Oak Creek was a small town of about a thousand people or so. It had its own schools, its own grocery store, its own pharmacy, its own emergency care, doctors, dentists, anything and everything you'd find in any other town, just condensed into a smaller size behind giant walls. The roads were well-maintained, not a pothole to be found as Derek drove down Main Street, following it as it bisected the small city and brought them to what would be considered downtown: a couple stores, a diner, a bar, a movie theater with two screens—at least that's what Stiles assumed, considering the marquee only held the name of two current releases.

And there he'd been thinking Beacon Hills was on the small side.

People waved as they passed, smiling at the driver, who would respond with a subdued head nod and the wave of two fingers uncurling from around the steering wheel. It reminded Stiles of back home, how random strangers would wave to him and say "hello" because they knew him as the sheriff's kid, as the boy whose mom had died, as the young man whose brother had disappeared without a trace. Glancing at Derek, he figured the alpha had to be experiencing a lot of the same, being the son of the State Alpha and now a widower. A town as small as Oak Creek, gossip had to travel fast, and when it was something as big as a murder, it was a bullet train zinging from person to person.

A few people openly gawked at Stiles as they rolled past them, eyes wide, jaws dropped, faces paling at what they were seeing yet not quite believing. He watched one woman grab a friend's hand as they exited a boutique and point, the friend's chest puffing out suddenly as though she'd gasped. He watched as a teenage girl turned to a teenage boy in confusion while they walked down the street, the boy shaking his head dumbly at her question, mouth hanging open. He watched as a middle aged Asian man dropped a spray bottle and a rag from where he halfway paused waving, head moving back and forth between driver and passenger.

Stiles swallowed hard at all their reactions, knowing it wasn't just the surprised and curious stares of residents seeing a newcomer for the first time. No, this was the shock of people having seen a ghost, or the equivalent of such, a young man they'd all heard was dead sitting in the passenger seat of his Mate's car as they drove home like nothing was amiss. They were all wondering if the rumors weren't true, if maybe Stu hadn't died but was just badly injured, if his condition had been blown out of proportion as the news went from person to person, if it had actually been someone else who'd been found dead in the woods. After all, there had to be some explanation as to why Stuart was alive and well and in a car.

None of them knew that Stu had a twin. None of them knew they were gawking at a dead man's brother. None of them knew they were making shit worse for Stiles.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes flitting about the outside of the car, never settling on any one person or any one thing for too long. A tightness settled in his chest as he wondered how many of those people Stuart actually knew, if he was friends with any of them. They clearly knew who he was, recognized him as Derek's Mate, knew what he looked like. Did it go beyond that? Or was Stu a real recluse who only talked to those he worked with?

A little girl waved cheerily as she smiled brightly at them, her mom pulling the same open-mouthed gawker routine as everyone else while tugging her daughter closer with their joined hands. Across the street, someone was scrabbling to get their phone out their purse without taking their eyes off the SUV, presumably to call a friend and share their recent sighting.

Stiles sank lower in his seat, gnawing on a thumbnail as his leg bounced before him. He suddenly knew what it was like to be an animal in a zoo, knew how those monkeys felt as they sat there trying to clean each other and kids banged on the windows, knew how lions felt as they tried to nap with idiots yelling "Simbaaaa!" at them. Never again was he gonna howl at the wolves in the hopes that someone was just stuck in their wolf form or that maybe he'd find a kindred spirit amongst them whom he could befriend.

"You okay?"

The soft voice drew him out of his head and he turned to find Derek glancing at him while keeping an eye on the road. His brow was furrowed in concern, knuckles white from his tight grip in the steering wheel, worry overpowering his scent.

Stiles sank his teeth into his bottom lip as he dropped his hand, gesturing out the windshield at nothing and everything. "They all think I'm Stu," he rasped out, clearing his throat and doing nothing to dislodge the lump in it.

The driver peered all around them out all the windows, checked his rear and side view mirrors longer than necessary, eyes narrowing and deepening the laugh lines around them. "Certainly seems that way," he muttered, focusing on the road once more as the buildings gave way to grass and scattered trees, a sign for a park on the right, one for the school on the left. "No one knew Stu has—had a twin and no one can scent you or get a good enough look at you in order to tell the difference between you guys, so at first glance, yeah, they think you're him. I'm sure they'll figure out the truth eventually once word gets out about you."

The omega just nodded as he returned to gnawing on a thumbnail, having no choice but to believe him.

The drive continued on in silence, Stiles focusing more out the window than anything, watching as trees grew more dense and parted to reveal side streets, getting peeks at the houses of the residential district of the town. He scanned street names, noting a recurring theme of their names all being types of trees: Sycamore Road, Cherry Street, Oak Avenue, Pine Street. They passed another three just like it before turning right onto a single lane street that seemed to break tradition: Hale Road. He quirked at eyebrow at that, taking in the "Private Street" sign attached just below it. Clearly the Alpha Family lived on this street—and only the Alpha Family.

A quarter mile down, they came across a wrought iron gate, Derek hitting the button for the automatic window to roll down as he slowed to a stop. Leaning out, he scanned his RFID card, typed in a code, and pressed his thumb to a digital reader. With a beep and a thunk, the gate unlocked and trundled to the side, allowing them to drive through with no issues.

Stiles kept his focus out the passenger window, trying to familiarize himself with his surroundings, only to realize it was useless. Everything looked the same, all grass and trees, no discerning landmarks, no other signs. And the drive seemed to go on, making him wonder how big a territory Oak Creek seemed to have. Despite its low population, there was a lotta space and a lotta road. Any plans of sneaking out his temporary residence and making his own way into town to investigate anything was pretty much gone, at least not without him getting kinda tired. He didn't have the stamina of an alpha—at least not that kind of stamina and from what he understood, the fun kind only happened right after new Bonds and during heat—so trekking downtown was sure to wear him out some, despite years of conditioning thanks to lacrosse and forced cross country meets—thanks, Coach Finstock.

A few miles past the gate, a dirt road veered off to the right and Derek easily turned onto it, the Toyota handling the shift in terrain with only a slight bump. A few rocks hit the undercarriage, pinging against the wheel wells, and Stiles suddenly missed his Jeep, missed being able to just hop into it and go wherever he wanted whenever he wanted.

He'd get Roscoe back though, hopefully soon. His car-less state was temporary. Wasn't like Roscoe had permanently been taken from him, unlike some other important figures in his life.

He felt his chest seize up at that and he fisted the bottom of his tee, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He wasn't entirely sure how long he'd known about Stuart's murder—or how long it'd been confirmed really—but it still didn't feel all that real. Part of him was weirdly expecting to find the guy sitting on the front porch or the couch or behind his laptop somewhere inside the house when he and Derek would finally reach it. His mind conjured up Stu's voice calling him an idiot for taking so long in figuring out where he was, rolling his eyes behind his glasses before finally embracing his twin in a tight hug. Because for all their posturing and somewhat emotional constipation, Stilinski men were huggers, were prone to holding one another with everything they had as if it would be the last time they'd see each other. He wasn't sure if it was just something in the DNA, if it was the difference in dynamics between the omega twins and their alpha father, or a biproduct of losing a family member way too early, but it didn't matter. They hugged, and they hugged hard.

Stiles suddenly realized with a sharp clarity that he wasn't ever gonna get to hug his brother again, that he wasn't gonna be able to pull the guy close despite half-hearted protests and be shoved aside at the end, with an all-encompassing embrace and a few backslaps and their noses pressed to one another's neck in between the objections. And the next time he'd get hugged by his dad, it would come with the knowledge that they were the last two Stilinskis in their family unit. It would come with a reprimand over his reckless decision to run off with a half-assed plan in order to potentially find his brother based on gut-feelings alone, with the relief that he'd made it back and was safe and sound, with the grief over the loss of someone they both loved more than life and an unspoken promise to try their absolute best to never leave the other one.

Fuck.

He ground the heel of his palm in the middle of his chest, as though he could dull the sharp edges of the new hole that had formed there, right next to the scar tissue of the one his mom's death had caused. It definitely wasn't any easier, the experience of having gone through that feeling of loss doing nothing to help lessen the pain or help him handle it any better. He knew one day it would fade and there would come a time when he didn't break down in tears once a day, that he'd be able to look back and realize he'd gone a week without bawling his eyes out, then a month, then a whole season. He'd somehow be able to function as a normal person, a fully operational member of society, and he'd no longer feel like a walking talking wound.

And he knew finding his brother's killer and gaining the closure that came with it would go a long way in the healing process.

He shoved a hand through his hair, pushing it all aside, focusing out the windshield once more. Up ahead he could see a single story house with white vinyl siding, the dirt road—driveway, he mentally corrected, ending in a carport to the right of it. The door and shutters were painted a deep hunter green, the roof black tiles, a bay window to the left of the door, then two side by side windows, tan blinds obscuring the view inside, a matching set on the opposite side of the door. It wasn't the multi-story brick house with a front porch, balcony, and white picket fence Stiles had been imagining pretty much since the day Stu had emailed that he'd gotten Mated, but it was still nice and homey looking, a perfect place for a young Mated couple just starting out.

He felt a pang of jealousy, his wolf baring its teeth at the knowledge that his brother had what Stiles was supposed to have and with the alpha he was supposed to have it with. Stuart was living his life with his Mate and if the guy wasn't already dead, Stiles would've punched him in the face.

No. That wasn't right. It wasn't like Stuart had purposely tried to sabotage his future or steal an alpha Stiles was already in a relationship with. The older twin had Derek first, had Mated him, had exchanged vows and Bites, and if Stu were still alive, Stiles would be relegated to the role of homewrecker.

If Derek even returned his feelings and acted upon them, which considering his quick escape after their Big Mate Realization—as Stiles was now mentally referring to it, capitals and all—was highly unlikely.

Derek parked the Toyota under the carport and killed the engine, Stiles taking the cue to undo his seat belt and get out. After gathering his duffel and pillow from the backseat, he followed the alpha around to the front door, no discernible pathway to be found, just a line of worn down grass from people repeatedly walking on it. He waited as Derek stepped up onto a concrete platform, holding the screen door open with his hip as he slipped his key into the doorknob then typed a code into a deadbolt right above. With a click, the locks disengaged and the alpha entered, Stiles following him in.

The house was kept cold, causing Stiles to shiver as he stepped onto plush beige carpeting, the walls all white, the ceiling slanting up towards the middle. It smelled of a mix of Derek and Stu, along with that scent that could only ever be described as "home", but with something missing. It nagged at the back of Stiles' brain, a thorn pricking him as he tried to figure out what was so... off about it. It was unlike any other home he'd been to that was shared by a Mated couple, didn't hold that same warmth that his family's house or the McCalls' or Scott and Allison's new place did.

He shoved it all aside, more worried than curious over what it could mean, brown eyes glancing about as he took in his temporary resting place. Directly in front was a door he assumed led to a coat closet, judging by its location. To the direct left of the front door was a shoe rack, Derek untying his boots and leading Stiles to believe he should remove his own sneakers. The alpha then deposited his keys in a bowl that sat on the opposite side of the door, before pointing to a closed one in that direction.

"That's our—my room," he corrected with a grimace, clearing his throat against the rasp in his words before gesturing to the door opposite the main one. "Coat closet. Umbrellas are in there if you need one while you're here."

Stiles nodded, licking his dry lips before following the alpha to the left as he continued a tour of his home. The space opened up into the living room, large comfy couch in black set under the bay window now on their left. In front of them was a flat screen TV fixed to the wall, low entertainment unit below with a Playstation 4 on top, stack of DVDs right beside it. Two large La-Z-Boy recliners sat opposite the TV for optimum viewing, small table in between with a computer magazine on top, most likely Stuart's. A large black square coffee table was in the middle of the room, free of any clutter, so unlike the one back at his place.

Derek led them to the right of the living room, into an open dining room, where the floor changed from carpet to dark hardwood. A large cherry table filled the space, six chairs neatly tucked in, no centerpiece to be found. French doors took up residence along the back wall opposite the living room and Stiles could see a nice wood deck, a decent sized lawn, and thick trees in the distance. A fireplace caused the corner to turn into an angle, photos lining the mantle and he tore his eyes away, not wanting to see evidence of a man he was pretty sure was his Mate being happy with someone else.

The tour continued to the right of the dining area, Stiles vaguely realizing they'd pulled a u-turn of sorts, ending up in the kitchen. A large island sat in the middle, stove on top of one side, barstools tucked underneath the other. The left wall held a large fridge and counter space, sink bisecting it as it sat under a window, dishwasher just to the side of it, double stacked ovens in the corner. The right wall was comprised of another counter, framed by white cabinets, a bowl of fruit sitting in one corner and a cookie jar in the other.

Derek pointed to an open door on the fourth wall, explaining it was the laundry room and that it led to a side door out to the carport. "Feel free to use the washer if you need it," he offered with a shrug that said it didn't bother him either way, before turning and heading back into the living room.

Stiles followed him into an alcove that sat between the living and dining areas, the carpet continuing into it. The alpha gestured to an open door on the right, pointing out the obvious of it being a bathroom then stepped into the room on the left.

It wasn't a guest room like Stiles expected, but an office space, the scent of it full of old books, printer ink, dusting spray, and Stu, leading the omega to believe his twin spent more time in it than Derek. A desk sat between the door and sliding ones Stiles assumed was a closet, another underneath windows on the wall to the right, both with a lamp and a closed laptop, the one closest to them featuring a couple framed photos and action figures while the other held a small model of the Starship Enterprise—clearly Stu's. The wall behind the door held shelves filled to the brim with books of all sizes and types, leading him to believe Derek was an avid reader just like the twins. The fourth wall held a large black couch under another set of windows and an end table with its own lamp and his mind supplied him with Laura's voice insisting he not sleep on a sofa.

He turned to his host with a cocked eyebrow to point that out, only to be cut off by Derek stepping over and tossing off the cushions.

"It opens up into a bed," he explained, reaching down and grabbing hold of the mattress.

Stiles dropped his stuff by the shelves and headed to the opposite side of the couch to help. The two easily opened it up into a bed, despite the protesting creak of rarely used hinges. Derek unrolled the mattress where it remained folded up, the omega quirking an eyebrow at how thin and not all that comfy it looked. Jeeze, his dorm bed at Stanford was about a million times more comfy than that thing. And he could tell that just from looking at it. Fuck knew how uncomfortable the thing would actually be when he got on it.

Derek stared down at the mattress with a grimace, roughing the back of his neck like he knew what Stiles was thinking in regards to the accommodations he was providing. "Yeeeeah," he began, stretching the word out before lowering his hand to gesture at the couch bed. "There's a mattress pad that goes on top, should make it comfier."

The word choice didn't go unnoticed, how it was called "comfier" rather than "comfy". He mentally dismissed it, figuring he'd slept on worse during camping trips with his dad and Stu and backyard camping with his twin and Scott. He could manage a thin couch-bed mattress. Was better than sleeping in a cell or Lydia's car or the street, he was sure.

He watched as Derek headed to the closet and slid open the right side door, retrieving something from the floor. "Mind grabbing some sheets from the top shelf?" he requested as he turned back, revealing a two-foot square box in his arms, two fluffy pillows sitting on top.

Stiles nodded, crossing the room to do as asked, peering into the closet. The left side was comprised of shelves, full of all sorts of gadgets and electronics he'd have to check out later in order to figure out exactly what they were. The right held a horizontal rod with a few empty hangers dangling from it, a shelf stretching across the top holding a stack of spare sheets and pillowcases, a quilt folded up neatly beside it. He reached for the top stack of linens, only to pause when his eyes caught sight of a familiar logo on a group below it. It was only a partial, obscured by the way it was folded, but it was enough for Stiles to know exactly what it was.

Extracting the linen set, he turned to his host with a smirk on his face, amusement etched on his features and most likely coloring his scent.

Derek lifted his head from where he was bent over opening the box, brow furrowed in confusion before his green eyes came across what the other man was holding. The tips of his ears turned bright red as he straightened to his full height, throat being cleared as he scratched behind his ear in embarrassment. "It was a gag gift," he rasped out, the lie evident in a blip in his heartbeat.

Stiles kept smirking, shaking his head as he made his way back to the couch. "Nuh uh," he argued, setting the sheets on the arm of the sofa. "Try again."

The alpha huffed, rolling his eyes as the blush spread from his ears to the smooth part of his cheeks, arms folding over his chest in defense. "It could've been a gag. God only knows with Erica," he retorted petulantly, the omega continuing to smirk at him until he caved. "Yes, okay? I like Star Wars. Your brother gave me hell for it all the time and constantly tried to convince me that Star Trek is better. Which is bullshit, by the way," he ended gruffly, pointing a finger at Stiles and narrowing his eyes as though gearing himself up for a fight.

"Oh, I totally agree," the omega stated, shrugging with his own arms folded. "Me and Stu's debates over who's a better captain: Kirk or Han Solo, are legendary and often times ended in violence."

Derek stared at him with his lip curled and a dubious expression on his face, shaking his head in disbelief. "Solo. Hands down."

He threw his arms in the air and let them slap against his thighs when they fell. "Thank you!"

The corner of the alpha's lips curved up in a barely there grin before he ducked his head and hid it from sight. He refocused on the box, getting it open and causing the foam pad to expand and spill out, like bread rising out a pan in the oven, before grabbing hold and pulling the rolled up pad all the way out.

"Ya know," he began, flopping the pad on the mattress and unrolling it, Stiles reaching over from the opposite side to help. "Stu had this tradition—at least he said it was a tradition," he amended with a shrug. "Where he'd watch all six movies back to back, original trilogy first. Always struck me as odd that a Trekkie would do that, would insist on it, no matter how late he'd have to stay up to watch 'em."

Stiles froze where he was leaning over and tugging the pad closer to the corner, heart freezing in his chest. He thought back over years of movie marathons and traditions and Trek versus Wars debates that had been solved by their mom's suggestion, one they continued to follow through on because going against it was like spitting on her ashes.

"When, uh," he started then paused, clearing his throat against the lump of emotions clogging it. His hands were trembling and he pulled them close to his body as he straightened up, fingers curled up into his palms. "When'd he do it?"

Derek peered up at him with a quirked eyebrow, obviously noticing the increase in Stiles' heart rate and the melancholy in his scent. "Day after his birthday. Well, both your birthday, really," he corrected, seesawing his head as he straightened the pad out.

He nodded repeatedly, making like a bobble-head, licking his lips as he took the info in. Even when they were apart, Stu was keeping up with the tradition their mom had helped them set, unlike Stiles, who'd been too upset and hurt and pissed to do it.

Although this year, he'd given in and watched the Star Trek reboot by himself at two am on what was technically the day after his birthday but whatever. Semantics or some shit.

Clearing his throat once more, he trained his eyes on the mattress pad, helping to straighten and center it. "It was my mom's idea," he explained weakly, his voice raspy from two major losses in his life. "We used to fight over which movies to watch on our birthday, so she suggested we marathon one that day and then the other the next day and switch it the next year. After she died, we just watched Star Trek on our birthday then Star Wars the day after, since Stu was older. And a bigger asshole."

A small huff of an amused laugh left Derek as he gestured for the sheet. "I know how that goes."

A confused frown formed on Stiles' face as he unfoldeded the light blue sheet, the familiar Star Wars logo repeating all over it. The other man's words weren't all that clear, were left open to so many interpretations. Was Stu an asshole to him, too? Did Stu push his Mate with his cynical comments and sarcastic jibes too much, to the point were Derek snapped and killed him?

No, his brain argued, flashes of that dream/ vision/ whatever playing in his mind. Stu had been stalked, chased, chastised, then murdered, all by someone who'd managed to keep a cool enough head that they'd been able to talk and tell him what a bad omega he was. That wasn't someone who'd had enough of Stu's shit and snapped.

But it still didn't put Derek completely in the clear. Stiles had plenty experience winding Jackson up until the alpha couldn't take it, slamming him up against lockers as he flashed red eyes and spat out threats and insults right in his face, anger a thick scent in Stiles' nose. It was possible Derek was the same. He seemed like a "slam opponent against wall" kinda guy.

His mind switched gears and played out that exact thing happening, Derek slamming him against a wall in that very room. Only instead of threats and snarls, the alpha was burying his nose in the crook of his neck, a pleased sort of rumbling coming from his chest and vibrating against Stiles', hips rolling as a hard cock ground against his.

Aaand he needed to jump off that train of thought before his body fully climbed aboard and the other man got a whiff of what he was thinking. Bad enough his cock was already twitching and his passage had been damp pretty much since he'd first laid eyes on the alpha. He didn't need to make it any more obvious by soaking through his undies.

'He's Stu's Mate,' he mentally chastised himself. 'Stu's Mate, Stu's Mate, Stu's Mate, Stu's Mate.'

"I meant," Derek began, cutting into Stiles' internal mantra. "The part about an asshole sibling. Not that Stu couldn't be a cynical dick at times, but considering—"

Stiles' head snapped up at that, eyes wide before they narrowed at the other man. He'd almost forgotten that Derek knew something, knew why Stu had run off, had a huge piece of the puzzle that Stiles very much fucking needed in order to see the whole picture. "Considering what?"

The alpha shook his head, not making eye contact as he stared off to the side at a framed illustration of the town's layout. "Nothing," he muttered, heartbeat blipping with the lie. He plastered a fake smile on his face, one that didn't reach his eyes, guilt flooding his scent as he turned to his guest. "I'm gonna shower, let you get settled. We'll figure out dinner when I'm done."

The younger man narrowed his eyes further in skepticism, lips parting as though to say something but only coming up with a dubious "uh huh". It wasn't the first time Stiles had caught that scent coming off the other man, always at the mention of Stu. It just made him all the more sketchy, made Stiles' suspicions grow and his mind to question his gut—and his wolf—when it told him Derek was innocent.

"But we are gonna talk at some point. Tonight," he insisted with a pointed look at the alpha, eyebrow cocked in a challenge of sorts, daring his host to go against him.

"Sure," Derek placated, giving him a weak—and fake as hell—smile before striding out the room like he was in a hurry but didn't wanna make his rushing seem obvious.

Too late.

Staring out the door, Stiles kept the skeptical look on his face, mind churning, wolf whining. It was clear that Derek was hiding something in regards to Stuart, and not just the omega's reasons for running away from home. And if there was anything Stiles was unable to resist, it was a mystery. It was why his DVR was full of procedural dramas—well, that plus his dad's own love of the Law and Order franchises—why he was studying criminal justice, why he was banned from using any computer at the station, no matter what bullshit he told about needing to do research for this assignment or that paper. He had a nose for crime and was constantly sticking it where it didn't belong, despite any and all objections from his dad. And considering his two year obsession over his brother's disappearance, he wasn't about to let this mystery go.

He temporarily shoved it all aside, focusing on making up the bed, laying the flat sheet out and tucking the corners and sides under the mattress. Pillows went in their cases, his own propped up with them, quilt grabbed from the closet and spread out evenly, despite being the only one who'd be using the bed.

The shower cut on when he was smoothing out the quilt and he peeked over his shoulder out the door as though he could actually see Derek stepping under the spray—which was not a thought he should be lingering on. He shook his head to rid himself of the mental image of water sliding over all those muscles he'd caught glimpses of in his Dreams, ignoring his whining wolf and twitching cock. It was the perfect opportunity to do some snooping, any noises he'd make drowned out by rushing water, and he'd be a moron to waste it on fantasies that would never come to life.

He stepped out into the hallway to double-check the coast was clear, satisfied when the only sounds he heard was the shower running and the AC kicking on. With hurried yet quiet footsteps, he strode to the desk by the door, glancing at the nothing special cherry wood, matching chair neatly tucked underneath. A black Compaq laptop sat in the middle, closed, a white sticker with "DAH" across the top. Derek's scent clung to the device, just like it was embedded in the wood, making it pretty fucking obvious whose desk it was. That, plus the Han, Luke, Leia, and Vader action figures standing to one side and the cluster of framed photos on the other. Stiles easily recognized Derek with Laura in one, another female with a scowl on her face and dark hair in a ponytail he figured was Cora standing on her brother's other side. Another frame featured the siblings at a younger age flanked by Alpha Hale and a man he soon remembered to be her deceased Mate.

Shit, that was definitely not something anyone would want to have in common with their parent, he thought, mind filled with memories of his dad's zombie behavior and seemingly never-ending depression after his mom's accident. He wondered if Alpha Hale had been the same way, if she had comforted Derek with words regarding how she could relate and if he ever needed to talk, she was more than willing to lend an understanding ear.

Stiles' felt a now-familiar clenching in his chest and he ground the heel of his palm between his pecs, tearing his eyes away from the family photo and glancing over the others: a young Derek with missing front teeth being held up between his parents; a more recent one of he and Laura in matching combat fatigues, both holding AKs in what looked like a desert base camp; the three siblings with another girl with thick brown hair, her arms wrapped around a petite Asian, Derek with an arm slung over Stu's shoulders, Laura side-eyeing them skeptically.

Well that was certainly interesting.

He picked the frame up to get a closer look, inspecting every detail of the photo. Cora and Laura were in the middle, the younger sister with her arms folded and hip cocked out, lips twisted to the side in annoyance and a clear sign that she'd rather be anywhere else at that moment. The brunette and the Asian girl were both grinning widely, dark eyes twinkling on both faces as they snuggled up beside Cora. But it was Laura that Stiles paid the most attention to, her own arms folded in a more casual manner as she stood to Cora's right, face turned to the camera, but eyes slid to the side to peek at the couple on her own right, lips pursed in suspicion and disbelief. He wasn't sure if it was her brother she was skeptical of or his Mate, if it was the tense way they seemed to be standing, the awkward way Derek had his arm thrown over Stu's shoulder and the inch or so of space showing between their bodies—highly unusual for a Mated pair—if it was the fact that neither smile appeared genuine or reached their eyes, like it was all for show because the camera person insisted they say "cheese".

Red flags popped up in Stiles' mind at the image as he put it back where he'd found it, looking over the other photos once more, picking up on things he missed upon initial glances. Derek only seemed to be smiling—genuinely smiling in the photos where both his parents were present. The ones with his sisters featured rather impressive scowls that seemed to be a family trait due to similar looks on Cora's face. It was only the one with Stu that he bothered trying to put on a false grin, like he knew he was supposed to look happy while with his Mate and everything was supposed to be sunshine and rainbows for him nowadays. After all, no one would blame him for being miserable after a parent's death—like no one was surprised Stiles wasn't as chipper or hyper or chatty after his mom's accident—but they would if he continued to scowl after finding his other half.

Assuming, of course, that everyone believed Derek and Stuart were True Mates and had Dreamt of one another. Then again, even if they were Dream-less and not fated, he should still be happy that he'd found someone he loved enough to spend the rest of his life with.

Smearing a hand down his face, Stiles mentally filed the photos away as circumstantial evidence that even if Derek wasn't the killer, there was still something fishy happening there. He continued his search, heading straight for the other desk, this one featuring an ergonomic chair with extra lumbar support. Add in the fact that Stu's scent was stronger and more embedded in the furniture than Derek's had been at his own desk and it was obvious his brother had spent more time behind his laptop than his Mate did.

Shocker. Old habits, Stiles figured.

He wasted no time opening the MacBook and turning it on, sliding open a tall drawer on the bottom of the left side as he waited for it to warm up. He found countless file folders marked "receipts", "warranties", "tax stuff", "manuals", all incredibly domestic shit Stiles didn't have time to sort through. The drawer above it held envelopes, paper clips, a stapler, tape, all random office supplies one would usually find on a desk.

The drawers on the opposite side held spare printer paper and larger manilla envelopes, a checkbook, pens, highlighters, a book marked "budget" and another marked "passwords". He pulled that one out, rolling his eyes at the USS Enterprise blueprint on the cover, flipping through. It was all websites for paying bills, logging on to their bank account, a forum Stu had signed up for. Unless it was all coded to mean something else, none of it was any help and he flipped it closed with more force than necessary, letting out an annoyed huff as he did so.

Turning his attention back to the laptop, he noted the familiar Windows log-in screen, the icon the Starfleet symbol, "Stuart Hale" registered as the username. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the surname, wolf growling low at the reason for it. He shoved his jealousy and anger aside and focused, moving the cursor until it was at the box where a password was meant to be typed in.

Shit.

He reached for the password journal only for his hand to freeze at the sound of squeaky taps being twisted. Fuck, Derek was cutting the shower off, Stiles had run out of time and the only thing he managed to find was photographic evidence that he wasn't the only one who thought there was something not quite right between Stu and his Mate. Who the hell knew if he'd get another opportunity to snoop like that? He'd have to figure something out, maybe wait until he was sure Derek was asleep and search again then.

'Bout time his insomnia came in handy for something.

He quickly put the journal back where he found it, wincing at the sound of metal wheels rolling on metal tracks and hoping Derek wasn't trying to listen in on what was happening in his guest room. He closed the laptop with a click, not bothering to shut it down, hoping to get another crack at it later. Stepping away from the desk, he glanced around for something to do that would make him seem less suspicious, since he hadn't actually unpacked anything—and most likely wouldn't be—and making up a bed wouldn't take the ten minutes Derek had been in the shower.

He suddenly remembered the alpha's earlier offer of a drink and his statement that Stiles should feel free to help himself to anything. Hanging in the kitchen was definitely less suspicious than hanging alone in a bedroom with no real source of entertainment. At least in a kitchen he could claim he was looking at dinner options.

After a quick stop in the bathroom to relieve his screaming bladder he'd ignored for far too long, he hurried his way to the kitchen, peeking down the hall that led to the master bedroom. He could hear shuffling, drawers opening and closing, clothes being put on, and he quickly grabbed something from the fridge, glad it was a bottle of water and not anything gross or weird. Derek looked like the kinda guy to have a large stock of Muscle Milk and veggie juices.

Stiles rounded the island counter, pulling out a stool and plopping down on it, before opening his bottle and drinking deep. Big mistake. Fucking hell, who the hell knew water could cause brain freeze? He grimaced as he rubbed his forehead, mouth opening in a silent pained cry, but he pushed it all aside when he heard a door open. His heartbeat kicked up a notch and he mentally told himself to chill out. What he did wasn't all that bad. He'd been busted doing much worse by his dad. None of this was a big deal. At all. Really.

By the time Derek rounded the corner and entered the kitchen, Stiles was completely calm and his heartbeat had smoothed out. Until he turned his head and actually saw the alpha.

Derek was dressed in a pair of black mesh basketball shorts and gray tank, the top like a second skin as it clung to broad pectorals and hinted at an eight pack. His hair was wet, unstyled, ruffled, like he rubbed a towel over it then called it done. His skin was still damp, giving the tan flesh a nice sheen that adding to the god-like aura the guy gave off.

The omega's eyes went wide, jaw dropping as he gaped at the other man. Fuck, he was attractive, and his recent scrubbing had washed away all the scents he'd picked up over the course of the day, leaving the pure aroma of Derek and alpha and mine that had Stiles' wolf howling and his dick twitching and his passage dampening and his heart pounding. He honestly couldn't remember ever being so turned on by anything non-explicit in his life and he had to grip the edge of the counter with white knuckles so he didn't just climb up on it, shuck his pants, and present like his instincts were screaming at him to do.

'Not cool, not allowed, not mine,' he mentally reminded himself, only for the thought to completely fly out the window when his eyes followed a bead of water as it slowly slid down the right side of Derek's throat. Fuck, what Stiles wouldn't give to follow that drop's path with his tongue, to suck the hollow of his throat where it pooled with others, to taste the clean water and the salt of Derek's skin as...

A low rumbling growl sounded out, causing more blood to rush down south as he shuddered. His head automatically tilted to the right, putting his neck on display, submitting to the alpha. Feeling daring, he glanced up, noting how Derek's eyes were glowing red before he slammed them shut tight, rubbing at them with his thumb and index finger. He cut off the growls and turned away, giving Stiles an unimpeded view of the Claiming Bite on the left side of his neck.

Shit.

Right.

Stuart.

Definite boner killer right there, being reminded of the fact that the guy you wanted to be knotted by had repeatedly done just that to your twin whom he was Mated to.

Goddammit.

Derek fully turned around, opening up the fridge and practically sticking his entire upper-half inside, asking if his guest had been waiting there long.

The omega cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, ignoring the fact that a few drops of his slick had leaked out and were currently soaking into the back of his boxers. And while he was thankful for the change in subject, he wasn't too thrilled that Derek was once again ignoring what was going on between them.

Probably for the best though. No, definitely for the best. Nothing could ever happen between the two of them and Stiles knew it. He just needed to stop forgetting that little nugget of info before it got him in trouble. Or worse.

That thought in mind, he focused on their current conversation and shoved aside his instincts. For Stuart, he pinned to the forefront of his mind. For his brother.

"Not really," he answered with a shrug of one shoulder, knowing it wasn't a lie. How his words would be interpreted wasn't his problem.

Derek nodded as he pulled out of the fridge, bottle of Muscle Milk in hand making Stiles internally fist pump at his proper assumption. The S-Dub leaned back against the counter as he opened his drink, the scent of artificial strawberries soon filling the air. "You all unpacked?" he questioned in a friendly manner before taking a drink.

Stiles shook his head, knowing there was no way to lie or verbally misdirect this one. "I tend not to unpack when I stay away from home." Not a lie. Terrible habit probably, resulting in wrinkled clothes that made Lydia glare, but whatever. Nothing a quick iron couldn't fix. Besides, wasn't like he'd packed anything all that fancy.

More nodding from the other man as he lowered his bottle, scent growing melancholic and wistful. "Stu didn't unpack until he'd been living here nearly a month and I'm pretty sure he only did it 'cause he was out of clean clothes and had to do laundry."

Stiles snorted humorously at the mental image of his brother actually doing laundry, almost tempted to ask if the guy had remembered to separate the colors, only to stop himself. It was the perfect opportunity, the perfect segue into what Stiles really wanted to discuss and he wasn't about to blow this one like he had his chance to snoop around the office/guest room.

"Speaking of my brother," he started, folding his forearms on the counter and leaning over it, getting closer to Derek. He looked him square in the eye, noting the cocked eyebrow and the curious yet apprehensive notes on his face and in his scent. "You still owe me that explanation for why he left Beacon Hills."