaning forward towards him. Stiles couldn't keep still, his leg was unconsciously tapping a mile a minute under the table.
"Oak Creek, I found out what it was," he replied, keeping his voice low so no one else could hear their conversation. And then he told her. When he'd finished reiterating everything Derek had told him, she sat back, eyebrows drawn. She took it a lot less hotly than Stiles had, there were no violent outbursts of indignant rage but she did look a little unsettled.
"How did you find all this out?" was the first thing she asked. Stiles blanked.
"Um... The internet?" He wasn't exactly lying.
"You told me there was nothing on an Oak Creek, anywhere," she replied, her look turning into one of suspicion.
"I, uh... I made use of not entirely legal methods, to get this information," Stiles said. At least that was the truth.
"Uh-huh."
"So keep it on the down low, alright?" Lydia didn't look satisfied, but let it go.
"So what could that have to do with Jackson?" Lydia asked. "Or Laura," she tacked on after.
"I'm not sure yet," Stiles admitted. "That's why I'm planning on going there to find out."
"Stiles that's crazy, there's nothing there. I must have passed that lot a hundred times going out to the next town over to shop. There's nothing but a field and a couple of run down, decrepid buildings," she said.
"But maybe-," he started, but she cut him off.
"Look, I'm not saying don't go double check, but there's another explanation to this Oak Creek thing that you should be considering," Lydia said.
"And what's that?" Lydia leaned closer again, elbows on the table. She was serious.
"Maybe it's a euphemism. Maybe Oak Creek is the name they use on files to stand for killed. Jackson's dead, Peter Hale is dead. The most likely story here is that they're using the name of an old sanctuary to cover up illegal executions, explaining them away as transfers to a fictitious sanctuary." Stiles' jittering stopped, he felt like everything come to a standstill.
She had a point, and everything they'd uncovered to that point seemed to fit that theory. Derek had echoed the same thought too, but something in Stiles didn't want to accept just that. He had to know that was truly the answer, he had to have some concrete undeniable evidence that there weren't any other leads to pursue. He wasn't blindly optimistic about finding anything at the old site, however. As chilling as the thought of the cover up theory was, Stiles wouldn't put it past the people in charge of Beacon Hills. It was a strong theory, a plausible one and it left them one last question.
"So what are we going to do about it, if that's the case?" Stiles asked. Lydia looked at him.
"What can we do?" Lydia asked.
They were kids, minimum wage employees working on the sanctuary's tourism floor. Even with this revelation, what could they do? They didn't have any evidence, all they had was a name, a story that'd been dead fifty years and a theory. Who would they go to even if they did have some proof? They had no idea who was involved. No idea how high it went, who was authorizing any of it, or if Lydia's conjecture was even the truth.
As Stiles took inventory of his thoughts and of the case at hand, it dawned on him how futile his little quest really was. Even if he had the answers, if he found out what was happening, if he found out who was behind it, what could he possibly do to stop it?
Not a damn thing.
The weight of the reality of his situation settled on him, and Stiles felt a hollow sense of helplessness take root in his gut.
"Look," Lydia said finally, breaking the silence. "Maybe we should just drop this. It's ugly and wrong and this probably only gets worse if we keep digging. And if we get to that point there's no telling who might not like a couple of kids digging around this, or what they'll be willing to do to stop us. I'm not saying it's not important and…and I did want to see this through because Jackson's name was on that list, but these are dangerous people, Stiles. How important is this to you in the long run?" she asked quietly.
Stiles thought about that question, but for the life of him he couldn't think of a coherent answer. All he seemed to be able to think of was Derek's face, and somehow it made the sense of helplessness and all of his doubts vanish completely. Just seeing the werewolf's face change from a glare that was one notch away from being full transformed, to lighting up at the thought at least one person in his family was still alive gave him something to fight for.
"More important than anything else to me."
Lydia didn't say anything to that. She excused herself shortly thereafter to get back to her station downstairs, and Stiles sat in silence for the duration of his lunch period. Then after his half hour ticked away, he picked himself up and went back to work.
xxx
Derek found two of the younger wolves on the basketball court playing one on one. He'd been in the recreation hall looking for them, and figured this was the only other place they'd be. He hadn't seen the other two anywhere, but he didn't know as much about their habits. He'd been around the clearing enough to smell that Scott and Isaac frequented the courts. The girl and the other black boy, however, he'd only really smelled around the movie room inside the hall and not many other places besides each of their individual living quarters. Their scents crossed over those two places so much he had trouble distinguishing which belonged to which of them, but he didn't dwell too much on that.
When he found Scott and the other kid Isaac, they were playing better than any NBA player ever could dream of but something looked off about them. Scott and Isaac didn't look like their hearts were in it, even as Scott faded away and made an impressive layup. Isaac didn't move to defend, didn't even try to block him. Scott made the basket and the ball bounced away, coming to a stop at Derek's feet. He picked up the ball and tossed it back to Scott.
"Nice shot," he said, and Scott only looked up momentarily to catch the pass.
"Thanks," Scott said. Isaac stood watching the pair, but he wasn't focused on them. Something hung heavy in the air between them. Derek decided to get right to the point, then.
"Full moon is tonight," he said. The look on Scott's faced hardened. Isaac didn't react.
"Yeah, so?" Isaac replied in a forced neutral tone.
"Neither of you have ever been able to control your shifts on full moons, have you?" Derek probed. Derek figured it would be a touchy subject, but he had a point to make. Scott shot an uncomfortable glance to Isaac, then looked at Derek.
"No."
"Want me to show you how?" Derek asked.
xx
Ten minutes later Derek stood facing Scott and Isaac, as well as the other two younger wolves Erica and Boyd. They'd come on Scott's request, but Derek could tell neither of them trusted him the way Scott seemed to. Isaac he still couldn't quite read beyond the careful neutrality the boy projected. They were out in the woods, in a small clearing surrounded by low hanging trees. The teens stood in a loose semicircle around him, waiting for him to speak.
"Have any of you ever tried shifting outside of the full moon?" Derek asked. They looked around at each other.
"No," Erica was the one to respond.
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because it's horribly painful, or maybe it's the loss of control, turning into a rabid animal, something like that," came her barbed reply.
"What if I told you it didn't have to be?" he said, looking at each of them.
"What do you mean by that?" asked the tall black boy, Boyd.
"You four were bitten, you weren't born with it. I know being bitten and turned that way is a horrible experience, one I can't begin to imagine. I was born what I am, the shift was painful for me at first too but I had a lifetime to overcome it. To control it. Some of you here have been werewolves less than two years, and that's not long enough to be comfortable with it yet, I know. But this shift doesn't have to be so much of a bad experience for you, I promise," Derek said.
"What's it like for you?" Scott spoke up. After a moment of thought, Derek responded.
"It's freedom," he said. "When I'm in my wolf form I'm faster, I can see, hear, smell better than any human. I'm strong, I can fight and I can run. The shift gives me freedom, but for you it's pain. It shouldn't be like that."
"But what if that's all it'll ever be for us?" Erica asked. "We weren't born like this, we were bitten. We were infected with this, changed. We were never supposed to be like this." She was getting angry, Derek could see. But the anger wasn't really directed at him.
"Whatever you were, you aren't anymore. You're a werewolf, there's no changing that. You can't go back. If you keep spending so much time and energy denying that part of yourself, yes, it'll be painful and hard and you'll never be at peace," Derek said. Her eyes hardened. "But if you accept it, embrace it, it can be an amazing gift."
"So what are you proposing, exactly?" Isaac asked. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was eyeing Derek sceptically.
"Are any of you able to shift at will?" he asked. Isaac shook his head, so did Erica and Boyd. Derek looked to Scott.
"I tried, once. I couldn't. I can't feel it coming on until the full moon," Scott said.
"The moon rises in a few hours, so you all should be feeling it now. Try to focus on the instinct to change, see if you can feel that pull." Scott was the only one that closed his eyes, the others watched him intently but didn't seem interested in trying it themselves. Scott visibly shuddered.
"It's there, but ugh. I don't like it. I hate that feeling," he said, eyes still pinched shut.
"What does it feel like?" Derek asked, walking closer to Scott.
"It feels like I'm about to lose control, like something terrible is about to happen," Scott said. Then he groaned, and doubled over. The others backed away but Derek moved closer, kneeling down. Derek could sense his pain, and smell his fear but made no show of it.
"Make it stop," Scott cried out between clenched teeth, his breathing growing more rapid and feral. Derek put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
"Try to relax," he urged, and Scott's head snapped up. His eyes were glowing golden, and Derek could see his canines growing elongated and pushing out. His jaw began to spasm, pulling even more off to the side than it usually was. He looked like he was in pain, but Derek was sure that it was coming from how hard Scott was fighting the shift.
"What are you doing to him?" Isaac stood and stalked over, but Derek put a hand up to keep him away.
"Scott, breathe. Try to stop fighting the shift. Don't think about staying human. Let the instinct take over and calm down," Derek urged, keeping his grip tight on the younger werewolf. Derek could see Scott's hands at his sides flexing and claws growing from the tips of his fingers. His body hadn't started the shift yet, but his spine was curving in a way that Derek knew meant it wasn't far off. Scott's breathing was labored, but Derek could tell he was trying to keep it steady.
"Derek, I think he's about to shift," Erica warned him.
"Breathe, Scott. The key is to breathe. Let go of your fear of the shift and breathe," Derek said. The tension gradually eased out of Scott's shoulders, his breathing calmed down and after a few more beats Scott slumped forward. Derek caught his other shoulder and kept him upright, and when Scott looked up he was covered in a light sheen of sweat but he was still human.
"I-I did it," he stammered. Derek helped him over to a fallen tree and sat him down.
"You were able to back out of the shift, yes. You can keep it at bay for a while by focusing on your breathing and keeping your heart rate down. It naturally spikes when the urge to shift takes over and your body shoots full of adrenaline. If you actively try to fight it you're just putting unnecessary strain on your body, which is then forced to undergo the shift accelerated by the stress of fighting it," Derek tried to explain. Scott looked up at him, eyebrows drawn.
"What?" came from Isaac.
"It's like the tide. Try to fight it and you'll just be pulled under quicker. Relax and let it pull you, you'll make it to shore. More clear?" Derek rephrased. After a moment Scott nodded.
"I guess that makes sense," the teenager said. Derek backed away once Scott looked like he was alright. He turned to the other three.
"Now, that little trick might help right now, but it'll take a lot more to keep the shift controlled during the full moon. You won't learn anything to help you stay in control tonight, but I'm going to show you how to make the shift less painful. Once it hits tonight I'll take you guys on a run, and I'll show you what it's like to run as a pack."
xx
It was Lydia's turn to show up unexpectedly and yank him away from his work later that afternoon. With little explanation she led him away from his post and was deaf to his protests as she dragged him down the corridor from the entry way, past the conference rooms and the janitor's closet to the security station. Danny was waiting outside the door, arms crossed over his chest. He turned around as Lydia dragged Stiles to him.
"Okay, now repeat what you told me," Lydia commanded. Danny glanced around, then began.
"I've only got a couple minutes until my boss comes back. I'm supposed to be running a diagnostic. If he sees me away from my desk, I'm in trouble," Danny explained.
"Got it. Continue," Lydia said impatiently.
"After Lydia came to me with her little request, I did more digging. I was curious. Lydia told me what you found out about Oak Creek and what happened back in the sixties," Danny said, looking to Stiles. Stiles nodded.
"Okay, and?" he pressed.
"And I kept going. That lot where it used to be, just outside of town? It's owned by this sanctuary. It's still registered as government property, specifically devoted for sanctuary use. There are records on our servers connected to it. Power, water, gas lines. All still running and all being paid for out of our utilities budget," he said.
"What the hell does that mean?" Stiles asked. That didn't make any sense, there shouldn't have been anything there to supply power or water to. Lydia turned to him.
"It means I might have been wrong. Something else is happening over there, they're not using just the name. Oak Creek sanctuary is still in operation, at least in some capacity." Stiles nodded.
"Okay. We go, we see what's there. If it's something bad, we bail. But I have to know," Stiles said, and slowly, Lydia nodded as well. The two looked to Danny.
"Look, I was only curious because I wanted to know what this had to do with Jackson. I can't go with you guys - that's trespassing and I have priors," he said, backing away. "And sorry, you guys have to go, my boss will be back here any minute and I have to get back to coding. But keep me posted, alright?"
"Fine," Lydia said. Danny slid an access key card into a lock by the door they were standing near, and it opened for him. Stiles caught a glimpse of the wall of security monitors and terminals inside the otherwise dark room before Danny shut the door behind him.
"I don't blame him," Lydia said. She and Stiles began to walk back towards the entrance hall, away from the security room. They took their time.
"When is your next day off?" Stiles asked. He didn't have another one coming up, but he had a solution for that.
"Four days," Lydia replied.
"Lydia are you sure you want to go through with this? You said it yourself this could be dangerous," Stiles pulled her to a stop with a hand on her arm.
"Yes, Stiles. I want to know what's happening as bad as you do," she said, her eyes boring into his. "Don't you dare go over there without me. Four days. Promise me."
"Alright. Okay, I pro-," Stiles began.
"Stilinski!" Finstock's shout echoed in the hallway. Stiles cringed, turned, and saw his boss was beet red in the face as he marched over.
"Aw, crap," Stiles muttered.
"Back on duty, now! There's three groups waiting for you and you're off slacking! Do you want to get fired? Because believe me, that would be my pleasure. I'm serious. And you, Martin. I expected this from him but not you. Both of you, back to work, now," Finstock ranted, livid. But when was he ever the opposite of livid?
Lydia took her leave and scurried back to the front desk. Stiles made to follow her but Finstock stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and turned him around.
"Oh, I'm not done with you, bucko," Finstock said jabbing a finger into his sternum.
Stiles gulped.
xx
"Alright so it was my fault this time, he caught me shirking off on shift with Lydia so yeah, my bad," Stiles said. He was on the phone with his father, unpacking boxes in the stock room. It was after hours, and he'd been saddled with checking in the new gift shop inventory as punishment. Finstock's tirade had basically boiled down to a few key points.
a) Stiles was a pain in his ass.
b) Stiles was treading on thin ice, very thin ice.
c) Stiles' punishment for that day's shirking, and also the janitor closet incident a few days prior, was stock room duty after hours with no overtime pay.
So all in all nothing too far out of the ordinary. With the number of times Finstock had claimed he was this close to firing him, Stiles was hardly fazed by the threat anymore. He wasn't exactly looking forward to spending the night whiling away in the stock room checking in the inventory, but it was a fair a punishment as any. He took it with grace and decided to actually get all the work he needed to get done before he would skip off to see Scott.
"Good God Stiles, it's a wonder you still have a job," he could hear his father sigh on the other end of the line.
"I know, I know. I'll behave myself, I promise," Stiles muttered.
"Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it. Any idea when you'll be getting home?" his dad asked.
"Uh, no, not really. It might be late," he said, glancing around. "There's a lot of stuff here. Don't wait up, okay dad?"
"…Alright. I'll leave some food out for you. And Stiles?" he said, before hanging up.
"What?"
"Let's not make this a habit, okay?"
"Sure thing, pops," Stiles promised. And by habit, Stiles flipped it to being more careful in not getting caught.
xx
He could've waited until he had more concrete evidence to tell Scott and Derek, but he wanted to share what he'd found and four whole days seemed like an awful long wait to see Scott again. So Stiles hurried to finish sorting through the boxes, stacking the items in their place on the inventory room shelves and checking off the lists of the received items. Once he'd finished and locked up, he went straight downstairs and was careful to mind the night guard. As per usual, getting in was the easy part.
Once inside, Stiles had a little bit of a harder time than usual navigating the path. The night was cloudy, blocking out what little moonlight he normally travelled by during night time visits. The moonlight occasionally filtered through the trees when there was a break in the clouds, lighting his path. When he came through to a wide part of the trail where there was just enough of a gap in the trees to see the sky he paused to catch his breath, and looked up.
It was a beautiful night. It had cooled off considerably since the sun had set, and a breeze had picked up. The clouds broke and for a moment Stiles could see the deep inky sky dotted with bright white stars and just a wedge of the round moon. If Stiles had anything better than a camera phone on him he would've Instagram-ed that shit in a heartbeat. But alas, he'd have to enjoy the sight of the beautifully full moon on his own without sharing it with social media.
It took Stiles exactly twenty two seconds to realize what was wrong with that picture.
Twenty two seconds of staring up at the full moon for the realization to hit him like a brick. Twenty three seconds to remember the lunar calendar tacked up on his bedroom wall, the countdown clock on the wall above the security desk on the lower level of the compound, and the very basic of basic common sense, no-brainer facts about lycanthropy.
At twenty four seconds Stiles turned around and launched into a dead sprint back the way he'd come.
Full moon.
Full moon.
Stiles you dumb fuck, what happens on a full moon?
In the distance, wolves howled.
xxx
How could that kid be so goddamn stupid? Was the first thought that came to Derek when he smelled the familiar scent. No, really. He knew the kid was a little spastic, a poster child for hyperactivity even. He jumped to conclusions and he was rash - that Derek more or less understood from their brief interactions. But how was that level of idiocy possible? How was that absolute lack of common sense even human?
It truly baffled Derek. He didn't understand it and would someone seriously like to explain it to him because how the shit was Stiles that stupid?
It was the full moon. Did the kid just suddenly forget what happened to goddamn werewolves on the full moon?
HOW?
Derek knew his senses were heightened with the moon rising but he knew also that the four younger wolves still in the middle of painful shifts had heightened senses as well. They were around him now, all four of them doubled over in various stages of their bodies bending, breaking and reforming, growing larger and sprouting fur, losing themselves to their animalistic halves. They might have been currently preoccupied by their ordeal, but Derek had about ten seconds before they'd smell Stiles too. Then the instinct to hunt would override any feelings of affection they felt for the boy. To them, Stiles would go from friend to food in an instant, and the kid wouldn't stand a chance against the four of them on the hunt.
Derek made his decision in less than an instant, and took off running in the direction he smelled Stiles.
xx
Stiles ran like he had never had cause to run before in his life. If the track and field coach were to see him in that moment he'd be begging Stiles to join his varsity team. Colleges would be recruiting him on the spot, prostrating themselves at his feet with visions of championships dancing. The goddamn president would be giving him a medal for how fast he was going. Too bad Stiles wasn't going to live to see any of that happen. Panic had taken over completely, fueling his legs, pushing him to a velocity he'd never before achieved.
Running literally for his life could be a powerful motivator, Stiles discovered. Maybe if he wanted to do better in school sports they could wait 'til the full moon and sic bloodthirsty werewolves on him. Because that was honestly the only thing that could ever get him to run like this, his life in danger and all.
He barely noticed anything beyond his own immediate need to get the fuck outta Dodge, so he didn't notice Derek at all until the werewolf intersected his path and caught him around the middle, effectively cutting him off and making him feel like he'd just run into a brick wall.
It fucking hurt.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" Derek bellowed before he'd even righted Stiles. Stiles' mind took a minute to recede from fight or flight mode, and it accordingly took him a few moments to realize Derek was a) not shifted, b) very very angry but not about to maim or maul him, and c) still had his arms around Stiles' waist. Also, d) Derek was rather warm, and e) Stiles didn't mind being in his arms nearly as much as he thought he'd might, f) his list of things he was noticing was growing ridiculously long, g) the silence between them was stretching to into an awkward length, and finally h)…um. Was Derek always that pretty when he was angry?
Stiles blinked a couple times. He tried to focus on Derek's words.
"Jury's out," Stiles said weakly. Derek looked apoplectic.
"We don't have time for this," Derek hissed, looking around. He finally let go of Stiles, looked around wildly. "Shit."
"This is probably the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life, and that's really saying something, I know, I know. I wasn't thinking-," Stiles began, and the look Derek gave him was bordering on comically maniacal.
"YOU DON'T SAY?" Derek's voice shot up a few octaves.
"I'm sorry-," Stiles said, wincing.
"It's the full moon. You know what-," Derek stopped. "No, fuck this we don't have time. We've got to get you out, now, or you're not living to see morning." And with that Derek bent, put his shoulder to Stiles' midsection and before Stiles could ask him what he was doing, Derek was lifting him like a sack of potatoes.
"What the fuck," Stiles exclaimed, suddenly upside down with an interestingly angled view of Derek's backside.
"No time, you can't run for shit, I know it's awkward but just shut the fuck up and hold the fuck on," Derek ordered. There wasn't much Stiles could say or do to make the situation any less…well, frankly ridiculous than it already was and he figured Derek was doing what he was doing to save him from becoming a midnight snack for his feral friends, so Stiles did as told and didn't complain about being treated like an invalid.
Stiles also did his best to situate himself as least awkwardly as physically possible being carried the way he was. Derek was running, and fast, and running meant lots of bouncing. Stiles could tell Derek was doing his level best to not jostle him too much, but that wasn't the priority at the moment. Stiles, faced with the choice of either clinging to Derek's back somewhat akin to a sloth or flailing wildly and hoping to not have his face pressed against Derek's ass, went for the first option.
Derek was making half the time it took Stiles to get here, but even Stiles could hear the howling by this point. His friends were getting closer and closer at an alarming rate, and Stiles knew Derek could put two and two together.
"We'll never make it," Derek said under his breath. He didn't slow, however, but changed course abruptly. Bushes whipped past them and they cut through thick undergrowth off the path. Derek jumped over fallen logs, boulders and thick bushes and each time he did it winded Stiles but he didn't care. Derek kept going, putting an extra push into his step until they were out of the underbrush and into a clearing. Only once they were free of the tangle of branches and ivy did Derek set Stiles back down on his own two feet. He didn't stop, he pushed Stiles forward and Stiles saw they were at his house. The two story concrete building sat tall and dark in the night and Derek wasted no time in pushing him up the steps and through the door.
"Lock this door, every bolt. Do not come out, under any circumstances. No matter what you hear," Derek said in the doorway.
"What-," Stiles started, but Derek cut him off.
"No matter what, understand?"
"Yes, but I-,"
"Promise me," Derek ordered. Stiles swallowed, his breath hitching at the severity of the look Derek was leveling him with.
"Okay," Stiles said. "I promise." Derek's expression didn't soften. He pulled the door shut, cutting their exchange short. Stiles hesitated only a moment, then bolted the door as told. He heard Derek thump down the steps, away from him. Stiles backed away from the door. It was dark in the house, the only light faint moonlight coming in through the windows on either side of the door. Stiles twisted the cord of the blinds covering them, then moved down the hall into the empty dining room and kitchen, doing the same to the windows he found in there as well as in the living room he remembered sitting in the first time Derek had invited him and Scott in there. Then Stiles moved back to the stairs he'd seen on his first visit and climbed them.
The upstairs landing split in either direction down narrow hallways lined with a couple of doors on either side. Stiles didn't bother with the windows on this level, he wanted the light to see by. He moved down the hall picking left randomly and opened a door. It was a bedroom, fairly large and going by the bathroom through a door to his left, he guessed the master suite. There was still a bed standing in this room, but it was just a frame and mattress and it was covered in dirt. Stiles guessed this wasn't where Derek slept.
Stiles sat down on the mattress, disturbing the dust.
He sat and he waited.
xx
Derek knew the young wolves would follow the scent of human straight to the house, so he figured there was no point taking off and trying to lead them away. There wasn't enough of Stiles' scent on him to fool them into thinking he was still with the kid. He also knew there wasn't a chance of reasoning with them, either. The teenagers were barely better than fresh bitten wolves, they were running on pure instinct at the moment and if they found their friend now nothing would stop them from tearing him apart. Not even a lifetime of near-sibling affection in Scott's case. And Derek knew that if he allowed that to happen Scott would tear himself apart with guilt.
Were Scott's feelings really the only reason he was protecting Stiles? No, and he knew they weren't, but he pushed those thoughts aside for the time being.
Derek stood his ground outside the old Hale house. When he could hear the young wolves nearing, he stripped out of his clothes and felt for the shift. It didn't take much for the instinct to rise, and he gave in to the pull of the moonlight and let the shift overcome him. The loss of inhibitions he felt as he shed his human skin and came down on all fours was a powerful thing, and when he smelled Stiles through his wolf nose he almost lost himself to the instinct to hunt. But Derek had worked for years to control the shift, and he could keep his mind straight even in wolf form.
He flexed, black fur rustling over strong muscles. Derek howled, low, guttural, signaling to the others were he was. When the four responded they were much closer than he'd thought they were. Several other howls further away replied as well. Loners. They didn't sound as feral as the teenagers had. They might not have smelled Stiles, or if they had they weren't interested. Derek could only hope the latter was the case, and that his howl hadn't caught the attention of someone else looking for fresh meat.
When they crashed through the underbrush Derek was ready for them. Erica was first, her blonde fur recognizable. Boyd was behind her, huge and black-brown. Isaac, smaller and grey was beside Scott. He was larger than Isaac but smaller than Boyd, and dark russet in color. When they saw Derek they stopped, fur bristling and snouts pulling back in angry snarls, puffs of hot air escaping their snouts and fanged teeth. Derek could see their eyes glowing in the darkness, all piercing gold, menacing and ethereal, and saw they were all lost to the shift. They'd spent so much time and energy repressing it, avoiding it, putting it off and shoving it away, that when it was brought out of them against their wills during the full moon they couldn't hope to control it.
When Derek looked at them, he felt sorry for them. The shift shouldn't be like that. The shift wasn't an ugly or frightening thing, it was freeing. It was liberation. It wasn't anger or pain or bloodlust. Werewolves were predators by nature, but they didn't have to be killers.
Derek would teach them control. He would teach them to love the shift, love what it could be. But not just then, first he had to stop them from killing their friend.
His odds weren't exactly great, but the four younger wolves were far less experienced with the shift than him and his clear head gave him an advantaged.
When they lunged for him, he was ready.
xx
Stiles wanted to cover his ears, bury himself, crawl into a small ball somewhere and hide. The noise outside would give him nightmares for years to come, that was for sure. Not even the time he'd stayed up late and watched the Ring was going to be as mentally scarring as this was, he could feel it.
The cacophony of growling, screeching, snarling and ungodly noises was almost too much for him to take. That was Derek out there. Derek and Scott and Erica and Boyd and Isaac. The people he knew, the people he liked, his best friend among them. Viciously ripping each other apart.
And if Derek hadn't found him, that would've been him. Stiles, torn between four rabid werewolves like an extremely unfortunate chew toy.
The thought was sobering, to say the least.
Scott didn't talk about the change, about full moons. Stiles had asked on a couple occasions, but neither Scott nor Erica or Boyd, or even Isaac liked to talk about it. Stiles respected that, he really did but he'd always burned with curiosity. He figured they didn't like to talk about it because it was a reminder of their circumstances and a depressing thought in and of itself.
But Stiles knew now. It wasn't that at all. They weren't depressed by the thought of the full moon shift, they were terrified of it. How could they not be? Stiles hadn't even seen them, he couldn't look at them from where he was, he hadn't seen first-hand the shift they'd gone through to take the form they were fighting in now. He'd only ever seen diagrams, clean cartoon depictions of the metamorphosis between human and wolf.
But he heard it. Every snarl, every howl, every vicious meeting of teeth and claw. And meat. It was monstrous. It was the most terrifying sound he'd ever heard in his life.
He couldn't match the image of his best friend, goofy-smiling Scott, to one of the beasts outside. He couldn't do it, no matter how much he logically understood that was his best friend out there tearing Derek apart because he was too consumed with bloodlust to remember what a kind-hearted person he was. How he cried when he'd accidentally sat on and killed a moth in third grade. How he'd never been good at lacrosse because he just didn't have the aggression for the sport. How he'd volunteered at animal shelters to patch up hurt and abused animals because he hated violence and anyone who directed it towards innocent creatures.
That Scott was gone. Gone and taken over by someone who was doing his damndest to kill Derek, who was standing in between him and making a meal of his best friend.
xx
Stiles stayed curled up on the dusty mattress for what felt like hours. He might have moved, but he couldn't make his hands or feet follow directions. Minutes ticked by and after a torturous length of time, things finally fell quiet outside. It didn't lighten the situation any. Stiles had no idea how to read the silence, if Scott and the others were gone and Derek had managed to fend them off, or if it meant the opposite and he should be barricading himself in a closet somewhere.
A pounding came at the door.
"Stiles!" It was Derek, human, and at the sound of his voice relief washed over Stiles. He jumped from the bed and took the stairs two at a time. It took him fumbling with the locks for a few seconds to get them open, and once the door gave way Derek shoved it open then shut again quickly behind him. He slumped up against the wall once he'd set the locks again.
He was bleeding, profusely, in many places that made Stiles' stomach do funny flip-flops to see. He had his shirt wadded up in his hand and he was pulling his pants back on, so Stiles deftly looked away and pretended he hadn't been staring.
"Are - are you okay?" No, of course he wasn't. Blood everywhere, remember?
"Living room," Derek grunted and peeled himself from the foyer wall. He lurched forward on unsteady feet, and Stiles moved automatically to catch him before he could topple forward. Queasiness squashed, Stiles tried not to mind the feeling of blood soaking into his shirt as he helped Derek limp down the hallway to the couch in the living room. Derek was heavy, and Stiles tried to be as gentle as he could letting him fall onto the couch. Derek grunted almost appreciatively as he settled himself into a slouched sitting position and let his head drop against the back of the sofa.
Getting a better look at him laid out, Stiles saw his wounds were numerous, but not deep. There were bites and scrapes and drags of claws all over his chest and arms and Stiles could see some bloody patches soaking through his grey pants, but nothing looked fatally injured. Stiles saw one of Derek's eyes was cracked open, watching him.
"You should see the other four," he muttered, before his eye slipped shut again. Stiles let out his nerves in a breathless laugh.
"I hope they're not too bad," Stiles said.
"No, I went easy on them," Derek assured him.
"Easy? That was easy?"
"They'll still be feeling some of it tomorrow, but they'll be alright. And I managed to get the message to scram and not come back to stick. They won't return, they'll be keeping their distance and looking for something else to hunt. They might find another loner and pick a fight just because they're running on the hunting high, but they can't get into too much trouble out there," Derek explained, his breath a little ragged. The tension drained from Stiles, leaving him feeling all wobbly like a plate of Jell-O. His knees didn't want to cooperate any longer and he sank into one of the stiff chairs across from Derek.
"What about you?" Stiles asked. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Derek said.
"I'm no facility technician, but you don't look fine. 'Fine' in my experience doesn't usually include covered in gratuitous amounts of blood," Stiles retorted. Derek sighed, too tired to bite back at Stiles' snark.
"Give me a minute. Most of this is starting to heal. It was four on one but I can hold my own against newly bitten wolves," he said. Not listening, Stiles stood and made his way into the kitchen. He pulled open drawer after drawer and checked every cabinet but could not find what he was looking for. He tried the bathrooms, downstairs and up, but no such luck. Except for sparse bits of furniture in the upstairs bedroom and the living room, the house was bare. He made his way back to the living room and Derek was watching him intently.
"What are you doing?" Derek asked as Stiles stripped his outer flannel shirt. It might have been summer in northern California, but Stiles' wardrobe never wavered from plaid button ups over t-shirts and jeans. He usually wore his uniform vest over a plain shirt and pulled on the button up on after work to go home. The one he'd worn that day was one of his favorites, but Derek needed it more than him at the moment. Stiles wadded up his shirt and moved to Derek's side.
"Cleaning you up, it's the least I can do," he said and began wiping as gently as he could at the cuts on Derek's arm. He got up to try the sink in the kitchen after a bit of fruitless attempts to get the dried bits off, and came back with a wet shirt to clean the wounds more properly. Stiles knew it wasn't exactly sanitary and this was not standard wound-cleaning procedure, but like Derek said most of the small things were already healing. Stiles was just trying to get the grit and grime off him as best he could until he could move again and do it himself.
Derek said nothing while Stiles worked, not even when Stiles moved to his chest and neck and sides and was accommodating even with the awkward places. Stiles did his level best to not make this more awkward than it needed to be, but more than once felt his face heating up regardless. It was the way Derek was watching him, it had to be. That and the near deafening silence the pair had lapsed into.
Finally, when Stiles was finished and had mopped enough of the blood and dirt and bits of wolf fur off Derek to be satisfied, he stood and went to throw his shirt in the kitchen sink. He took longer than necessary in trying to rinse as much of the grime out of his shirt as he could, but eventually gave up. He'd never get the stains out. He left the shirt where it was and returned slowly to the living room. He sat back down on the chair.
"Thanks. That feels better," Derek said quietly.
"I should be thanking you," Stiles returned. Derek laughed.
"No problem." Stiles laughed too, but let it fall flat.
"I'm serious, Derek, thank you. If you hadn't-,"
"No, Stiles if you hadn't been dumb enough to come down here, tonight of all nights - seriously, what the hell were you thinking-,"
"I know, I'm sorry," Stiles stopped him. His gut burned with guilt. Derek said he wasn't hurt too badly, but if it weren't for Stiles he wouldn't be hurt at all. Stiles wanted to smack himself.
"No, don't do that," Derek said, like he could read Stiles' thoughts. For a brief moment Stiles wondered if he could, if that was another werewolf superpower and if so he regretted a vast number of things he'd thought in Derek's presence. Specifically about Derek himself. Oh god.
"I'm an idiot, I know, and now my stupidity is lethal apparently," Stiles said, jumping off that train of thought quickly. On the off chance the werewolf psychic shit was actually a thing.
"Maybe so, but don't beat yourself up too badly," Derek sounded a little stiff trying to reassure him, but Stiles appreciated it all the same.
"Yeah, guess I should leave that to you. You've got that whole werewolf indestructability thing going. And I - well, I don't."
"I'm not indestructible, but yeah. I won't break as easily as you, so let me handle the getting beat up stuff," Derek said.
"Roger, will do. Next full moon I visit I'll be sure to leave the rabid wolves all to you."
"Oh no, you're not doing this ever again. I mean it," Derek propped himself up on an elbow to glare at Stiles, and Stiles laughed.
"Kidding. So not planning on it," he assured the werewolf. Derek rolled his eyes and repositioned himself on the couch with a grunt.
"Hey, whoa, you okay?" Stiles made to move and help him, but Derek shook his head, declining Stiles' offer of assistance. Derek looked like he was recovering already. Stiles seriously envied the healing powers of werewolves. More comfortable, Derek poked and prodded at some of the still-healing wounds on his torso. There was a line of perfectly parallel claw marks on his chest just above his navel, and while they had stopped bleeding it was taking a bit longer for them to close. There was another on his left shoulder, a tooth indention that looked deep, but several of the shallower punctures had closed already. After assessing the areas still damaged, Derek relaxed against the back of the sofa in a less slouched position than before. He kept his head up, and he looked at Stiles.
"We're not going to be able to make a run for the hatch, I'm afraid," Derek said. "It's too risky. Not with the four still out there, and who knows what other loners who have smelled you and might want to try something."
"So what, I'm stuck here 'til morning?" Stiles asked. He'd figured as much. Derek nodded.
"Afraid so," he said. Stiles didn't fight that, he was relieved in a way. Had Derek suggested they make a run for it, he would've crawled upstairs, hid in a closet and refused to leave. Stiles had never feared being in the sanctuary before, not once. He knew what werewolves were capable of, but he'd always considered himself a firm sympathetic to lycan kind. He'd always considered himself above the base hysteria of the common folk who blindly feared them like they were animals.
That was before he'd ever been in the immediate vicinity of a pack of viciously blood-thirsty ones all gunning for a bite out of him. It was taking him some time to cope.
"Stiles," Derek said, catching his attention. Stiles looked at him. "I can smell it, you know. Your fear."
"I - I just, I'm not afraid. I'm not, I swear. I'm just…," Stiles faltered. He tried balling his hands up into fists, but the shaking wouldn't stop. He couldn't keep Derek's gaze, his eyes dropped to the floor. The couch creaked as Derek's leaned forward.
"I understand," Derek said. "That was Scott out there. You're having a hard time reconciling what just happened with your idea of who your friend is."
"What - I know who Scott is, what do you mean by that?" Stiles' head snapped up to meet Derek's eyes.
"You know who he was. You still think he's that person, you still see him as the best friend you grew up with."
"Why the hell wouldn't I? He's still Scott, the bite didn't change that," Stiles said a little defensively. Derek looked at him hard.
"It did, and you need to accept that. Your friend is different. He, Erica, Boyd, Isaac - they still haven't accepted that themselves. That's what happens to people who are bitten, that's why they're so unstable and it's so hard for them to control the shift. They're stuck - they cling to their past lives and they aren't willing to let themselves change. They reject the new side of themselves that comes with the shift. And most of the time, they never learn to embrace who they are now," Derek said. Stiles made a face when he was done.
"Who are you, Dr. Phil? Scott is Scott, he's my friend, I'm not afraid of him-,"
"Then why are you trembling?" Derek nodded towards Stiles' clenched hands.
"I'm-,"
"That was Scott out there. Don't try separating the two. Your best friend Scott was going to kill you tonight if he had the chance. Without hesitating. The kid you once knew would never have done that, but he damn near did tonight," Derek put bluntly.
"What are you trying to say? I hate Scott? I hate werewolves? I thought you guys wanted people to see you're not monsters like they think you are," Stiles shot back. "I'm not like them. I don't think like that. I think werewolves are people too."
"We're not. We're werewolves. We're hunters, predators. We're dangerous, we're not human. I'm not, Scott's not, Erica, Boyd, Isaac - they aren't. You think you're friends with them but you need to learn to accept the fact they're not like you. Not totally, not the way you want them to be." His words stung, and Stiles recoiled.
"That's not true," he said lamely, unable to come up with a counter argument.
"What part of that wasn't?" Stiles fell quiet.
"I'm not…afraid of Scott," Stiles said in a low, uncertain tone. "Or, I don't want to be. Scott is my best friend, I want to be there for him, I want him to be happy. I don't know, you might be right though," Stiles admitted, "Tonight freaked me out. I'm still trying to process it and… yeah It might take me a while, but I don't want to do that to Scott. I can't pull away from him, I can't let him think I'm scared of him. That would kill him." After considering his answer, Derek looked at the kid sitting across from him. He was skinny and rash and stupid at times, but he was also pretty incredible.
"…Oh," Derek said in a low whisper.
"What?" Stiles' head shot up, his eyes locked on Derek trying to read his expression.
"I had you pegged wrong, that's all," Derek said. The corner of his mouth twitched up, and Stiles must have been misreading his expression in the dim light, but he could've sworn Derek was actually…smiling.
"What do you mean by that?" Stiles asked cautiously.
"It doesn't matter, never mind," Derek said, and didn't elaborate.
"No, Derek what? What did you mean by that?"
"I just…I guess I figured you were doing all of this for you. Not Scott. When I first met you I thought, yeah what you were doing was brave but I also thought it was all selfishness on your part." Derek shrugged. "I was wrong."
Stiles didn't have a response for that. For whatever reason, Stiles was not inclined to press the matter. He let the conversation drop there, and the pair lapsed into a somewhat comfortable silence. There was barely any light filtering through the windows, and Derek hadn't turned any lights inside on. Even in the low light, however, Stiles could tell Derek was looking at him, that oddly bemused expression still in place. To be honest, it was starting to make him a little self-conscious, but Stiles didn't feel his normal urge to do something alleviate the situation. Later, when he thought back over the events of the night, Stiles would chalk the strange feeling coming over him as merely nerves, relief, uncertainty or maybe it was full moon juju, but for the moment he let it be. He let the strangely comfortable silence stretch, and stared right back at Derek.
Then Derek did something that Stiles wasn't wholly unprepared for.
Derek leaned forward off the couch and kissed him.
Stiles, overcome with nerves, relief, uncertainty or maybe full moon juju, kissed him back.
He didn't pause to think about why he was kissing Derek back, or why Derek had kissed him in the first place. None of that particularly mattered, Stiles decided. Logically speaking what they were doing didn't make a whole lot of sense. There was little, if any, precursor to it. He'd never looked at Derek that way up until this point, or of he had he hadn't been aware of it. He'd never even contemplated the desire to kiss the grumpy wolf man, never considered what it might be like to have his lips moving against Derek's or Derek's untrimmed facial hair scratching his cheek, but it felt surprisingly right. Like of course, this was exactly what he should be doing at the moment.
Kissing Derek just made sense in some cosmic manner and Stiles didn't think twice about it. His eyes slipped shut and he let Derek's lips work against his in a very very nice way.
The moment was over far too quickly for Stiles' liking.
"I should - go," Derek said abruptly, pulling himself away. Stiles was left blinking.
"What - just happened," he stated, frankly mystified. Derek pulled himself up from the couch and did so with a lot less grunting than his last attempt at moving.
"I'm sorry-," Derek blurted. Stiles realized Derek's face was beet red, even without the werewolf looking at him. "I don't think I meant to do that. Full moon and all. Loss of inhibitions, not easy to control myself - yeah. Thought I had better control than that. I'm sorry." Stiles blinked owlishly at his words.
"I'm not," Stiles said before he could stop himself. He probably should've been alleviating the awkwardness of the situation, maybe reassuring Derek he understood and didn't quite feel in his right mind either, but he didn't. Derek looked down at him, face still very red and very cute now that Stiles got a good look at the normally stoic Derek's face all a-fluster.
"You're not?"
"Nope. In fact I'm pretty sure I'm the opposite of sorry right now. That was pretty fantastic," Stiles said, brain/mouth filter apparently momentarily out of order. "Can't say I was expecting that - really out of the blue there - but I'm surprisingly okay with it. And things like that. Yeah, I'm good," Stiles assured him. Somewhere a little voice, his little voice that told him how to handle interpersonal situations like a normal human being would, was telling him to shut up but he still hadn't reached the point of caring to listen to it yet.
"Alright - then," Derek said. He turned awkwardly, facing the door. "I should still go. You know, the others - they might come back. Or another wolf. Or something, I don't know but it'd be safer if I stand guard outside," he finished, regaining his composure a little.
"Derek?" He looked back at Stiles as he stood in the door frame.
"…Thanks," Stiles said. Not the best line, but his self-consciousness was catching back up to him and he suddenly couldn't think of the right words to say. Thus far the shock had kept whatever other emotions hammering through his heart at bay, but it was wearing off and Stiles could feel a monstrous blush building on his face. He'd been kissing the guy not a minute ago, why was it suddenly so hard to figure out words to say to him? Cheeks burning, he stared down at his hands.
"No problem. I'll be outside. You can head upstairs, there's a bed. Get some rest," Derek said, voice even and gentle. Then he left.
Stiles sat in the chair for a long while, letting the maelstrom of emotions run their course. His brain was finally catching up to their act and the sense of universal rightness had faded considerably. It was still there, though. Embarrassment aside he couldn't honestly say he regretted anything about that exchange.
He'd just been kissed by Derek Hale.
He'd just kissed Derek Hale back.
"Oh, shit," Stiles whispered to the empty house.
xx
Stiles didn't get much sleep. He stayed on the first level and kipped out on the couch, getting a couple hours of light snoozing. After Derek had left he'd listened for the signs of more conflict, but none came. That either meant Derek hadn't encountered any other attackers or he'd gone into the woods far enough away that Stiles couldn't hear them. Derek had said he wouldn't leave the front of the house, though, so Stiles took the silence as a good sign.
When he finally drifted off to sleep on the couch, the night passed quickly and before he knew it he was blinking awake to faint morning light filtering through the cracks in the blinds.
He heard the door open and shut and footsteps in the hall, but his foggy morning mind tried to shut it out in favor of getting back to sleep. He couldn't quite ignore the hand on his shoulder shaking him awake.
"Stiles, wake up," Derek urged, and begrudgingly Stiles did so. He sat up and stretched, feeling his shoulders pop and strain from the awkward position he'd been in. The couch wasn't large, and Stiles had curled up in a fetal position to get comfortable. He regretted not taking Derek's advice and moving upstairs to the bed.
"Mmhwhat time is it?" Stiles asked, mouth thick with a stifled yawn.
"Around four. The sun's up though and the others have shifted back for the night. They're all passed out near the recreation hall, they'll be sleeping off last night for a while," Derek said. Stiles nodded.
"Right, right," he said, yawning wide.
"It's safe to get back to the hatch now, and I figured you'd want to get out of here as early as possible," Derek said. The sleepiness was snapped out of him instantly.
"Oh man," Stiles groaned.
"What is it?"
"How am I going to explain this to my old man?" Derek chuckled, but Stiles' mind reeled. He'd spent the night in the sanctuary. He'd actually been in there overnight, and on the full moon. Stiles felt like he should get a t-shirt out of the ordeal or something. I survived the full moon, maybe. Stiles tried to remember if there were any shirts like that in the gift shop from last night's inventory.
Back to the issue of explaining his absence. It would be tricky, but he'd think of something.
Probably. Maybe. Unlikely.
He let Derek help him off the couch, and without saying anything else the pair left the house. They cross the clearing and found the path, taking their time now that there wasn't a reason to hurry. Morning mist had rolled in and the weak morning light wasn't yet strong enough to burn it away. It was chilly, but not unbearably so. It felt nice.
Derek must have been exhausted, but he didn't say anything and was keeping it well hidden if he was. The pair walked in comfortable silence most of the way there. But Stiles had something on his mind, and he spoke up.
"Derek, why did you kiss me last night?" He said it in an idle, conversational tone that didn't seem to fit the situation. Derek coughed awkwardly next to him.
"I'm not entirely sure why, actually," Derek said. Then he shrugged. "It seemed like the thing to do at the time? I just...went with my instinct is a safe guess." Stiles was feeling pretty much the same about it.
"That makes sense, I guess. In a strange way," he said. Then he looked over at Derek. "Think it'll be happening again?"
"…Do you want it to?" Derek asked as he looked back to Stiles. Stiles couldn't suppress a smile.
"I think I'd like that, yeah," he said, and Derek stopped and turned to him fully. Derek had an unreadable expression on his face as he looked at Stiles, then his hand came up to cup Stiles' cheek and Derek was kissing him again. It was quick, chaste, and Derek pulled back before Stiles was quite satisfied but it was a very nice experience on whole.
"Okay?" Derek asked him. Stiles flushed, nodded shakily.
"Very okay, I think," he stammered, and Derek smiled.
xx
Derek saw him through the hatch and Stiles felt a wash of guilt roll over him as he watched Derek disappear as it closed. So many times he'd fantasized smuggling Scott out of the sanctuary, just biting the proverbial silver bullet and going for it, and he must have had nearly a dozen plans mapped out, but none of them would end in anything other than bloodshed he was sure of it. He stayed in the processing room for a while, leaned up against one of the metal cabinets trying to sort through his feelings, but nothing wanted to work itself out in his mind. Too many emotions were swirling through him to pick out one and examine it. He couldn't focus on any of it, not his renewed sense of injustice at Scott and every other werewolf inside the sanctuary's situation, the guilt he felt at being unable to help any of them in a meaningful way, not how he felt about Scott now he'd come so close to the very dangerous side to his friend he'd never encountered before, not whatever he was feeling for Derek Hale.
What was he feeling for Derek Hale?
Honestly, he hadn't a single fucking clue.
All he did know was that thinking about Derek gave him a lot nicer feeling than thinking about any of the other shit going on inside him, and for the time being that was good enough for him.
Stiles stood, collected himself and pushed all the chaotic thoughts down and away to sort out later. He pressed his ear up to the processing room's inner door, listening for the security guard. He had no idea what their schedule was this time of the morning, when others would be coming in for work and the amount of unknown factors presented very real problems for him. Stiles knew he couldn't risk just making a break for it, so he made himself wait and wait as the minutes ticked by silently.
His patience was rewarded when he heard the even steps of the security guard pass by after some fifteen minutes of waiting. The guards didn't make rounds on the lower level when the rest of the staff was on duty, so it must not have been time yet for them to come in. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief and waited another five minutes to be sure the guard had passed him and he was free to open the door, slip out, and make his way to the elevator unseen.
As soon as he was upstairs he left, grateful that the keycard he'd gotten from his father doubled as the key to the front doors. Stiles was able to unlock one, relock it and slip out with ease. He jumped into his jeep and drove home in the early morning light.