The sheriff had this one face that Stiles had come to know and recognize over the years. It was a wordless way of saying that he knew his son was most likely telling the truth—or the truth as he believed it to be, given the steady heartbeat and the lack of guilty scent—but he wasn't buying any of it. His brow was pulled into a hard frown, eyes narrowed and deepening the wrinkles framing the blue orbs, lips parted and pulled down, displaying his bottom teeth. His scent was a mix of confused, suspicious, dubious, and curious—most likely at how he was able to produce such a strange progeny and which side of the family his kid's more eccentric qualities came from.

Stiles just simply stared back at his old man as he stood on the opposite side of his desk in his office. His own eyes were narrowed analytically, lips pressed into a hard line. The fingers of his right hand drummed against the clenched ones of his left as they rested in front of his chest, leg shaking in nerves. Anxiety over his father's response grew with each passing second, worry over exactly what his reaction would be to the email print-out he and Lydia had handed him only minutes before.

Standing in front of his swivel chair, his dad looked back down at the paper in question, confused face remaining as he reread the words in his head then out loud. "Wedan nodo alforty—" He gave up with a huff, dropping his arms to his side with force, wrinkling the paper. "For Christ's sakes, what in the hell am I reading, Stiles?"

The mentioned male scratched the back of his head with a finger before gesturing to his dad with that same hand. "It's an email from Stu," he stated plainly, moving his hands to his hips, sweeping his flannel shirt back with the motion.

The look on his dad's face showed that he was completely unamused with his kid's answer and his bullshit. "Well, I got that from the sent address," he ground out, flicking a hand on the paper. "What I'm asking is what the hell is the message itself."

"'Mates don't always mean happy ever after'," he translated for the second time that day, ignoring the way it made his wolf whimper, wrapping his arms around his torso in an attempt to ward off the chill it gave him. A phrase like that was nothing but foreboding and the sense of dread he'd gotten when he first read it hadn't lessened or disappeared the more he repeated it. "It's in the language we made up when we were kids."

His dad rolled his eyes at that and muttered, "never did understand that."

"Yeah, well, you weren't supposed to. That's the whole point of a secret language," Stiles pointed out, unfolding his arms to gesticulate in his usual manner.

He got another one of those "I am so done with your shit, son" looks in response.

Totally expected really.

The sheriff let out a sigh, peering down at the email once more. "So Stuart sent you—just you—a secret coded email about Mates and what? You want me to put it in the box with all the other useless pieces of so-called evidence that're taking up space and collecting dust in lock-up?" His voice was hard, tone snarky, but Stiles knew it was all an act. He could scent the grief and frustration rolling off his old man, knew the toughness and sarcasm were a cover to mask his own upset. Losing a kid was never easy. Losing a kid who'd run off and you still can't find him, despite it being your profession to solve cases, it was probably the hardest damn thing anyone could do.

Stiles swallowed hard under the weight of his dad's emotions, barely aware of the comforting touch Lydia was rubbing between his shoulder blades. His mind flashed with memories of his dad drunk and crying, blaming himself for his missing son still not being returned home, calling himself a failure as a law enforcement agent, as a sheriff, as a dad, as an alpha, as everything, all because he couldn't find a single solid lead. More than once Stiles had had to take the bottle of wolfsbane laced whiskey away and cart his dad off to bed, tuck him in and reassure him that he wasn't a failure, that he still had Stiles, that they were a team and they'd solve the case together.

It was another reason why he was so damned determined to track his brother down and haul him back home. Not just because he missed him and felt like a huge part of him was gone, but because their dad needed him home, too.

"No," he rasped, clearing his throat before stepping closer, Lydia's hand dropping from his back. "We had someone track the IP address—"

"By someone you mean Danny Mahealani," the sheriff interrupted, tone brokering no argument.

At least no argument from anyone sane and normal and without a habit of doing stupid shit just because it seemed like a good idea at that very second.

Stiles stood stunned and frozen for a moment, lips parted before he even spoke. "Anonymous source."

"Named Danny Mahealani."

He shook his head and gestured with his arms out to his sides. "Anonymous, Dad. How should I know?" he plead innocent, plowing on despite his dad's eye roll and increased frustrated scent. Leaning over the desk, he stabbed his finger at the paper in his dad's hand, drawing his attention to it. "Look, the IP address is from somewhere in California. He's in the same state as us. We could gather resources and manpower and—"

"And what?" the sheriff interrupted again, just as dubious as he had been in the beginning. "Send them on a wild goose chase all over the state in the hope that my computer genius son didn't somehow manipulate the IP address and made it seem like he's in California, when really, he's in Alaska with his Mate and a team of sled dogs?"

Stiles furrowed his brow at that, rapidly shaking his head as he held his hands out in front of him. "Well, no, Dad. Stuart can't stand the snow. We omegas can't handle the cold all that well."

Another, much heavier sigh left the elder Stilinski, hand smearing over his face at his son so very clearly missing the point. Stiles cleared his throat self-consciously, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis as he rocked on his heels. Alright, so he'd lost a little focus on that one and had paid more attention to an insignificant detail that had been thrown in to add to the sarcasm of the entire statement, but... Yeah, he didn't really have a point or an argument there.

He was right about omegas not handling the cold well though. It was just in their natures, the way they were created, and another reason why they needed an alpha—who were all naturally hot-blooded and therefore able to keep their Mates warm. Getting chilled easily was why Stiles was always in layers and why Stuart wore a beanie in the middle of summer. It was that or get goosebumped to death by their alpha friends having their ACs up to high. Or low. Whatever, they had the temperature really freaking cold basically and it wasn't all that pleasant for the omega twins.

"What Stiles is trying to point out," Lydia spoke up—thankfully—stepping forward so she was on his right once more. "Is that this lead seems more plausible than the others due to a certain anomaly that showed when tracking this IP address that makes it different than his previous emails." She gave a tight-lipped smile at the sheriff, glancing up at her friend pointedly. And when he didn't take the hint, she glared at him with wide eyes and nodded her head in the direction of his dad.

"Oh! Right." Stiles snapped out of it, hands flying out his pockets, turning back to his dad. "We couldn't get a city this time. All the others we could narrow right down to a street address, but this had some sorta blocking program that prevented us from getting anything other than a state."

The sheriff stared at him flatly, not seeing the point. The frustration in his scent grew to agitation, not just at the fact that he couldn't find his missing son, but at the fact that the one who was still around was being an annoying little ass.

Basically, Stiles had scented that emotion coming from his dad a lot. A lot a lot.

"And like you said," Lydia added on, arms folded under her chest, hip slightly cocked in Stiles' direction. "Stuart's a computer genius. Who's to say that he didn't falsify the first two IP addresses and leave this one as the truth?"

The elder Stilinski stared at her dubiously, that pulled-brow, tight-eyed, bottom-teeth-showing look he wore earlier. "Why wouldn't he give us the whole thing this time, if it is, in fact, the truth?"

"He's hiding," Stiles answered roughly, wrapping his arms around himself once more, before unfolding one to gesture in a habit he never could quite break himself of. "Dad, his first email said he was leaving to make things better for us and now he's sending this cryptic message about Mates." Refolding his arms, he licked his lips, swallowing hard before he went on. "Chances are he was trying to protect us by keeping himself hidden away where we can't find him and run into his abusive Mate and get hurt. Or worse."

His dad nodded repeatedly then tossed the paper onto his desk and rubbed at his eyes. A heavy sigh left him once more, his shoulders slumping and his head hanging. The agitated scent was still there, joined by the scents of sadness and something that could only be described as exhaustion. Stiles hadn't really noticed just how tired his dad was until that moment, how much his job was taking out of him, how he'd seemed to age about five years over the last two and he knew it was the stress of Stuart that was causing it. A small sense of guilt washing over him at being so single-mindedly focused on the missing family member that he hadn't realized what was going on with the remaining one. His own depression and unhealthy behavior most likely hadn't helped his dad out that much either, had exasperated everything really.

His old man really did deserve better than the selfish pricks he'd been given as kids.

"Look," the sheriff began then paused, taking a deep breath before lifting his head. "I wanna look for Stuart, I really do. You gotta trust me on that, all right?"

Stiles nodded, unable to do anything else. His dad's heartbeat was steady, meaning he was telling the truth. Yet there was an unspoken "but" at the end of that statement, the belief that he had stopped himself halfway through and the omega wasn't about to like the rest of what he was gonna say. The younger Stilinski braced himself, pressing his lips into a hard line as he rewrapped his arms around his torso and held onto himself tightly.

"But like I said, we can't afford the money or the manpower it would take for a blind statewide search," he went on, remorse thick in his voice and in his scent. "Maybe if we had the starting point of a city, we could team up with local authorities there, but not the whole state." An apologetic smile tugged at the corner of his lips, looking more like a wince than a grin, and Stiles heard his wolf howl at the sight of his Pack Alpha being so hard on himself.

"I get it," he choked out, voice thick with emotions and words unsaid. And he did get it, did understand. From a financial standpoint, it didn't make a lotta sense to do what Stiles was asking for. But there still had to be something they could do. Get professionals to track the email, people with access to better technology than Danny and his super laptop. Look into Stuart's financial records once more, hack into his email and see if he sent anything to anyone else. Check his cell phone for any recent activity.

But his dad was cutting it all off with a swift "Sorry, Kid" and a pat on the shoulder. "I wish I could do more," he stated honestly, leaning back over his desk and moving the email to the side, eyes focused on a different sheet of paper laying in the center. "But like I told you earlier, I got bigger things on my plate to deal with."

Unable to resist, Stiles peered over and scanned the paper that held his dad's attention, soon recognizing it as a travel itinerary and schedule. "You're going on that trip?" he questioned dubiously, unable to believe his dad was still going, even after all of his earlier objections and arguments.

The sheriff nodded, lifting his head, arms folding over his chest in an authoritative manner. "Alpha Martin asked me to go and I'm going."

Stiles sputtered as his mouth struggled to keep up with the five-hundred responses his mind was churning out, arms falling to his sides. "Wha—Da—why?!"

"I just told you why," his dad pointed out, sneering in confusion at his son's reaction.

"Yeah, but." He spat out then stopped, not sure where he was going with that other half-thought. He shoved a hand into his hair, other hand resting on his hip. "I mean, can't she ask someone else to go? Why does it have to be you?"

His dad didn't answer; just covered his face with his hand and sighed. Again.

"The town can't go without its sheriff and its unofficial second in command Alpha, not for however long," he went on, sounding slightly frantic at this point. But it couldn't be helped. The whole thing gave him an overwhelming sense of dread and caused his hackles to rise. It was too suspicious, too strange, too weird to be overlooked and shoved aside as a whatever thing. Something major was going on and Stiles just knew it.

And he just needed his dad to believe him and go along with what he was saying.

"Alpha Martin already asked Chris Argent to fill in as Acting Alpha and Clarke will be in charge here. I'm going, Stiles," the sheriff stated in a hard voice, dropping his hand and scowling at his son. "And that's final."

The omega huffed. "Why are you so adamant about going? You and Alpha Martin got a thing going on or something?"

He felt Lydia stiffen on his right, her scent shifting to something curious and worried, and it was only then that he was reminded of how he was in the same room as Alpha Martin's daughter.

Whoops.

"Not that there's anything wrong with you dating someone," he quickly added on, eyes flashing to his friend. "I just. No offense, Lydia, but it'd be too weird to have you and Alpha Martin be together like that."

Honestly, it'd be weird for his dad to be with anyone really, except for Scott's mom. If there was any one female on the planet who Stiles would be okay with his dad dating, it would be her. The woman had been a second mother to him for as long as he could remember, even more so after his actual mom's passing. And she had a great rapport with his dad, a good friendship, an already established relationship of trust and comfort and enjoyment. It wasn't much of a stretch to imagine them progressing past "just friends", for weekly coffee shop meetings to turn into coffee at each other's houses on lazy Sundays together and stopping by one another's work just to see their faces rather than for a case and calling each other just to hear their voice rather than discuss what idiocy their sons had committed this time.

So yeah, his dad and Scott's mom? No problem. His dad and anyone else—including Lydia's mom—was a no go. He may have loved her like a sister, but he didn't want her as one.

"Jesus Christ, Stiles," his dad sneered, nose wrinkled in disgust. "No, I'm not dating Alpha Martin." He quickly wiped the expression away and gestured to Lydia. "No offense, your mom is a wonderful woman and a terrific Alpha. I'm just not interested in her in that capacity."

She waved him off. "None taken. My mom can be abrasive and tough to handle for anyone, let alone someone in a relationship with her."

The sheriff nodded, blowing out air like he agreed and was overwhelmed at just the thought of it, only to cut the action off when he remembered, once again, who he was in the room with and didn't wanna reverse Lydia's stance on not being offended by his statements.

Stiles looked back and forth between the two of them, shrugging the whole thing off before changing the subject. "Still doesn't explain why you're going," he pointed out, sounding like a brat and honestly just not caring about it.

The hard look returned to his dad's face as he leveled his narrowed eyes at his son. "Because it's my job, something I hope you will understand first hand in a couple years."

He worked his jaw in annoyance at that. His dream job was to be a cop like his dad, but with omega restrictions being what they were, he'd have to settle for a permanent desk job or work behind the scenes. Part of him had considered computer crimes, but his twin had always been more of the computer genius than him. Still, he was working his way towards a criminal justice degree and hopefully an idea of what the hell he was gonna do with it.

"Go home, Kid," his dad suggested, voice soft now, pleading. "And stay home this time. I don't wanna see your face until I get there, understood?"

A weak smile tugged at the corner of his lips for a brief second, despair overpowering him. "Yeah. Sure."

A slow nod was the sheriff's response before he rounded the desk and hugged him goodbye, kissing Lydia's cheek in parting. Without another word, Stiles turned and left the office, his friend right by his side. He worked the back of his neck as he went, grunting goodbye to Deputy Graeme at the front desk, barely resisting the urge to flip off Haigh as the beta prick made his way through the door.

Fuck, he'd been so hopeful that his dad would help. His blind optimism had completely taken over, leading him to believe that with that new message, his dad would have no choice but to reopen Stuart's case and work it just as hard as before, if not even more so. He'd thought they'd gotten a real trail this time, a real chance to find his twin, only to have a cold dose of reality shoved down his throat. Finding Stuart was just as impossible as it had been two years ago, maybe even more. There was nothing to say Stuart was actually in California or that he'd stayed after he'd sent the email.

And he'd thought they'd been so fucking close. Turned out they were just as far away as ever.

The door banged against the bureau as Stiles stormed into his room. He ripped off his flannel and slammed it onto his bed then shoved his hands in his hair as he paced back and forth. The entire drive back to his place had been filled with his mind racing, obsessing over the email he'd long since memorized—both in English and in their twin speak—and his dad's refusal to further investigate it. Not the best idea when he was supposed to be focusing on the road, but his brain actually doing what he wanted it to wasn't a thing that happened, especially not when it was something like this.

He huffed with his cheeks blown out, vaguely aware of Lydia padding into the room behind him, her floral scent freshening the place up and trying its best to overpower his own. She didn't say anything, just silently set her purse on his desk and her shoes on the floor beside it before meandering around to the other side of his board.

Turning away from her, he kept up his pacing, chewing on his thumb once more. He had no clue what the hell to do now. He hadn't thought up a Plan B, had barely gotten a Plan A together before racing off to the sheriff's station. And worst of all, was the lack of ideas coming from anywhere else.

With a heavy sigh, he sank onto his bed, shoving his face in his palms. Shit had seemed like the absolute worst when he'd discovered Stuart had gone missing. He didn't sleep for a week straight, trying to catch his scent somewhere, trying to help track him down, always by his dad's side as he worked the case. And when he wasn't physically searching, he was up all night trying to think of where exactly his twin would run off to, why he'd leave, if he'd even left voluntarily. He'd come up with a thousand possible scenarios on the first night alone, and even when he'd gotten confirmation that his brother had left on his own free will, his mind still kept him up with a thousand reasons why.

And now? Now he had new theories, new ideas, new worries. Maybe Stu's departure hadn't been as voluntary as he'd thought it'd been. Maybe he'd been dragged out against his will, forced to send an email saying all was well, threatened into a Mating he didn't want with a guy who was most likely gonna kill him. And Stiles couldn't find him, couldn't save him.

It was gonna be all his fault.

"Wanna talk about it?" Lydia asked softly, back to him as she stared at the United States map on his board, at the lines of thin red tape that connected cities to emails.

He snorted, smearing his hands over his face before dropping them between his knees and tangling his fingers together. "Not really," he rasped out, wiping at the bottom of his nose. "Just seems like I'm the only one who misses him, who's even doing something to try and find him."

A wave of offense hit his nose, Lydia obviously pissed at his implications that she didn't miss him. And chances were, she did. She and Stuart had become close friends over the years, much like she and Stiles had. The three of them had a healthy competition going on for valedictorian—although it was more of a two man race, since Stiles' focus issues tended to hinder more than help with his GPA—and Lydia loved coming over to debate this topic or argue that statement, always leaving with a smile on her face and comment over how nice it was to speak with someone who could actually match her on an intellectual level.

Stiles would never forget the day Scott asked if they were spending so much time together due to a "weird sex thing", only to get a mouthful from Stuart regarding incest and how disgusting that was before he stormed off, typing away on his phone as always. Lydia had apparently chewed him out for it the next day, too, bringing up how members of different genders and dynamics could be friends without it being sexual or due to any sort of Mate bond.

It did make Stiles wonder if there had been something between his brother and his best female friend, but Stu had further insisted that he was Dream-less and Lydia rolled her eyes and said her Mate was most definitely straight, not an omega, and very much not in Beacon Hills.

"Sorry," he murmured, wringing his hands together. "I know you miss him, too. It's just. It doesn't come across a whole lot."

She shrugged a shoulder before padding over to him, smoothing her skirt as she sat on his right. "People get busy with their lives and have too much other stuff to worry about so yes, sometimes missing him gets shoved to the back of our minds," she admitted, pausing to lick her lips and shrug again, shaking her head this time. "But there are still moments when I pick up the phone to text him from school or go to email him a link I think he'd like, only to remember—" She trailed off at that, turning her head to give him a small smile.

He nodded, corner of his own lips curved up. "I get it."

She rubbed between his shoulder blades in a soothing manner and Stiles let his mind and body relax, his omega instincts and his wolf pleased at the comforting touch from an alpha.

His eyes focused on the glass board, roaming over all the evidence—what little evidence there was anyway—regarding his brother's open case, feeling that earlier emptiness inside his chest once more. "I just wish I knew where he went," he muttered almost absently, head hanging off heavy shoulders. "I keep trying to get in his head and figure it out, but he's just way too smart for me."

Lydia sat up straighter at that, hand pausing her rubbing circles, calling his name out sharply. He raised his head to peer at her, noting her parted lips and her wide green eyes, the way the orbs were focused to the side as though lost in thought. He straightened up himself, turning in his seat to face her fully, feeling his wolf prick its ears and thump its tail a little as hope bloomed in his chest.

"Didn't you say running away was something you'd be more likely to do?" she questioned thoughtfully, still not making eye contact.

His brow furrowed, confusion flooding him and his scent. "Yeah. Why?"

"What if you can't figure out his thought process because he's not thinking like himself? What if he's thinking and behaving like you instead?" She turned to him, small smirk on her face, the same one he'd seen countless times when she was the first to turn in her test or to solve the equation on the board before anyone else. It was her Queen Genius smirk and he adored her for it.

His lips parted in awe before his head snapped to his board. He shot up to his feet, striding around it to the back, Lydia quickly following. Because on the back of the US map, was one of California, one he was scanning to find a particular place.

"You ever hear the story of how me, Stu, and Scotty almost got arrested?" he questioned, not looking at her as she stood on his left.

She huffed, rolling her eyes and folding her arms over her chest. "Which one? The time you broke into the neighbor's pool, the time you were busted underage drinking in the Preserve, or the time you decided to graffiti the school before senior year?"

Wow. He had no idea the three of them had been up to that many shenanigans.

And those were just the ones she knew about.

"The last one," he clarified. "We took off running right as security showed up, hightailed it into the surrounding neighborhood and around the corner where I dragged the two of them behind some guy's porch and hid, 'cause cops always expect you to keep running and not stop until you're as far away as possible."

She bobbed her head in concession, impressed pout on her face. "Because that's what most criminals do: think they can outrun the police and keep going."

"Exactly." He smiled down at her, arms folded loosely over his chest, covering up the bright green print on his tee. "Scott didn't get it at first, but Stu immediately recognized it as a tactic I used in hide-n-seek when we were kids. Drove him nuts." His grin grew at the memory, a small amount of warmth flooding him with nostalgia.

A smirk formed on Lydia's face as she caught on to his point, confusion washing away from her scent. "So you don't think he ran all the way to New York?"

"I don't think he even left the state at all," he stated, turning back to the map. "No, if he's thinking like me, he went straight to the closest, safest place he could go." With that, he put his finger by the city he was thinking of, the city that if he were on the run from an abusive Mate, he'd hide out in.

Her green eyes followed up his arm, finding the place he was drawing her attention to, smile growing victorious and scent becoming a little smug and overjoyed as she read it out loud. "Oak Creek."

They tag-team researched Oak Creek in the kitchen as Stiles halfway focused on getting dinner together, but found nothing more than what they already knew. Any further information about the town wasn't open to the public, and for obvious reasons: they didn't want another attack on the State Alpha Family.

Replies to Stu's email were all sent back with a failure notice, same with texts to the number Stiles still had programmed in his cell and couldn't bring himself to delete, just in case. Phone calls were greeted with an automated message telling him the number he'd dialed was no longer in service and he gave up hope that maybe his twin had turned something on or reconnected something so Stiles could get in touch with him and help him.

Lydia sat at the island with Stiles' laptop in front of her, thoughtful pout on her face and determined scent hanging around her like a fierce perfume, while he sorted through a bag of prepacked salad with more aggression than necessary. His frustration had hit an all time high, feeling one step closer to his brother, yet still fifty steps away. It was agonizing, feeling as though his twin was right there, just out of reach, so close he could practically scent the guy. But he wasn't. He was about four hours north of them—if Stiles' theory was correct anyway.

No, he was right. There was nowhere else Stu could've gone, not if he was truly running from someone. And Oak Creek was the safest place in California to hide.

Which was a huge problem, considering how maximum security it was. Rumors stated that the town was a step down from a federal prison, that the only difference was that people were allowed to leave of their own free will. But unless you were born there or had an appointment with the California Alpha made months in advance, it was practically impossible to gain admittance.

Although if anyone could get in, it was Stu.

Stiles just wished he knew his twin's secret for doing so, that way he could visit Oak Creek and find his brother for himself. Wasn't like he could call someone who worked for the city and ask. And even if he could inquire about any residents within those walls, chances were Stu had thought ahead and made some sorta deal to ensure no one ever gave away the fact that he was living there.

"Shit," he muttered to himself, slamming the bag of discarded lettuce into the trash, frustration mounting as he obsessed over his brother's possible new location.

"You really think he's in Oak Creek?" Lydia quickly asked, like she'd been holding the question in until she felt it was okay to say it out loud, taking his under the breath swear as her cue.

He nodded as he swiped his hand under his nose then grabbed a large pot from under the stove, carrying it to the sink. "Yeah," he rasped out as he filled it with water, having decided that some form of pasta was all he was capable of cooking that evening. "It just feels right in my gut and with my wolf. It never made sense to to me that he'd be in New York or Kansas or where-the-fuck-ever. But Oak Creek does." Shutting off the water, he carried the pot to the stove, located in the center of the island, setting it on the largest ring and cutting the appliance on.

She nodded, lips pressed together in a hard line, eyes focused on the laptop screen. Her scent was neutral before slowly flooding with determination and a sort of finality he only over smelled from her during forced shopping trips or when she'd picked out his outfit for prom, for graduation, for the parties she threw after both. Lydia had made up her mind about something and alpha or not, he was gonna have no choice but to follow her lead.

"I caught sight of your dad's itinerary on his desk," she stated, folding her hands on the counter in front of his laptop, eyes peering over the top of it at him. "He and my mom leave at eight tomorrow morning, meaning you and I will be leaving at eight-thirty."

He opened his mouth to argue the time, only to shut it when he realized her idea was the best plan. Leaving during the night would only bring up the worst sort of déjà vu in his dad and if they departed before their parents, then the sheriff would be better able to call his men after his second wayward son.

Leaving after the sheriff and County Alpha gave them a good window to put some miles between themselves and Beacon Hills before having to admit to what they were up to—or being busted—and by then, it would hopefully be too late.

But still, one thing about her statement was bugging him. "You're coming?" he questioned with a cocked eyebrow, arms loosely folded over his chest.

She gave him a pointed look before rolling her eyes. "Assuming you're even in the right mindset to drive there and not wreck—which you aren't, by the way," she began, pausing to flick her hair over her shoulder, smirking slightly at the twitch of Stiles' eyes that meant she was right and he was trying not to pout or glare because that would be admitting it. "But also because, and don't take this the wrong way," she warned with a finger pointed in his direction. "You'd have a better chance of getting inside if you had an alpha escorting you."

This time he did glare, though it wasn't aimed at her being a know-it-all and being right once again. No, this time it was aimed at the discriminatory system they lived in and the fucking archaic laws and the cave-minded beliefs that omegas were too weak and fragile to be allowed to go anywhere by themselves. No, they needed a big, strong alpha to protect them and watch over them and make sure they don't fall down and get a boo-boo.

Bullshit.

He huffed in annoyance, jaw working, fingers tapping against his arm and leg shaking in anger. "Fuckin' hate being an omega," he grumbled.

"You say that now. Just wait 'til you met your alpha." She smirked at him and wagged her eyebrows in suggestion.

Flashes of his Dream bombarded him then, a phantom torso pressed against his back, a scruff-covered jaw rubbing against his cheek and neck, a knot bumping up against his rim. He felt his passage dampen and his cock twitch at the memories of just those fantasies, arousal coursing through him before he could put a lid on it.

Lydia's smirk grew like she knew exactly what he was thinking about, like he'd just proven her right—again. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment as he blushed, hoping the mortified scent covered his horny one.

Clearing his throat, he turned away from her and shuffled to a nearby cabinet, opening it up to try and decide what pasta exactly he was making that night. "You staying for dinner?" he questioned, not really minding either way and letting that fact seep into his voice.

He heard the swish of fabric and the movement of her hair as she shrugged and let out a thoughtful "mm" noise. "Might as well. You pretty much owe me for all my help today," she stated almost dismissively, like she was doing him a favor by letting him cook and provide her with a meal.

Stiles had to bite his tongue before snarling at the implications that as an omega, it was his job and his duty to make meals for his alpha—especially since Lydia wasn't even his alpha—reminding himself that it wasn't dynamic discrimination or a presumptuous alpha being a douche; that was how Lydia treated damn near everyone. Especially when she actually would really like a nice meal made by him but would never admit it by asking for it.

"Nice change of subject by the way," she commented proudly, smirk evident in her voice.

He just shrugged, refusing to admit that that had been his goal. Instead he focused on the pasta once more, grabbing a tall clear tub of fettuccine. It had always been Stu's fave and the tub hadn't been touched since he left. If there was ever a time to break it open, it was then.

A sad sigh left Stiles, the emptiness returning, his wolf whining inside his head. Uncooked noodles shouldn't upset him like that, shouldn't make him wanna curl up in a nest of his blankets and hide from the world.

God, he truly was a stereotypically pathetic omega at times.

His name was called softly from behind and he turned around to find Lydia looking at him with an equally soft expression, the corner of her lips pulled up in a sad smile, dimples in her cheeks, scent full of sympathy and upset over him being upset.

"We're gonna do whatever it takes to find him, I promise."

Stiles just nodded, forcing a small smile on his own face, not wanting to bring down the mood or his friend any more than he already had. Besides, there was nothing to be bummed about anymore. They had a damn good idea about where Stuart was and a plan to go there and find out if they were right or not. He just had to wait a few more hours, that was all.

His twin's email rang in his head like a broken record, his wolf howling along with it, stomach in dread-filled knots and churning with nauseating fear. Fuck, he truly hoped a few more hours wouldn't make that much difference to his brother's well-being.

Dinner went surprisingly well, considering his wolf's growing agitation at his dad. The sheriff discussed what few details he knew about the upcoming Meeting—which was pretty much nothing—in an attempt to reassure both Stiles and Lydia that their respective parents would be fine. But all Stiles could think about was how his dad should instead be discussing how he was reopening Stu's case, how he'd forwarded the email to some high tech crime lab where experts were trying to break past the firewall to get the real point of origin, how they were planning on heading to whatever town it may be as soon as they had a definitive locale.

But no. He was discussing the merits of flying down rather than driving. Stiles didn't think that was any safer, scenes from Snakes on a Plane inexplicably playing in his mind, along with countless statistics over plane crashes and near-misses. Although those were then beaten down by stats regarding car accidents and carjackings and the countless things that could go wrong in an automobile.

His dad took his silence as him still being sore over not looking more into Stu's email, which was only partially true. Yeah, he wished his dad had done more than just shoot him down, but he was able to placate himself—and his wolf—by thinking of the plan he and Lydia had in place for the next day.

Lydia was a superb actress, acting like nothing at all was amiss, as though she wasn't secretly planning on sneaking off to the most heavily fortified city in California on a whim. She asked questions regarding the sheriff and her mom's trip, appearing more like she was making conversation than using it to her own advantage, then answered ones she was asked. She discussed summer plans with Allison, an upcoming trip to some mall in another town the two of them were taking and how Danny was thinking of joining in. Stiles' dad brought up how hard it must be trying to make plans with people who were loathe to leave their Mates and how difficult it must be to be Mate-less yet surrounded by couples and Lydia shrugged it all off with ease, not bothered in the slightest.

"He'll show up when the time is right," she said gently, soft smile on her face and dreamy look in her eyes.

Not for the first time, Stiles found himself wondering who her Mate was and even asked as much when his dad went to fetch coffee for everyone. She shrugged again, flipping her hair over her shoulder and pursing her lips.

"He's a beta," was all she gave up. Which, considering the popularity of betas, was pretty much nothing.

She left after their coffee was finished, declining the sheriff's offer of a second cup but thanking him for the open invitation for dinner any time she wanted. She hugged both Stilinski men goodbye, giving Stiles a pointed look as she told him she'd see him later before sashaying her way to her car, strawberry blonde hair glowing in the fading light.

His dad approached him while he was rinsing off dishes and stacking them in the washer, having declined a second coffee of his own and going for a squat glass of Jack Daniels instead. Stiles pointedly ignored him, focusing on his task and pretending like he wasn't scenting the curiosity and worry rolling off his dad.

"You okay, Kid?"

The short answer was "no" but he wasn't about to go there. Admitting it would mean a long in depth discussion about why he wasn't okay, which would lead to another argument against his dad heading to LA and for his dad investigating that email.

A quick glance at his old man brought his attention to darker under-eye bags and deepened wrinkles. Christ. Sometimes Stiles hated analyzing his father, the way he looked. It felt like every time he did, he was noticing more gray hairs and more wrinkles, that his smile was tighter and more strained, that it was harder for him to remain as happy and easygoing as he once was. His Mate was dead, his kid was missing, his other kid was a stubborn pain in the ass, and his job was stressful as hell. It was nothing short of a miracle that his dad hadn't wound up on a pyre of his own at that point.

Shoving all that aside, Stiles gave a simple flat "fine" as his response, hating how his heart beat steadily over the lie, so accustomed to bullshitting people over his well-being and mental and emotional status.

His dad sighed, clearly not buying it, clearly knowing his kid too well. He ducked his head, stared down at his drink as he swirled it around, whiskey sloshing inside the squat glass. "You know I really do wanna find your brother, right? That I'm not not looking into that email 'cause I don't care? Because I do. I just. Don't have time right now."

Stiles gripped the edge of the sink with wet hands, staring straight ahead at the window above it, not seeing the grass that he'd mowed the day before or the flower beds that he'd weeded the previous week or the giant oak with the fallen leaves he'd grumbled about raking while it was still technically spring. He also wasn't seeing a lawn he and Stu used to run around in, flowers they planted with their mom, a tree-house that had been his, Stu, and Scott's fort, a giant "3S" sloppily painted on the door. He wasn't lost in nostalgia like he usually was. He was just...lost.

He grit his teeth against his dad's words, fingers curling, conscious to keep his claws retracted and not scratch the ceramic sink. "Then why can't you forward it to someone who does have time?" he ground out, head hanging, now staring unseeing at the unwashed, unrinsed dishes in the sink.

"I already did," his dad admitted lowly. "But it could take them a long time to crack through that firewall, days, maybe even weeks."

Stiles just nodded, lips pressed into a hard line as he kept up the facade of being annoyed and pissed at his dad's lack of action, when instead, he was thinking about how much time that would buy him and Lydia. With everyone focusing on the tech team, they'd be less likely to notice their absence or question why they'd left. It was a damn good cover, a nice little shield of sorts to hide behind.

"Wanna tell me what else is bothering you?" the sheriff went on, looking pointedly over his glass as he drank.

The younger Stilinski moved at that, grabbing a plate as he let out a firm "nope", popping the "p". At least he could be honest about that much.

His dad nodded as he lowered his glass, ice clinking inside. "This have anything to do with you thinking me and Alpha Martin have a more than professional relationship?"

The snort left him before he could stop it, plate loud as he put it in the washer. "No, Dad," he replied as he straightened up, looking at his old man, eyes being drawn to the faint Claiming Bite on the left side of his dad's neck.

His mom had put it high up, just below his jaw, stating she wanted it to show over his collars so no Mate-less hussies got the wrong idea about a man in uniform. Stiles could remember how dark it was when he was a kid, how stark it was against his dad's tan skin. Now, without his Mate around to refresh it—so to speak—it had faded to the point where it was a faint white scar, barely noticeable unless you were really looking for it.

Fuck, it hurt to look at it. He couldn't imagine how torturous it was for his dad to see it though, to realize how much lighter it was and what exactly that meant.

His earlier thought regarding his surprise over his dad not having been turned to ashes yet came back once again and he had to swallow hard against the swell of emotions threatening to clog his throat and choke him.

"I gotta ask, Kid," his dad started then stalled, wincing, bottom teeth on display. Whatever was about to come out his mouth, he was expecting a bad reaction from his son. Not good. "Is the main reason why you don't want me and Alpha Martin together because you and Lydia already are?"

Stiles dropped a handful of silverware in the sink with a loud clanging crash, staring wide eyed and open mouthed at his dad. "Wha—ho—wha—?" he sputtered, flabbergasted, confused, so totally thrown off. "No, Dad! Jesus Christ!"

"I'm just asking," the elder Stilinski pointed out, hands held up in innocence before he lowered them to the front of his torso. "It's not uncommon for people to date around before finding their Mate and she seems like a really good alpha who'll take care of you while you wait for yours to show."

He just stared incredulously at his dad, brow furrow in confusion, eyes wide in shock, lips parted but no words coming out. He was well aware of people dating outside of Mates, had been front row for the Scott-Allison Pre-Mates Angst Fest and had been witness to the Jackson-Lydia Pre-Dream Drama Show, as well as countless other couples in high school and at Stanford. And while he could understand why some people did it—didn't wanna be lonely, craved affection and a partner, wanted the protection of an alpha or to take care of an omega, were horny and wanted to get some practice in before the big show, so to speak—it wasn't something he was interested in doing.

Sure, at first, maybe he had been. Even after Lydia'd had her Dream, he'd still held out hope of maybe getting some practice in with her or the two of them killing waiting time together. But then he'd had his own Dream and he just didn't see the point. Why settle for someone who might be good but wasn't specifically created for you? Why put up with decent sex or run the risk of a bad lay when you knew something so much better was waiting for you, when you knew first hand how much better it could be? Seemed pointless and like a waste of time.

Besides, he'd seen enough rom-coms and TV shows to know that dating outside of a Mate wouldn't end well. People fell in love with the wrong person, ended up torn between destiny and this person they had feelings for but weren't supposed to be with, had their hearts broken when the person they were in a serious committed relationship with found their Mate and left them, had kids with someone other than their Mates and wound up with broken families and awkward custody arrangements. It was messy and not worth the risk, just to be with someone.

And yeah, spending heats alone sucked and he hated the mortification of facing his dad after spending three days writhing and groaning and getting himself off in the heat room of their basement, but he did it with the knowledge that it wasn't forever and that one day he'd have a big strong alpha and his knot to help him out.

So as much as he loved and adored Lydia—which was a whole helluva lot—he couldn't just settle for her like that. It wasn't fair to her, wasn't fair to himself, and definitely wasn't fair to their respective Mates.

Shaking his head rapidly, he snapped himself out of it and focused back on the conversation at hand. "I know, but it's not like that with me and Lyds and it's gonna stay not like that with us," he stated, gathering up the silverware he'd dropped and rinsing them off again. "She doesn't wanna be with anyone or find her Mate until she's done with school and I don't wanna be with anyone until I find my alpha." He shrugged leaning over to put the utensils in the dishwasher rack. "Guess I'm just traditional in that sense."

His dad nodded, brow furrowed and eyes distant, like he was seeing something in the past rather than in his near empty glass of whiskey. "I get it," he murmured, almost like he wasn't aware that he was speaking so quietly. "Your mom was the same way."

The casual mention of his mom made something clench inside his chest, an aching hollowness that never quite went away. The pain was just as raw, just as fresh as it had been the day he lost her, like bringing her up tore at the stitches holding together the wound that her loss had created.

He was left with hands that trembled as he shut off the faucet, throat tight as he put detergent in the dishwasher and switched it on. Fuck, it felt like all of him was shaking slightly, a barely there tremor coursing through his entire being as he cleared his throat and turned to his dad, head ducked, unable to look him in the eye.

"I'm gonna head to bed," he murmured, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Been a long day."

It was the truth and his heartbeat said as much, his dad nodding more and giving him a small smile in response. But it wasn't the entire reason why he wanted to hit the hay. He knew that going to sleep early meant waking up early which further meant that tomorrow would arrive sooner. And the sooner tomorrow came, the sooner he'd be off to Oak Creek to hopefully rescue his brother and being him home.

"All right, Kid," his dad said softly, clapping him on the shoulder. "Get some rest. I'll see you before I leave tomorrow morning, okay?"

Stiles just nodded, still not looking him in the eye. Good nights were exchanged before he dragged himself upstairs to his room, flopping back into his bed and staring at the ceiling. Just a few more hours, he reassured himself. A few more and then everything would be okay.