"You still owe me that explanation for why he left Beacon Hills."
Silence descended over the room at Stiles' words, the statement hanging heavy in the air. Even the refrigerator quit its humming as though anxious to hear Derek's response, the AC no longer blowing in the background. It was eerie really, and Stiles shifted in his seat under the discomfort of it all. But he didn't regret it, refused to second guess his timing or his wording or his request. He needed the reasons, needed to know what the hell was so bad it had his twin believing his only option was leaving town. And it wasn't just for his own sanity that Stiles needed that explanation; it was for his dad's peace of mind, too, so his dad could stop feeling like he'd failed in his parental role and stop questioning his abilities as a cop.
With that thought in mind, he quit fidgeting and pinned the other man with a hard look. Omega or not, he was not backing down, not letting some alpha push him around or bully him into changing his mind. He'd come to Oak Creek for answers—and his brother—and if he couldn't leave with Stu, he was damn sure gonna leave with some closure.
Derek pulled his bottle of Muscle Milk away from his mouth, gulping loudly as he swallowed the strawberry drink, the rest of his body freezing up. He smelled stunned, apprehensive, worried, confused, all rolled up into one crazy conflagration of scents. After a long moment, he slowly twisted the cap back on the bottle and set it aside before wrapping his arms around himself and hanging his head with a sigh. He looked vulnerable like that, his arms bare, his shoulders slumped, his body curling in on itself. Stiles had to fight to keep himself in his seat, fingers curling into fists on top of the counter, locking his muscles so he wouldn't do anything stupid, like say go over and wrap the alpha in a hug as he murmured comforting words about how it was okay and he'd make everything better.
Because it wasn't okay and he wouldn't make it better. Stuart was dead, potentially at the hands of Derek, and Stiles was on a mission to find out why, starting with his twin's reasons for running away.
Besides, Derek wasn't his to comfort, wasn't his to hold or even touch in the first place. Oak Creek had old school rules about it, about omegas being off limits to all but their Mated, meaning Stiles wasn't about to be touched in any manner by anyone—except for Lydia, but that went without saying really. And him initiating contact more than likely wouldn't negate those rules or excuse any returned caresses. It would also most likely give him a reputation as a slut—despite nothing sexual happening—or a weak, touch-starved, needy little omega who couldn't last a day without rubbing all over some random alpha. Not the kinda rumor he wanted spread, especially not in a town full of people he didn't know.
And then there was the biggest reason of all, the fact that they were Mates, True Mates, regardless of whatever relationship Derek previously had with Stu. Meaning Stiles and Derek wouldn't stop at just one hug. No, once that initial touch happened, it would spark a fire the likes of which neither of them had experienced and the only way to put it out would be through a more traditional, more basic kind of mating. Those touches wouldn't stop until Stiles was knotted and covered in Derek's scent in the most carnal of ways.
Which was why Stiles stayed put. Because Derek wasn't his, would never be his, had proven that by leaving the room when they'd locked eyes and the truth had been revealed. The Claiming Bite on the side of his neck, one the alpha was now absently rubbing his palm over, was more evidence of that fact.
Stiles shoved aside his upset at not having Derek the way he wanted and needed, putting his brother's face at the forefront of his mind as a reminder of what he was there for and what his real motivations were. It worked, as long as he ignored his wolf's jealous and possessive rumblings, and he was better able to focus on Derek and his words.
Whenever he'd finally deign to speak anyway.
The older man sighed, refolding his arms over his chest in a move that enhanced muscles Stiles pointedly ignored, Derek staring at some spot on the wood floor at the base of the island counter.
"I met Stu his first day in town," he began lowly, tone flat and giving nothing away. It wasn't what Stiles was used to hearing, wasn't the happily sighed words coupled with heart-eyes and goofy grins that usually came when someone retold the first time they met their Mate.
Another thing to put in the "Derek's Suspicious Behavior" file.
"He came in without papers, just like you did, and I was the one who handled his intake interview." Derek paused, lifting his head and scratching at his stubbled jaw as he looked away distantly, face betraying nothing. It was all very clinical, detached almost, and the omega couldn't help but cock his head to the side in puzzlement at that. "He told me." Another pause, a shaky breath, then he went on. "He told me he was being stalked by an alpha, had been for a while, and he needed to go somewhere safe where he couldn't be found or hurt."
A chill washed over Stiles at that, dread causing his throat to tighten and his stomach to twist itself into knots. He'd known it, had sensed it pretty much since Lydia put that thought in his head. Although if he was completely honest with himself, he'd had a feeling that'd been why Stu left pretty much since the morning Stiles had woken up and discovered his twin was gone.
But, fuck, did it suck to be right sometimes.
"Stu never gave me a name," Derek continued, jaw tense as he spoke, like he was still aggravated over his Mate's refusal to give him any info. "Never described him or gave me any details. I think he knew I'd track the guy down and rip his throat out. With my teeth."
"Good," Stiles muttered, scowling at the slate countertop.
The scent of confusion filled the air before the alpha's next words. "Good that he never gave—?"
"Good that you'd rip his throat out," he interrupted, flipping hard eyes up at the other man, fingers clenched into fists once more.
Derek looked genuinely puzzled, as well as completely sincere and grave. "Of course," he pointed out earnestly, shrugging a shoulder. "I care about—cared," he corrected himself through gritted teeth. "About Stu. I would've done anything and everything to protect him and keep him safe and happy. Still would."
His heartbeat was even, no lies in his words, and a small, optimistic part of Stiles took it to mean that Derek was genuine with his feelings regarding Stuart, that it meant the alpha would never do anything to harm him.
Then again, lots of abusers never believe that they're hurting their Mate, so their words come across as the truth, too. But something about Derek... It just... Stiles' gut was telling him that Derek wasn't an abuser or a killer, but he honestly had no idea if he should buy that. Yeah, he'd been raised to trust his wolf, but his wolf was blinded by Mate and alpha and mine so it clearly wasn't thinking straight and shouldn't be listened to.
Or should it? He'd already had the thought earlier that his wolf had yet to steer him wrong in their twenty years together.
Fuck, he was confused. He needed answers, needed to find the killer, not just to bring his brother justice, but to also make himself feel a little less crazy with a little less conflicting thoughts in his head.
Scowling at the counter, he shoved his mental debate aside, focusing instead on Derek's previous declaration and the words themselves. He'd said he'd cared about Stuart, not loved, cared. Wouldn't someone who was Mated love their partner? Wasn't that the whole point of getting Mated, to show the world that you love someone so much that you can't live without them?
There was a major piece there that was missing, something he wasn't seeing and Derek wasn't showing. Stiles couldn't solve the mystery of his brother's death without all the cards being on the table and he had a sinking feeling that the alpha was stashing a couple aces up his sleeves.
"He was in custody for a week," Derek continued, scratching at his jaw before refolding his arms. "Whittemore wasn't working for us at the time so he had no one to vouch for him. But Stu didn't complain once, never asked to be let out or use a phone to call anyone, just stayed quiet inside his cell." He let out a small huff as he shook his head in disbelief, scent turning melancholic once more. "I asked him why once, why he wasn't bitching more about having rights and needing to be let out. He said." He paused, swallowing hard as he looked to the side, eyes shining as he remembered something. "He said it was the safest he'd felt in years and that he didn't wanna leave because of that."
Tears pricked at the back of Stiles' eyes, making them sting, and he turned his head away, cupping his chin in his hand with his elbow on the counter. His leg began bouncing up and down, sock covered foot hooked over the crossbar of the stool, anxiety causing his stomach to roll. His brother had been terrified for years, not just those final few months that Stiles had actually noticed. Years. Fuck, what kind of twin was he to where he couldn't recognize it, couldn't realize that his own flesh and blood, the other half of him, was freaked out over some alpha maniac who was stalking him to the point where Stuart felt like his only option of escaping it was to run away. It was all his fault: his brother leaving, his brother's death, all of it because he was so stuck in his own head and his own bullshit that he couldn't see what was going on with his twin.
"Years, huh?" he rasped out, fingers of his free right hand curling into fists, nails digging into his palms, the sting barely registering in his buzzing mind. If only he hadn't been so selfish, so caught up in other high school drama bullshit and noticed that something was up with Stuart before, maybe he could've helped him out, convinced him to get help elsewhere, maybe even tell their dad and let the sheriff handle it. Then he wouldn't have had to run away and he wouldn't have been killed.
Regardless of the fact that he hadn't been the one to slash open his twin's throat, Stiles was every bit as responsible for his death as the actual murderer.
Derek nodded, hand rubbing up and down his bare bicep. "He said he hid it from you and your dad because he didn't want you guys getting involved and getting hurt because of it," he explained, almost as though he was reading the omega's thoughts on that very thing. That, or Stiles' scent was full of more guilt than he initially thought. "He dealt with it as it came, went about his life as if nothing was wrong, until the alpha threatened both you and your dad unless Stu acted like a good little omega and obeyed his alpha."
A chill raced up Stiles' spine at those words, mind flashing to that pseudo-vision he'd had the night before and the threat that had been growled out through fangs during his twin's final moment.
"I'm gonna show you what happens to little omegas who shove their snouts where it doesn't belong and don't obey their alphas."
He frowned at the side wall, at the coincidence of the word choice between the two statements, claims of alphas needing to be obeyed, of omegas being little—despite Stu and Stiles actually being tall for their dynamic. A red flag was popping up in his mind once again, wolf yowling, like it was wordlessly telling Stiles that it was Very Fucking Important. Turning his head and dropping his hand, he met Derek's eyes, his own narrowing in suspicion and curiosity.
"He said those exact words?" he double-checked. "Little omegas should obey their alphas?"
Derek's own brow furrowed, lips parting as he drawled out a "yeah", head tilting to the side in his own puzzled expression. "That mean something to you?"
Shit. He'd forgotten that he was talking to Oak Creek's version of a police officer and a detective, and not an incompetent Haigh type either. The universe wouldn't make Stiles smart as a whip then give him a dumbass Mate, it just didn't work that way. Meaning Stiles had been figured out and he needed to think up a lie. Fast.
He shrugged as he shook his head, playing innocent and hoping it was at least a little bit convincing, otherwise he was the bad kind of screwed. "Just that we're clearly dealing with a dynamist asshole who needs to get with the fucking times and realize omegas aren't property and weren't created just to bend to an alpha's every whim, no matter how fucking out there or demeaning or abusive." His eyes narrowed into a glare at the end, both hands curled into fists, jaw taut as he let his anger over fuckheaded alphas leak into his words and his scent.
The alpha in the room with him just stared at him for a long moment before nodding his head. "Agreed," he stated honestly, his own features pulled into a look of righteous indignation. "Alphas like that should be punished to the full extent of the law, maybe even beyond that. I've been working with my mom to extend omega rights in California in the hopes it'll set a precedent and more states will follow. I can't stand alphas that mistreat omegas, Mates or not, and it's why I wanted to track down the guy who'd been stalking Stu, to make sure he didn't do it to Stuart or anyone else ever again."
Stiles' wolf began yipping excitedly in his head, jumping about, tail wagging. Because from the way Derek spoke, it seemed like he was very pro-omega and not the kind of alpha who believed an omega's place was in the kitchen or on their knees servicing and/or presenting. And the vibe Stiles had gotten from the pseudo-vision was that the alpha who'd killed Stu was that kind, which could only mean that Derek hadn't killed his brother.
But there were still so many red flags when it came to their relationship, so many anomalies that pointed to a huge cover up of something. Meaning Derek wasn't fully in the clear as far as Stiles was concerned. And while normally his gut and his wolf would be trusted intrinsically, he couldn't in this instance, not when the word "Mate" kept repeating in his head every time he thought of the alpha across from him.
He thought of poor Tracy Stewart, her arm in a sling and her neck bandaged up. Her wolf probably had the same blinders on when it came to Donovan, that unwavering belief that he was a good guy and that everything was okay because he was an alpha and her Mate and wouldn't do anything bad to her. Stiles refused to make her mistakes, refused to be like her.
And it made him sick to his stomach to think that Stu might have actually fallen into her patterns.
Sure, there'd been no mention of him showing up with mysterious bruises or terrible lies to cover up injuries, just comments over how once a month he'd seem more out of it than usual, more morose and upset. But abuse wasn't always physical; sometimes it was emotional, psychological, mental, sexual. And if anyone was capable of using their words to establish a position of power, it would be the son of the State Alpha.
No. Not after what Derek said and not when Talia Hale was working on gaining more rights for omegas. She'd been the one to push forth a statute for Mate abuse, the one who'd made it illegal to rape an omega during their heat or to use an omega's scent or pheromones as an excuse to sexually assault them. And from what he'd heard, she was now the one trying to work on a law to allow omegas more options when it came to employment opportunities, a story Stiles was following with an obsession, hoping it'd pass so he could get his own dream job of being a deputy—and not just one who rode the front desk and answered phones. No, if anyone would be raising their child to believe that omegas were equals and deserved fair treatment, it would be her.
Then again, sometimes a kid didn't follow their parents, didn't believe in what they did, disagreed with their values and opinions. There was every possibility that Derek fell into that category.
Fucking hell, all this not knowing bullshit was driving Stiles insane and he seriously needed some fucking answers. And soon.
He thought back on everything Derek had just told him, analyzing every word and phrase for clues, for something to tell him how the alpha truly felt about omegas. Only he didn't get very far in processing.
"You ready for dinner?" the older man changed the subject, pushing away from the counter and turning to the fridge. "I can't cook all that well, but I can throw something together."
Stiles stared at his back as the alpha opened the fridge door and peered inside at its contents, ignoring the play of muscles under the gray tank and the memories of grabbing on to and scratching them up in his Dreams. Instead, he shook his head rapidly to catch up with the sudden switch in topic, trying to categorize everything and sort his own thoughts out before figuring out what was being discussed.
Right. Dinner. It was a meal people had around that time of day, he remembered, peeking at the clock on the microwave as it hung from a set of cabinets behind him.
His stomach rolled and grumbled and he honestly wasn't entirely sure he could handle putting food in it. He felt nauseous with an overabundance of emotions and information, not to mention still somewhat numb all over as he thought about why Derek wouldn't be a good cook—alphas tending not to learn how to do so since it's stereotypically the omega's role to make the meals—and how Stu never really bothered learning either, only ever interested in something if it involved his laptop or tablet or smartphone. Stiles had been the one to take over the meal-making in the Stilinski house a couple years after the matriarch's death, sick of always eating out or ordering in or his dad's terrible attempts at cooking that ended up more in the trashcan than anyone's stomachs. And since Stiles was cooking, Stu just didn't bother with it, much like the laundry. Only reason he helped out with the cleaning was because their dad threatened to take his electronics if he didn't contribute in some way, glaring through thick rimmed glasses at Stiles as he was forced to vacuum, a chore they both despised.
But now there was no more glaring, no more bitching over having to help in the kitchen or whines about laundry. Because Stu was gone, never to burn toast or over-starch a shirt ever again.
The numbness spread and Stiles pulled his arms in closer to his body, huddling over the counter as he wrapped them around his stomach. "Not hungry," he muttered, knowing he was heard by the way Derek nodded his head.
"Yeah. Me neither," the alpha said softly, letting the fridge door shut as he smeared a hand over his face and turned to his guest. "Look, I, uh," he started then stopping, rubbing at his eyes before folding his arms over his chest. "I don't wanna be a shit host or anything, but it's been kind of a day from Hell so—" He trailed off, seesawing his head in conclusion and bobbing his eyebrows in a "well, ya know" kinda way.
"I get it," Stiles stated, corner of his lips pulling up briefly in a mock version of a sympathetic smile. And he did get it. He'd pretty much run away from home to find his brother, only to learn he was dead and had been Mated to Stiles' Mate, who was Suspect Number One as well as refusing to acknowledge their connection and being sorta rude about it all. "Day from Hell" was putting it nicely.
Derek nodded more, roughing the back of his neck. "If you get hungry later, just help yourself to anything. There's," he paused, waving a hand up and down the fridge in a general motion, wincing at his lame action. "Food and whatever."
Stiles cocked an eyebrow at that, thinking that was more of something he'd do than someone else.
A bob of his brows dismissed it all, Derek stating he was off to hit the sack and wishing Stiles a good night. The omega returned the sentiment, watching over his shoulder as the other man retreated back to his room, hips sauntering as he walked. He thought of that old cliché over hating to see someone go but loving to watch them leave, eyes glued to a pretty nice ass and tongue subconsciously darting out to wet his lips.
Okay, yeah, that needed to stop happening, he mentally chastised himself, turning away abruptly. Derek wasn't his to ogle, was taken, belonged to his twin and all the grumbling his wolf was capable of wasn't gonna change that fact. The guy was grieving for fuck's sake—even if he didn't look it or smell it, at least not as bad as Stiles' dad had, but the point still remained. Derek, off limits. The sooner Stiles realized that, the better.
Grabbing his half-empty bottle, he rose to his feet and tucked the stool under the counter before heading to the office-slash-guest room he'd been provided with, closing the door behind himself. And then abruptly drew a blank on what to do. He didn't wanna snoop, didn't wanna risk being overheard or Derek suddenly walking in saying he changed his mind and offering to have another chat, completely busting Stiles as he shoved his snout where it didn't belong.
He shivered as the murderous alpha's voice repeated those words in his head again and he shoved aside any and all temptation to go rummaging through things, forcing himself to think up other options to kill time.
He could shower, he reasoned, lifting his arm to sniff at his own pit. Not too stinky, but his skin definitely still held the scents of despair and worry and travel and the S-Dubs' HQ. Yeah, definitely could use a scrub down.
Heading over to the couch bed, he deposited his bottle on the nightstand and started emptying his pockets, tossing his keys next to the bottle and pausing when he slipped his phone out. The thing was still off and a press of the power button showed it had actually died at some point. Great.
Also, what the fuck? How?
Unless the S-Dubs had gone through it while they had it in their custody. Nice. Nothing like a violation of one's right to privacy to cap off a fun fucking day.
His charger was easily found on top of the other stuff he'd shoved in his duffel haphazardly, an outlet proving to be a bit harder to get to. He somehow managed to squeeze under Derek's desk, using a free space on a surge bar to plug in the charger. Phone hooked on the other end and resting on the desk itself, he mentally switched to the next step, telling himself to get ready for his shower, his body not following, eyes drawn to the photo of Derek's family and the unknown female couple. Once more he took in the stiffness between the alpha and his Mate, the way Laura stared at them dubiously, his own expression probably matching hers. There was something so very telling there, he just knew it but couldn't quite figure it out.
Whatever. He was tired and just done with the day. Smearing a hand over his face, he turned away and headed back to his duffel, snatching out a plain gray tee, a pair of blue plaid flannel pants, and his toiletries bag. With one final glance at the photo, he left and headed straight for the bathroom across the alcove, forcing himself to focus on showering and not slipping on soap or something equally as ridiculous.
The shower only succeeded in getting him clean and smooth-faced from a shave. His mind was still buzzing, switching back and forth between too fucking tired to deal and having about fifty lines of thought at the same time. It didn't help that the shower itself was stocked with tiny bottles of toiletries one would find in a hotel: shampoo, conditioner, and soap, all scent-neutralizing and generic, like what he'd been told Stu had been scrubbed down with.
Yeah, didn't help. If anything, it just added more to his file of circumstantial shit that said Derek was guilty, something that made his wolf whine and his stomach clench in upset.
Back in the guest room, he glanced around the place, trying to figure out what to do next. The rest of the house was silent, the hum of the AC, the buzz of the refrigerator. Crickets chirped outside, the sky now fully dark—a fact he learned from peeking through the beige black-out blinds covering the window above the couch-bed—cicadas singing in the distance, an obnoxious owl hooting long and loud somewhere. Everything was still and—mostly—quiet and it caused his thoughts to get louder. He needed to drown them out, shut them up, even if it was only temporary.
After he shoved his dirty clothes in his duffel, he stepped over to Derek's desk, picking up his phone and switching it on. Only to wince when it was warmed up and running.
Seventeen missed calls.
Thirty-five missed texts.
Twelve voicemails.
All from his dad and Scott, he was willing to bet. Shit.
He scrolled through the texts, seeing the increasing worry from his best friend and the rising anger from his dad, stunned to find one from Allison asking him to send Scott a message to get him to quit worrying so much. He did as she asked, first sending her an apology for sticking her with a freaked out Scott all afternoon before shooting a quick "am fine, will explain later" to his best friend.
The voicemails were next, the ones from Scott immediately deleted without even being listened to, knowing they'd be full of increasing puppy whines to get Stiles to please call back as his best friend grew more worried that they were fighting or that he'd done something wrong. Pretty much what had been said via text.
The ones from his dad, however, he had no choice but to hear them all out.
"Wanna explain to me why Deputy Smalley left me a message saying my son left the city to go on a road trip with some other alpha? Call me back. Soon."
Well, fuck, totally busted. He really should've known that would happen. He was recognized by literally everyone in town, not just in the sheriff's department, so of course word would get to his dad about his leaving. He was just lucky that it happened while his dad was mid-flight and couldn't do anything to stop it.
He hit delete, then moved on to the next
"Just talked to Scott, he told me you were spending the day with Lydia but had no idea about a road trip. You've got a lot of explaining to do, Kid. Call me."
Okay, more pissed, but nothing Stiles hadn't heard before. He could handle it.
"It's been an hour. Don't think avoiding me is gonna help you in this situation. This isn't one of those 'ignore the problem until it goes away' type of situations. I will get the truth out of you and it'll be in your best interests for that to happen sooner rather than later."
His dad was speaking through gritted teeth and Stiles could practically picture him pointing at the phone in anger, jaw tight and eyes narrowed as he chastised his son as though the omega was in front of him. He deleted it like the others and kept going.
"Starting to get seriously pissed here, Stiles. I just had to explain to Alpha Satomi and Alpha Katashi why I was snarling at my phone because my punk kid decided to leave town and is refusing to tell me where he is and if he's okay and what the hell he's up to. Call me back!"
And now the growls were kicking in, although it was subdued and quiet, like his dad had snuck off to the side to call and didn't wanna be overheard. Crap, if his old man was bailing on important meet-n-greets to phone him, he was definitely pissed and Stiles was in for it more than he initially realized.
"So help me, Mieczyslaw, you better call me back within the next hour or I will track your ass down and drag you back to Beacon Hills kicking and screaming before giving you a punishment that even your imagination couldn't come up with."
Shit. The birth name was used, and somehow still perfectly pronounced through his dad's snarling words. He was dead. He was so fucking dead. He was better off just jumping on top of his brother's funeral pyre and turning to ashes with him than facing the wrath of his dad when they both got back home.
Assuming his dad didn't follow through on his threat of tracking Stiles down, which was entirely possible. The sheriff had shown up at a party when Stiles was in high school and had snuck out a window when grounded, determined to attend because he was delusional and stupid and still believing he had a shot with Lydia, who'd actually deigned to speak to him about something that wasn't their current chemistry experiment and invited him. His only saving grace was that Jackson had already run off at that point and wasn't around to give him shit for it the next day. Or for the next year.
The yelp Stiles had let out when his dad had hauled his half-drunken ass out by the scruff of his neck was the stuff of legends amongst his small group of friends.
Deleting that voicemail, he braced himself for the final one, already wincing at what he could only imagine would be a lot of growling and swearing and threats.
Only instead, there was a sad sigh down the line and his dad softly pleading with him, growls and swears nowhere to be found.
"Look, Kid," he began then paused, Stiles picturing him standing with a hand on his hip as he looked around the room, bottom teeth on display as he struggled to figure out what to say that would get through his son's thick skull. "I'm almost one-hundred percent positive this has to do with your brother and your insistence yesterday that you knew where he was, or that you had a pretty good idea. But running around the state after a cold trail isn't a good idea. I'm sorry I wasn't more help, but there's nothing I can do. And in all honesty, there's not much you can do either. Just. Just call me back, okay, Kid? Let me know you're all right so I'm not worrying about both sons. I love you."
Aw, hell.
Guilt ate at Stiles, making his stomach churn and cause nausea to wash over him. His knees gave out and he slowly sank down onto the desk chair, smearing a hand over his face repeatedly, eyes shut tight in a wince. Fuck, he'd been a dick. It'd been a serious dick move to just up and leave like that. And, yeah, he had his reasons, good ones, starting and ending with the fact that there was no way his dad would've allowed him to leave if he knew what Stiles was up to. He'd pretty much had no choice but to do what he did. And now he was having to deal with the consequences.
Unless he gave in to his usual habit and just put it all off, pretended everything was okay and totally procrastinated on any punishment that may or may not come his way.
No. He'd only be making shit worse, not just for himself, but for his dad, too. The sheriff had already played the Missing Kid Card, already made the connection of worrying over them both, how they'd both took off without a word and left him scrambling to figure out why and if they were all right. Stiles couldn't make his dad suffer any more than he already was, already had been over the past couple years. That would be the ultimate dick move.
With a sigh, he deleted the final voicemail then called his dad, not surprised when it was picked up after only two rings.
"Stiles?" his dad rushed out in a breath, hope and concern flooding that one syllable and causing the omega's guilt to grow tenfold.
Swallowing, he stared ahead at the bookshelf, not paying attention to any titles, the spines looking familiar to him though. "Yeah," he croaked out before clearing his throat. "It's me."
"Oh thank god," he breathed out. The sound of voices in the background quietened before ending completely, a door closing as his dad moved somewhere more private. "Where the hell are you?" he grit out through clenched teeth, relief gone now and replaced with anger as he remembered the kid he'd been worried over had run off without permission.
Stiles winced as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, picking at the flannel fabric on his knee. "Oak Creek."
"Oak—Oak Creek? You're in Oak Creek right now?" A huff sounded down the line, a disbelieving laugh, before his dad continued speaking through gritted teeth once more, trying to keep his temper and his voice down. "What the hell are you doing in Oak Creek?"
"I had a hunch." Okay, saying it out loud made him sound crazy and idiotic—which he probably was, considering what he'd done during the day—but he still didn't regret anything. "And I was right."
He heard a sharp intake of breath down the line, his dad gasping before sputtering, pausing to clear his throat. "You—You—You found Stu? You found your brother?" His voice was full of cautious optimism, hope, disbelief, all these things that made Stiles' chest clench and the lump in his throat grow even more,threatening to choke him right then and there.
Fuck, he was gonna have to break the news. It was almost worse than having it told to him, knowing that he was gonna have to break someone else's heart. And not just anyone else, but his dad, a man who'd lost his Mate and had spent two years blaming himself and feeling like shit for his kid running off, a man who tried his best to be a single parent and the sheriff of an entire county and still believed he was a failure because one had left without reason.
Shit.
He stared down at the ground, watching the loose fabric of his pants move as his feet tapped out an anxious rhythm, licking his lips as he mentally tried to prepare himself for what he had to say. But how the hell did one do that? How the hell did one set themselves up for emotionally destroying one of the most important people in their life? It wasn't possible, couldn't be done. Yet he had to, somehow, someway.
"Not, uh. Not exactly," he managed to get out, voice thick from the lump he couldn't get rid of no matter how hard he tried.
"Stiles," his dad responded cautiously, with care, like he was bracing himself for bad news. Which, Stiles knew, was for the best. "What are you trying to say?"
He smeared a hand over his face as tears pricked the back of his eyes, sniffing loud. His skin tingled all over, heart feeling heavy in his chest, hand trembling where he held his phone to his ear, and fuck, he just didn't wanna do this. Couldn't do this. Fuck, someone, please, don't make him do this.
"He's dead, Dad."
Fuck, shit, fuck.
He cleared his throat again, hating the tremor that was in it when he spoke, wiping under his nose before continuing on. "They found his body this morning. He'd been killed sometime during the night."
There was a pause on the other end, the only sounds his dad's shaky breaths and a sighed out swear. "That scream you let out," he stated tremulously, trailing off and not finishing the conclusion they both knew he'd drawn.
"Yeah," Stiles answered. "I felt it."
"Jesus Christ," his dad muttered, followed by a few choice swears. He took several deep breaths, calming himself down, clearing his own throat before speaking again. "How you holding up? Never mind, stupid question. Are you safe right now? Where are you?"
Leaning back, he crossed his ankles under the chair, folding his free arm over his stomach as he glanced about the office-slash-guest room. "I'm fine. I'm staying with Stu's Mate at their place."
"Derek?" the alpha questioned in surprise, voice switching to sheriff mode. "He a good guy? He taking care of you? You sure you're safe there?"
Stiles grimaced at that, staring at the closed down and imagining the other alpha, the one who was most likely asleep in his bed at that moment. There was no honest way to answer that question and no way to answer it that would please his dad or put him at ease. It was another situation where Stiles was screwed no matter what he said or did, something he was frankly getting fucking sick of. But it didn't seem like those moments were going away any time soon so he just had to suck it up and deal.
Not that he had any other option really.
"I, uh. That's what I'm tryna figure out," he answered honestly, gripping the back of his neck and rubbing it roughly.
His dad sighed long and hard down the phone line, making him wince as he pictured the "What the hell am I gonna do with this crazy ass kid?" look his dad was most likely wearing: arm folded over his chest, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight, face scrunched up and lips a harsh line. "I don't suppose there's any way I can convince you to get back in the car and go home first thing in the morning, is there?"
It sometimes surprised Stiles how well his dad actually knew him and then he felt like an idiot for being shocked by it. The guy didn't get his position 'cause he was pretty.
Not that his dad was unattractive, because he was a handsome man. Whatever. Point was, he was smart, observant, and a damn good crime solver, hence him being elected. Repeatedly.
"Nope," he answered, popping the "p". "And don't bother trying to convince Lydia to drag me back because she's not leaving either. She found her Mate here."
A surprised yet accepting "huh" was the response he got to that factoid, followed by "Well. Good for her. But," he added on, voice hardening and brokering no argument. "Be. Careful. I still don't like the idea of you staying with a strange alpha you don't know, one you aren't entirely sure if you're safe with."
Stiles wanted to argue that it'd be okay, his instincts screaming at him to defend his Mate's honor and set his dad straight, but he couldn't. Because his dad couldn't know that Derek was his Mate. Because his dad had a point and Stiles really didn't know if he was safe there.
Head hanging, he let his free hand dangle between his knees, staring at the beige carpet. "I can take care of myself," he pointed out, only slightly indignant, knowing his dad didn't mean any offense. "I'm not some weak-ass omega bitch who can't protect themselves. My dad made sure of that." He smirked, the action growing with the snort he got in response.
"I know that, but I also taught your brother the same stuff and look at how that—" He cut himself off, realizing a little late what he'd been about to say.
Stiles winced at the implication, chest clenching like it most likely always will at the mention of his brother, like it always did at the mention of his mother.
"Just," his dad breathed out, pausing to sigh resignedly. "Please be careful. And the second you feel like you're in danger or in over your head, get the hell out of there."
"Yes, Dad," he placated, rolling his eyes at the overprotective parent routine.
"I mean it, Mieczyslaw."
Shit. Birth name again.
He swallowed hard at the mention of it, at the alpha tone leaking into the words, fighting the urge to tilt his head to the side in supplication. "Okay. I'll get out when things get hairy."
His dad sighed again, muttering about what a terrible liar his kid was. "I want text updates throughout the day, let me know you're all right. And a phone call every night. And we are having a serious discussion over your leaving town without permission when we both get home. Don't think I don't know how you pulled that off."
"I plead the fifth," he answered on automatic, refusing to get Lydia in trouble, even if his dad already had a gut feeling she'd been behind it. Although really, his dad probably thought Stiles had forged the papers, having already busted him copying RFID cards for various off-limits offices and rooms in the sheriff's department.
"Right," he answered flatly, his usual response to his son saying that. "Be careful. Love you, Kid."
"Love you, too, Pops. And you be careful, too."
"Will do."
They exchanged final goodbyes and hung up, Stiles putting his phone on the desk before leaning his head back, clasped hands resting on top of his closed eyes. His chest still felt tight, but something had slightly lessened, his guilt eased now that his dad knew where he was and what was going on. And yeah, he was really fucking in for it when he got back to Beacon Hills, but he'd take any and all punishment that would be doled out. It would all be worth it when he found Stu's killer and put the whole thing to rest.
That thought in mind, he headed back to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for bed. He was drained, emotionally, mentally, psychologically, and wanted nothing more than a full night of restful, peaceful sleep. The universe owed him that much.