"Answer the damn phone, Lydia!"
Not for the first time, Stiles cursed his jeep and her inability to go above 50 miles an hour despite his foot being pressed all the way down to the floor. He often thought his father had somehow jury-rigged the pedal so his son couldn't exceed the speed limit and he included the Sheriff in his cursing for his foresight, though he did immediately apologize just in case his father's omniscience kicked in.
He tried dialing Lydia's number again, but as before, she didn't answer, his call going straight to voice mail.
"You don't hang up on a person after saying you found a body and then don't answer the freakin' phone when the person calls back, Lydia," he screeched after the beep. "Answer the freakin' phone! Again, just in case you didn't hear me the first three times, answer your freakin' phone so I know if you're okay."
He rounded the corner on three wheels, just thankful there weren't any cop cars around to slow his ass down. Derek's new loft (and that would never stop being strange to say or think) was only a ten minute drive to the Beacon Hills Public Pool, but Stiles couldn't help the rabbit-quick thump thump of his heart as those self-said ten minute dragged on as if two hours instead.
He'd already lost one girl he liked, and he would be damned if he lost Lydia Martin too. There just wasn't enough awesome in the world for a major contributor to be taken out so early in the game. Shaking his head at the sport reference creeping into his inner monologue, Stiles' face lit up when he saw the entrance to the pool's parking lot. It wasn't the best-looking facility during the day – what with the barely functioning pool self-cleaner – and it was entirely sketchy at night, which begged the question: what in fuck was Lydia Martin doing out here on a school night?
Relief, gratitude, and anger warred for dominance when he spotted Lydia near the front, her small body wrapped in a bright green jacket. He wanted to enfold her in his arms, but while they were closer now than before, there was no remote chance in heaven or hell she wouldn't knee him in the balls for being presumptuous. He rushed to her side and teetered to a stop, thankful her eyes were downcast and hadn't witnessed his gracelessness.
"Lydia! Lydia! Are you okay?"
"I'm okay," she trembled, before nodding her head in the direction of the Lifeguard's chair near her, "-that over there not okay."
Stiles chanced a look and even from this angle it looked like a dead body. Granted he hadn't seen many in his day, but the large pool of blood surrounding the base of the chair were good indicators he wasn't still breathing. His first instinct was to call Derek, but he immediately closed down that avenue of thinking, not the least because Derek was running around the Preserve right now playing a dangerous game of Hiding-Go-Seek in the dark with two feral wolves.
"Yeah, right, I'm gonna call my dad."
He didn't want his dad involved in this particular mess except if he got called to this scene there would be a less likely chance of him stomping around in the woods.
"I already called 911."
"You called the police before you called me?"
Indignation swirled into the maelstrom of emotions already fighting for dominance in his mind. Why would she be stupid to involve them without Stiles or the wolves' go-ahead?
"I'm supposed to call you first if I find a dead body?"
"Yes!" Stiles shouted into her uncomprehending face, a small part of him gasping in horror at how he was treating Queen Lydia Martin of Stilinskiland, yet a much larger part was scrambling for a way to salvage this situation before civilians mucked up his crime scene. He would've thought she'd think of him, or Allison, or hell Scott to call before ever dialing 911. If it looked supernatural, acted supernatural, it probably was of supernatural origin.
And given her recent issues with blanking out and finding dead bodies it made more sense to talk to someone with knowledge. Unfortunately it seemed Lydia wasn't operating on all Machiavellian cylinders which it made him suspicious as to what was influencing her now.
He knew Derek had dismissed the design burned into the girls' wrists as nothing, yet Stiles didn't believe it wasn't nothing. There was a reason the girl had tracked them down while searching for Scott. In fact, it was highly suspicious she even knew Allison and Lydia were connected to Scott for any reason. Stiles grabbed Lydia's arm, ignoring her protestations, and stared at the half-symbol marked on her flesh. He didn't recognize it, but then he was a new practitioner so it wasn't surprising.
A simple touch had done this - what if it wasn't a brand or a warning, but some type of sigil similar to what he'd done to Derek? If Peter's information was correct, that Sparks bonded to packs, it might explain his recent weird behavior in conjunction with Derek, Isaac, and even Peter himself. He wasn't close to any of them, yet tonight he felt as if he was almost responsible for them, hence why he drew the protection symbol on Derek's stomach. Maybe the stranger was somehow connected to the Alpha Pack, though working against them for some reason. Could she be a rogue Spark? If so, why did she mark the girls? And how did Scott figure into all of this?
"Let me go!" Lydia's panicked tone finally broke through Stiles' preoccupation and he snapped back, letting go of her wrist immediately. She was panting roughly and visibly trembling, a small pink tongue flicking over her lips; she wasn't the normal composed and haughty girl he worshiped from afar but a traumatized teenaged girl who was in over her head.
"Dude, I'm sorry, I - ah, sorry." He grabbed his phone from his pocket and quickly called Scott, hoping there would be enough reception wherever his best friend was. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time the other boy had ignored his call.
"A little busy right now, Stiles."
"Scott! They might've killed someone."
Hopefully Scott hadn't hung up yet.
"You sure?"
Stiles stared at the dead boy, a portion of his throat severed. He couldn't exactly tell what had been done to him, but it definitely looked nasty.
"Yup, throat ripped out, blood everywhere. Like the freakin' Shining over here. If two little twin girls come out of the woods and start asking me to play with them forever and ever, I'm not going to be surprised."
Scott ignored his witticism, as per usual. "Can you get a little closer and make sure it's them?"
"Make sure it's them? Scott, who else is going around ripping throats out?"
"Please just do it." His words were tinged with a small growl, as if his wolf was rising to the surface. Stiles curled back his lip in response to the somewhat aggressive tone, but bowed his head in consternation as he realized his reluctance was due to it being Scott telling him to do something instead of Derek. What the fuck?
He took a quick look at Lydia, but she was still huddled defensively into her coat and wasn't seemingly paying attention to the conversation. Stiles flexed his fingers then stepped closer to the body, barely able to see his throat through the blood. Holding his breath to avoid inhaling the rancid smell of death, he quickly scanned the rest, eyes catching on the gleam of silver on the limp hand closest to him. It looked like a one of those purity rings some of the more religious students wore, pledging their promise to God to remain pure until marriage. Frankly, Stiles didn't see the point but to each his or her own.
'Yeah, he's definitely dead with a nasty looking throat, Scott."
"Hold on Stiles" Rustling noise as if Scott put the phone against his leg. "What Derek?"
"This doesn't make sense – the public pool is all the way over on the other side of the woods. We haven't tracked them anywhere near there."
Maybe you just missed the tracks, Big Guy? I know it's night and you have excellent vision, but maybe they just got the jump on you. But why would they kill someone here and leave the body before running back to the Preserve? How did they do that so fast?
"Derek, they killed someone."
Death happens, Scott.
"How are they moving so fast?"
Good question, Derek. Good question.
"Derek -"
"They can't be that fast on foot."
Can feral betas run faster than a pissed off Alpha?
"They killed someone. Some totally innocent kid is dead. And its our fault."
Oh fuck that noise, Scott. You don't have to take the blame for everything that happens. Some of it is random happenstance or just, you know, bad fucking luck.
Stiles listened to the conversation between the two wolves through his speaker and wished he was standing there with them. It didn't seem right for him to be left behind again when the real action was going on out there while he was babysitting a corpse and Lydia. Scott seemed to realize the phone was still on because he pushed the off button without checking if Stiles was there or not.
"Rude, Scott. Just rude," he muttered, even as he debated calling back, but opted to leave enough alone. Besides he now had his own problems in the form of his dad's cruiser pulling up behind his jeep and the ambulance a close second. It wasn't the first time he was discovered at a crime scene, and he really hated to see the look on his dad's face again.
"Ms. Martin, are you okay?"
Lydia pulled herself out of whatever spiral her thoughts led her to and tried to smile up at the Sheriff, though Stiles could see the effort it cost her.
"Yes sir."
"Can you tell me why you came out here so late?"
"I dunno," she breathed, quickly retreating to her coat. "I was going to the store to get some meds, and -" Lydia shrugged clearly at a loss.
The Sheriff eyed her closely, his patient smile never wavering, but Stiles recognized the assessing look. His dad was determining if Lydia was either involved in the death and trying to throw off suspicion or an innocent bystander who happened to stumble upon a dead body in a close public pool late at night far from her house.
Fuck, it was suspicious no matter how you look at it. Unless you knew there was a supernatural element to the murder, Lydia was the perfect scapegoat. Was that the reason she was drawn here? To take the blame? If so, why? Who would send her? How?
"-son. Stiles!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here."
"Exactly. Why are you here? I thought you were with Scott."
The words were right, but the tone was off. His dad no longer took the "I'm going to hang with Scott tonight, be back by curfew," as Gospel anymore. More than anything, Stiles mourned the easy relationship he used to enjoy with his dad.
Perhaps it was this thought in the forefront that made him a little more truthful than normal.
"Was until his boyfriend called."
The Sheriff's eyebrows rose. "Boyfriend? I thought he was dating the Argent girl."
"Heh, heh, just kidding Dad. You know, boyfriend like bro-ski, bromanator. No,no, he's not gay. He's not confused sexually, just a giant douche bag who drops me the minute Der-Isaac calls."
Too late he remembered his dad couldn't know about Derek and so he hoped his substitution of Isaac's name would slide by. Of course the whole reason he was originally hanging out with Scott was directly connected to this murder – and Stiles' brain kinda hurt now. Secrets sucked.
"Isaac, huh? And you just happened to come by here …?"
The Sheriff's skepticism had waned a lot, probably lulled by Stiles' herky-jerky verbal dance. That, at least, was normal.
"No, I called him Sheriff. Allison wasn't picking up her phone and I was – was – scared."
Lydia piped up in the awkward silence, saving Stiles from lying. Though technically that was the reason why he came: to help Lydia. He had reacted first and thought about possible consequences later because at her call he hadn't known what was going on other than Lydia was in trouble.
"Uh huh. You called Stiles before you called the police?"
"No, she didn't. Though for future reference, Lyds."
"You should always call the police and never Stiles," the Sheriff butted in, glaring at him now. Stiles grinned and held up his hands.
"Kidding, Dad. Kidding."
"Ms. Martin, you probably should go home and let your folks know what's going on."
Stiles barely kept the snort in, knowing Lydia would kill him if he ever intimated her Mom could care less.
"Thanks, Sheriff, I will."
"I'll send two deputies with you, just in case."
Stiles thought it was a little weird for his dad to be so careful especially when he'd decided Lydia wasn't a suspect but an innocent witness.
Just then, the newest deputy, the first female officer in five years, walked up with an unusually grim look on her face.
"The second vic from the Preserve was sent to the hospital for observation, but still no sight of her companion. I've notified the mother of the vic about her daughter's disappearance."
"Good, good." His dad scrubbed a hand across his face as he prioritized his evening. "Please let Higgins and Perkins know they're going to escort Ms. Martin home."
Stiles hoped his poker face had improved and the female officer didn't realize he'd overheard their conversation. The Sheriff was distracted by whatever had happened at the Preserve – two victims? Were they attacked by Boyd and Cora? Did Derek and the others scare them off? - and didn't notice his son's twitching, which would've tipped him off immediately.
"Also, do we know who this boy is?"
"Not yet, Sheriff, but we're working on it."
Stiles was curious about what exactly went down in the woods earlier, but also needed to get Lydia away from everyone and interrogate her...erm ask her...what the hell went on prior to her showing up. It was too coincidental for her to find another dead body so soon after all the shenanigans of last year.
"C'mon, Lydia. Let's get you home."
A/N: Something I find extremely funny - on most shows, you rarely see/hear people saying "bye" to each other after ending a phone call. If we all used the same phone etiquette they use on tv, we'd be a much ruder society. I know it's a small thing, but it bothered me enough for me to add my own two cents in how the convo between Scott and Stiles ended (if you remember, you don't actually find out because the scene flows right into the Derek-Scott-Isaac pow-wow).