Stiles had been in a morgue exactly once in his life. It was during one of his mom's extended hospital stays at Beacon Memorial when he'd been about six or seven and she was having one of her bad days, meaning he and Stu had been told to go play in the waiting room with Scott.

Except the waiting room was boring when you were a little kid, too old for the baby toys and picture books, too young for the magazines. So they'd decided exploring the hospital was the answer.

Or rather, Stiles had decided, then convinced Scott who didn't wanna disobey his mom's orders to stay in the waiting room and not wander off. Stu had just shrugged and said he didn't care, picking at a loose thread of his jeans and refusing to make eye contact. Stiles had taken it as an agreement and had led the trio to the elevators, hitting one of the few buttons he could reach: the basement.

The sub-level was mostly closets full of extra supplies and they'd broken out in a lightsaber fight with spare brooms and mops, despite Scott having never seen Star Wars—something Stiles still couldn't wrap his head around. No one came to bother them, no one told them to quiet down or put those back where they found them, no one told them to get back to their parents. They were free to roam around, their battle taking them inside a freezing cold room full of giant metal drawers, tile covering the walls and floor. "Sweet Caroline" played from a nearby portable radio, a rotund man standing over a table as he sang along off-key, hips wagging back and forth in a poor excuse for a dance, back turned to the door.

Until he heard the raucous shouts of three young boys, Stiles being shoved into him by Stu in a cheap move that was definitely cheating.

The man turned with wide eyes, yelling at the three of them, wondering what they were doing there, where were their parents, how'd they even get in in the first place. Stiles barely heard any of it. His own giant eyes were fixated on what was on the table: a dead body with his torso cut open, innards on display, heart on a tray to the side and a lung in each of the man's hands.

He screamed bloody murder, dropping the mop he'd been playing with as he hightailed it out of there, his brother and best friend following soon after. It was the first dead body he'd seen in real life and he severely hoped like hell it would be the last.

He'd made it nearly a decade and a half before that wish was shot to smithereens.

Oak Creek General Hospital was located in the western part of town, eerily close to the Oak Creek Mausoleum and an assisted living community. It was smaller than Beacon Memorial, only three floors visible above ground compared to the six of BMH, but still boasted all the amenities and features of any other health care facility in the country.

Derek parked out front in the visitors lot, only two other cars there, and Stiles found himself hoping it was because there weren't a whole lotta patients currently residing inside rather than no one caring enough to visit. He could still remember the way his mom's face would light up when he and Stu visited, how she'd tell them it was the best part of her day to see her family, and he inwardly winced at the memories of other long-term patients who never had anyone besides doctors, nurses, and volunteer candy-stripers step into their room.

Passing by the admittance desk, Derek gave a head nod to the nurse manning the station, she returning it with a sad sympathetic smile, obviously having heard the news and sussing out why he'd be there. Her eyes flicked to Stiles as he trailed behind, going wide as her jaw dropped and her scent shifted from remorseful to surprised at the sight of him. He caught sight of her patting the pockets of her scrubs for a cell phone she wasn't suppose to have with her while on duty, most likely wanting to call someone and share what she'd just witnessed, before he disappeared into the stairwell with Derek.

The morgue at OCG was just like the one at BMH: sterile white tile on the walls and floor; wall of metal drawers to the left, only one of which had an identification card in the slot; steel table in the middle of the room matching the sinks and counter in the back. There was no "Sweet Caroline" being played—thank god, 'cause Stiles had enough traumatizing flashbacks whenever he heard that song—but the frigid temps required for the sterile room caused him to still shiver. Wrapping his arms around himself, he rubbed the upper halves of them to warm himself up, cursing omega genetics that had him running cooler than alphas.

Side-eyeing Derek, he noted no shivering or goosebumps, despite his bare forearms. Stiles wrapped his flannel tighter around himself and cursed the alpha out in his mind.

Dr Fenris was the ME they were looking for—mainly 'cause he was the only one the town had—and was already waiting for them by a side counter, manila folder open in front of him. He was a wide built guy, stomach slightly bulging under his green scrubs, fluffy white hair receding at the front. A sympathetic smile was in his face, wizened brown eyes kind as he greeted them, brows briefly raising in surprise when he spotted Stiles halfway hiding behind Derek.

"Who's this?" he questioned, smile faltering, voice trying to be light and friendly, but still carrying the hint of disapproval at a civilian being in a restricted area.

"Stuart's twin, Stiles," Derek gruffly explained, stepping to the side to put the omega fully on display. "He wanted to see him."

Fenris glanced back and forth between the two of them before shrugging with a sigh. With Derek being the son of the most powerful Alpha in California, the doc knew there was no way he could deny such a request, not without serious repercussions and a good ass-chewing from Talia Hale herself.

Flipping the folder closed, the ME led them over to the wall of drawers, grabbing hold of the handle for the one that had a place card. Stiles caught sight of it, heart in his throat as he read the words "Hale, Stuart", wolf whimpering in his head for more than one reason. Fenris slid out the tray held within, revealing a sheet covered blob that vaguely resembled a person, and Stiles had to take a step back. His heart was pounding too loud, too fast, body trembling for reasons other than the cold, stomach twisting and turning and knotting and twisting some more. He wasn't ready, wasn't prepared. As much as he wanted to do it, as badly as he needed to see it and find out one-hundred percent without a doubt that his brother was gone, he just. Couldn't. Do it.

A large hand pressed between his shoulder blades, sparks shooting through him at the contact, the warm weight of it reassuring. Glancing to his left, he found Derek already looking at him, worry etched in every line of his face.

"Breathe," the alpha reminded him, alerting him to the fact that he was hyperventilating, every inhale shaky and erratic.

He swallowed hard as he nodded rapidly, rubbing at his arms as he turned back to the sheet covered form. It looked the right height for Stu's frame, Stiles having half an inch on him, something he was able to tease the older twin about, constantly pointing out how he was five-foot-eleven and a half. Stiles' shoulders had been broader, frame holding more muscle than Stu thanks to lacrosse and cross country and his twin's preference of sitting behind a computer of some form than getting exercise, leaving him lankier and skinnier. All these subtle little differences in their bodies, their faces, things that if someone looked closely enough, they'd use to distinguish between the two brothers.

To tell which one was laying on a slab in a morgue.

He sniffed, swallowed hard, licked his lips. His leg started shaking, thumb making its way to his mouth so he could chew on a hangnail, body still shaking despite the steadying presence of his Mate right beside him and a hand on his back.

"We ready?" Fenris questioned, using a tone that was trying to be understanding yet carried too much impatient in order to be genuine.

Derek glanced at Stiles, deferring to him with a quirk of an eyebrow, the omega catching sight of it out the corner of his eye. Exhaling long and shakily, he nodded, body tensing as he braced himself.

The ME nodded once, eyes more focused on the alpha in the room than the omega who was about to see his dead twin, as he took hold of the sheet with both hands. With careful movements, he lifted it up and pulled it back, stopping just below the chin where he neatly folded it, hiding the body's neck.

Where the killer had slashed his throat with his claws.

Stiles was still breathing heavily, heart beating even faster. His skin was tingling in a bad way, bones almost aching with how he was holding himself together, and his stomach felt like it was gonna drop right out of him at any moment. He dragged his eyes up, forcing himself to look at the corpse's face, forcing himself to confirm everything, forcing himself...

"No. No, no, no, no, no," he repeated, shaking his head adamantly as he back away from the table, eyes locked on the dead body's face. It was almost exactly the same as the one that stared back at him from the mirror every day, slightly different shape, nose not quite as upturned, less moles. But fuck, the differences from when Stiles had last seen him. Glasses gone, hair longer and disheveled, skin an ashy gray and sunken in. Heavy bruises framed his eyes, a cut on his bottom lip, scratches on his left cheek, signs of a rough ending to a good life.

Derek turned to him, arms hanging by his sides, his name spoken in a low cautious question, as though saying it any louder would break it, would break Stiles. The omega spared him a glance, catching sight of heartbreak on his face and upset in his scent and fuck, Stiles couldn't handle seeing or smelling it.

An eerie calm settled over him and he stepped over to his brother, peeling back the sheet despite Fenris' noise of objection, Derek's warning growl making the ME's protest die down. Three gouges ran across Stu's throat, skin practically shredded from the claws that alpha had used on him. His Claiming Bite had been ripped into as well, cleaner, like the killer was more in control of himself and knew what he was doing when he practically voided out Derek's claim on him. His eyes flashed gold as rage took hold inside, his wolf snarling at whoever had done that to his twin, vengeance swirling in his mind.

He folded the sheet back to where Fenris previously had it, hiding the mortal wounds from everyone's eyes. With great care, he ran his fingers through his brother's hair, brushing it back before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his frozen skin, resting his forehead on his twin's.

Fuck, it was weird. He and Stu had always been the same temp, had always been chilly at the same time, both coming down with fevers together. But for the first time ever, his brother was colder than him, body chilled from lack of blood flow and lack of living.

Moving his head down, he rested his forehead on his twin's unmoving chest, arms holding him in a loose embrace. There was no air going in or out, no heartbeat, no scent, just the sterile non-smells of medical equipment used during the exam and that godawful scent-neutralizing soap. Nothing. All of it gone, all of Stuart gone.

A shuddering breath left him as he struggled to rein in his emotions, refusing to cry in front of two alphas and further feed stereotypes about weak omegas. Hell, he wasn't entirely sure if he even could cry. He'd numbed out again, mind blank of anything and everything that wasn't the repeating thought over how it was all true, how his brother really was dead.

Derek stepped closer, maintaining a respectful distance of a couple inches, but still close enough for Stiles to feel the heat radiating off him, to know he was there for comfort should it be needed. "Find anything new?" he asked the ME, voice gruff and full of authority even at a lower volume.

Fenris' scent was full of uncertainty, clearing his throat and rocking on his heels. "You sure you wanna discuss this in front of him?" he questioned, the last word said with a mix of confusion and a slight hint of disdain, like he couldn't believe the S-Dub would even consider talking about it with an omega around.

An icy wave of aggravation wafted from Derek, Stiles resisting the urge to bare his neck, remembering that it wasn't aimed at him. "Stiles has every right to know what happened to his brother," the alpha stated matter-of-factly, tone final. "Either he hears it right now or I tell him immediately after we're done with this conversation, but I'd rather him hear it straight from the source."

Stiles lifted himself up to check out the doc's reaction, taking note of the way his jaw was working in frustration, hands on his hips, head shaking in disagreement. With a resigned sigh, he headed across the room to the counter he'd been at when they first arrived, snatching up the folder and flipping it open.

Stiles sniffed against the cold, wrapping himself up in his flannel to fight off the shiver that threatened to break out over him. Derek sidled even closer, his own folded arms less than an inch away, and Stiles relished the heat radiating off him, shooting him a small grateful smile.

"Stuart Hale," Fenris read from the file as he made his way over, sneakers slightly squeaking along the tile. "Cause of death was sanguine asphyxiation, meaning he choked on his own blood when his throat was slashed open by what appears to be claws. No defensive wounds were found, though there are injuries consistent with someone tripping and falling, leading me to believe he was chased before he was killed."

Stiles inhaled sharply, body freezing all over, flashes of his pseudo-vision hitting him as he remembered the feeling of being stalked through the woods while he was running for his life. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Derek turn his head to him, eyebrow cocked in confusion and concern, but he ignored it, focusing on the ME who was now standing across the table from them.

"The body was moved and scrubbed down post-mortem, removing any trace evidence and scent," Fenris went on, eyes glued to the file he was still holding. "There were also signs of a sexual assault that appear—"

"Wait!" Stiles butted in, hands flying out in front of himself. Two sets of wide eyes flew to him, surprise an overwhelming scent in his nose, and he struggled to breathe past it, to breathe through the shock freezing his lungs and the panic gripping his chest. With a trembling hand, he pointed at Fenris, drawing his brow in a serious expression, licking his lips before speaking. "'Sexual assault'? You. You're saying my brother was, what? Was raped or something?"

Fenris glanced at Derek for a sign of what to do, getting a nod as an answer. With a sigh, he gave a slight nod of his own, scent remorseful. "I found injuries consistent with brutal sodomy, yes," he stated, then flipped his eyes down his paper. "There were tears in his passage, but no presence of blood which leads me to believe it was done after he was killed."

Nausea was a heavy presence on his stomach, making it roll and churn. He put a hand over his mouth as he swallowed back bile, his insides twisting and turning, everything feeling completely out of whack. Not only had his brother been killed, but he'd been raped. After his murder. Jesus, shit just got more and more fucked up. Homicide, evidence tampering, discrimination, sexual assault, necrophilia.

He started hyperventilating, black spots swimming in his vision, chest too tight and not allowing his lungs to properly inflate. Staring down at his hands, he noticed the way they were shaking, the rest of him was trembling all over. A panic attack.

Stiles began stumbling backwards, vaguely aware of his name being called. But it sounded far away, so far away, muffled like Derek was in another part of the hospital, another wing, another floor. Everything was drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears, his heavy breathing, his thundering heartbeat.

He didn't stop until his back hit cold tile, still shaking all over, trembling hands hovering mid-air as he struggled to figure out what to do with them. His skin felt too tight, buzzing, tingling, and he seriously believed he'd shake right out of it.

"Stiles?" His name was gently called in front of him and he looked up, fighting through swimming vision to find Derek standing before him. Hands cupped his cheeks, the alpha bringing their eyes into contact, holding his stare. "I need you to breathe, okay? Just breathe with me."

Stiles shook his head adamantly, ducking it down and pressing his forehead to the older man's sternum. His hands clutched at either side of him, gripping hard at his ribs, fingers lining up with developed oblique muscles. He could feel Derek's every breath, the steady in and out of air, deep and rhythmic.

"That's it, breathe with me," Derek encouraged, hands smoothing up and down the omega's back. "In and out, in and out."

Stiles did as he suggested, fighting his uncooperative lungs, forcing them to breathe in when Derek did, exhaling along with him. Every inhale brought in the comforting scents of Derek, of alpha, of Mate, relaxing every inch of him. He felt the tension crushing his chest loosen, his lungs expanding the way they should, the nausea subsiding.

Soon, his breathing was back to normal, heartbeat at a normal volume, body no longer feeling like it was gonna shake out of his skin. With one final long exhale, he raised his head, meeting concerned green eyes, a worried brow, lips pulled tight into a hard line.

"You gonna be okay?" the alpha asked lowly, hands rubbing Stiles' upper arms.

The younger man nodded, swallowing hard, extracting stiff fingers from where they'd tangled up in Derek's shirt. "Yeah," he rasped out, still feeling slightly shaky inside but knowing that was normal, that it would soon go away. "I'll be fine."

"Do you wanna wait outside while I finish up here?"

"No." He shook his head, sniffing, taking a step back only to remember he was against a wall. "I wanna hear the rest."

Derek looked unsure, lips twisted to show the disapproval that was coloring his scent. But rather than argue or insist that the weak omega go sit in the hallway, he simply nodded and stepped back, giving Stiles space. "If that's what you want," he agreed, heading back over to where Fenris was waiting by Stu's body.

Stiles stayed put, leaning back against the wall in support and roughing his hands over his face. He thought he could do this, could be strong enough to solve his brother's murder, but he was realizing how very fucking wrong he was. There was a reason why close friends and family members didn't investigate crimes or treat any medical ailments and he was finding out first hand why.

But he'd let strangers handle Stu's initial disappearance and they'd failed in that aspect. He wasn't gonna let that happen again. No, it was up to him to suck it up and deal with the bad, to help his brother after his own failures the past few years. He owed Stu that much.

Taking a deep breath to shore his courage, he focused on the conversation happening a few yards away, tuning in on what Fenris was saying.

"—a scant amount of semen found inside him that hadn't been completely washed away. The DNA matched that of saliva found on his neck where the killer tried to remove your Bite with his teeth."

Derek's head jerked up from where he was reading over the file. "So it's definitely one killer?" he double-checked, receiving a nod in response. "Anything else you can tell us?"

"He's not in the system so he hasn't served any jail time, and you're looking for an alpha."

Red eyes flashed in Stiles' mind and he shuddered, glad he already smelled uneasy and upset.

Derek thanked Fenris for everything, flipping the folder closed and carrying it with him as he strode over to Stiles. Holding the door open, he gestured for the omega to exit first before leading him to the stairwell.

"You sure you'll be okay?" Derek asked again once the door closed, peeking at the younger man.

Stiles nodded, licking his lips, mind going over the details of the pseudo-vision, how it seemed to match the ME's findings. Maybe there really was some truth behind twin psychic links. Everything he'd been told about Stu's murder certainly gave credit to it.

"Can we go to where he was found?" he questioned, watching his step as they entered the stairwell and began their ascent.

Derek peered back at him over his shoulder, eyebrow cocked in question, scent full of suspicion. "Any particular reason why?"

"Morbid curiosity," he answered easily. Not a lie, not really. "My dad's always saying I'm sticking my snout where it doesn't belong. And considering it's where my brother died—" he trailed off, shrugging a shoulder, swallowing hard. His brother truly was dead, laying on a slab in the morgue. And if Stiles hadn't been sure before, he was now, after having seen undeniable proof.

The alpha narrowed his eyes slightly, still suspicious, not entirely buying it. Yet he still let out a resigned sigh and agreed to it as they stepped out onto the main floor of the hospital on their way back to Derek's Toyota.

The same nurse was still working reception, now joined by two others who'd gathered around in a gossiping circle of hushed whispers and aborted hand movements. The first nurse's eyes went wide and she gestured to the two passing men, the others trying to subtly peek at them.

At Stiles.

He shoved a hand through his hair as he mentally shoved aside any and all thoughts of how they were adding to the rumor mill, how far the gossip had spread, if word had gotten out that recently deceased Stuart Hale had an identical twin who was now in town hanging around with his brother's Mate, the State Alpha's son.

Nope, didn't care. At least he told himself he didn't as he followed Derek outside. Chances were the gossip was about the timing of his arrival and how suspect it was, rather than the sad irony that was the reality of his situation. He'd been victim to false chatter for practically his whole life and it seemed like it just followed him to Oak Creek like a bad smell.

With a sigh, he got in the SUV, pretending not to notice a scrubs-clad female pausing where she was heading to the door, mouth moving with an exaggerated "oh my god!"

"Wanna tell me what's wrong now?" Derek asked when he slipped behind the wheel, words carrying only a slight hint of exasperation.

Stiles shrugged, fingers fiddling together on his lap, head ducked as he stared down at them. "Just sick of gossip, is all," he admitted lowly.

A humorless snort left the older man as he pulled on his seat belt, Stiles copying him, keys sliding into the ignition. "I'd say you get use to it, but—" he trailed off, giving a shrug of his own.

"You really fucking don't."

Turning to him, Derek gave him a commiserating smile, one of only three people Stiles had ever met that truly understood life under a microscope. Another one was Lydia, the third had just been pulled out a drawer in a morgue.

"Yep," Derek sighed out and started the engine. "Only thing you can do is ignore it and remind yourself on a daily basis that all the people who are closest to you and that you actually care about know the truth. Fuck what everyone else thinks."

"And do you know the truth?" Stiles asked, taking in Derek's profile as he pulled out the parking space. "About me?"

"I know enough to know you didn't kill your brother and you aren't trying to take his place."

Okay, not a thought that had ever crossed Stiles' mind ever, but chances were that would become a rumor, too. If it wasn't already.

"You only know that 'cause I'm not an alpha," he pointed out, referring to the last tidbit of info Fenris had given them.

"No," the other man argued. "I know that because my wolf actually trusts you after knowing you less than twenty-four hours and it takes a long time for it to trust anyone. And after all the shit we've been through over the years, that's huge."

Stiles' heart began pounding in his chest for all the right reasons, stomach filling with butterflies, skin buzzing. His wolf was yipping excitedly in his head, bouncing around with its tail wagging, knowing how amazing it was to have their Mate's trust. And while part of Stiles wanted to return the sentiment, he knew he couldn't, not yet. Because as far as he was concerned, Derek wasn't entirely in the clear, wasn't scratched off a suspect list that so far, only consisted of him. But Stiles knew it was only because he didn't have any one else to put on there, didn't have another name to replace his, and he didn't want an empty list and zero ideas other than "an alpha".

If Derek was expecting the sentiment to be returned, he didn't act it, scent and features both neutral as he drove along the main road, in the direction of the entry gate. But he couldn't just let the admission stand, couldn't just ignore it or let it go unacknowledged in some way.

With a weak smile, he murmured the only thing he could think of: "thanks."

Derek shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, more focused on the road than anything else, and Stiles took the opportunity to let the conversation drop. Settling down in his seat, he stared out the window at the blur of browns and greens, trees whizzing by them, and tried to clear his mind of everything.

Derek drove them past the inner-most gate and the S-Dubs' HQ, taking a left onto a unmarked dirt road half-hidden by trees and brush. Well, not really a dirt road so much as two lines of tracks created by countless tires driving over it. But no matter what, it was still the kind of road you only found if you knew it was there.

They drove for several miles before entering a clearing and Derek pulled off to the side, parking in an unmarked space. After killing the engine, the two of them got out, Stiles adjusting his tee and flannel around his waist as he peered around.

There was nothing overly special or remarkable about the space, or the forest itself, the same collection of trees as back in Beacon Hills. Yet something about it felt important—beside the fact that Derek had taken him there after requesting to see where his brother had been killed. Sniffing the air, he caught the scent of multiple wolves, several kinds of cars, leftover chemosignals of a sort of nervous excitement that usually accompanied a full moon. Clearly this was where everyone gathered to shift, countless wolves leaving their mark there, creating a perfect place to stalk and chase someone in a more sinister manner. All the scents would blur together, making it difficult to differentiate between them and tell who had been after Stu two nights ago.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled his shoulders and neck, bracing himself for what was coming. Then, without a word, he followed Derek into the copse of trees, hoping like hell he hadn't made a colossal mistake.

It was several miles of walking—or tripping, stumbling, and slipping in Stiles' case—before he caught his brother's scent. Anxiety made it stronger, made it cling to the trees and brush around them, allowing it to linger. Another mile or so past that and things started to look familiar, eyes coming across things he'd seen in that pseudo-vision, still recognizable despite the different lighting.

His steps grew slower as a heavy sense of dread washed over him, scanning his surroundings. And when they came across the ravine that Stu had slid down and the alpha had rolled down, he stopped completely, lump of worry in his throat.

Derek clearly sensed something was wrong, stopping as well and looking at the omega with a furrowed brow, lips parted and showing off front teeth that were longer than the rest. Because Derek wasn't just hotter than fucking Hades, but he was adorable as shit, too.

Bastard.

"What's wrong?"

It was on the tip of Stiles' tongue to tell him exactly what was wrong, how he was freaking out because he'd seen all of this before, because his brother had somehow managed to psychically link with him during his final moments and he'd pretty much been a witness to his murder, because he was getting closer to the exact place where Stu was killed and he wasn't sure if he could handle the smells of blood and death and strife mixed with his twin's natural scent. But he couldn't say any of that. Because Derek didn't know about the pseudo-vision nor would he ever, because he didn't wanna come across as some weakass omega who couldn't handle anything difficult or upsetting, because he didn't wanna give Derek any excuses for them to turn around and leave after Stiles had only halfway convinced him to come here.

So instead, he shrugged and shook his head, scratching at his forehead as he thought up a lie. "Just wondering how you guys were able to figure out where Stu had gone and then find him in all this forest." Not a total lie, and he mentally patted himself on the back for it.

The alpha bought it though, slowly nodding once before scratching the back of his neck with a finger and wincing slightly. "Live around a scent for two years, makes it easy to follow," he confessed, dropping his arms by his sides. "And given the amount of anxi—"

"Right, but how'd you know to come to the woods in the first place?" Stiles interrupted, rubbing at his arms.

"Stu sleepwalked," he stated matter-of-factly, sounding as though it was a common occurrence and nothing out the ordinary. Which, considering Stiles' own sleep habits, probably wasn't. "I followed the scent trail from our house to here."

The omega's brow furrowed, one arm folding over his torso as he pointed at the older man in confusion. "Wouldn't you have noticed he was gone when he got out of bed in the middle of the night?"

The tips of Derek's ears went red, scent ashamed, and he turned his head away, staring off in the distance. Something pricked at the back of Stiles' mind, another red flag, and his confused frown deepened as he waited for a response.

"Derek? What happened to my brother?" he asked when it was clear the guy just wasn't gonna say anything, not without prompting.

Turning back, Derek's face was apologetic, soulful green eyes pleading with the younger man, lips turned down at the corners. He motioned with his head to be followed before carefully making his way down the steep incline, Stiles huffing in annoyance before sliding down after him.

"I told you about Stu marathoning Star Wars the day after his birthday, right?" Derek began once they reached the bottom, getting a nod in response. "He was up late watching them. I couldn't stay awake any longer and headed to bed about midnight. And honestly? It wasn't the first time I'd gone to bed alone."

Stiles stumbled, although he wasn't sure if it was due to the uneven ground or the other man's confession. He caught himself on a nearby tree, hands stinging where they scraped the bark, mouth hanging open. It was practically unheard of for Mates to sleep alone. Sure, some folks had sleep issues, insomnia, parasomnia, restless legs, flat out inability to shut off their brains and rest but they still would try and go to bed with their Mate. In some instances, the Mate bond was strong enough to even cure some sleep ailments, the person feeding off the comfort, safety, and security of their Mate so close and relaxed beside them, bringing their wolf peace and allowing them to drift off.

And regardless of any sleeplessness or sleepwalking Stu might've been troubled by, it was still strange to hear about his Mate going to bed without him, rather than coaxing him to join or staying up in a show of solidarity, a "you can't sleep so I won't get any either" sorta thing.

Then again, he mentally mused further, staring at the back of Derek's head as they neared a creek, Derek and Stu weren't really Mates, at least not fated True Mates. Maybe they were able to sleep alone because the compulsion to be together just wasn't there.

Sure, there was something to be said for the comfort of a warm body beside you. Stiles had experienced it himself having shared a bed with Scott during countless sleepovers, the alpha's heat pleasant under the covers and warming his naturally chilly omega self. But sometimes, a person just wanted the bed to themselves. Sleeping in the middle was a thing—one that Stiles was guilty of—as was sprawling out, blanket hogging. That was hard to do when someone was next to you in bed, most likely bitching at you the next morning over your terrible sleep habits.

Stu's insomnia and sleepwalking and rumored night-terrors didn't exactly make him a fun bedmate.

Yet there was one thing nagging at the back of his mind, an inconsistency raising more red flags and driving him nuts. "But Parrish said that you told them the two of you went to bed together," he pointed out, speeding up to walk in line with the other man.

Derek winced again, guilt coloring his scent. "I lied," he admitted, wringing the back of his neck. "But telling them that I'd gone to bed alone would raise too many questions and suspicions about our relationship. And about me."

Okay, that last part definitely wasn't what Stiles was expecting to hear. Not that he could be blamed for being caught off-guard like that—or the way his feet got tangled together as a result, arms flailing as he nearly fell on his face. Derek's own limbs flew out as if to catch him, holding them up even when it was clear Stiles wasn't gonna faceplant—at least not then.

He gave an embarrassed smile as he smoothed his shirts out, face heating up in mortification, clearing his throat awkwardly against the curious stare he was receiving. "Sorry, I just—" he trailed off, waving his hand in the air as though that would clear everything up.

"Wasn't expecting me to realize I was suspect number one?" Derek quipped, eyebrow cocked as he pulled his arms back.

Stiles' blush deepened, fingers drumming together in front of his chest, slight wince pulling at his lips. "Something like that," he mumbled.

A small amused smile formed on the alpha's face before he started walking again, the younger man keeping pace with him. "It used to be that everyone believed the Mate was the absolute last person to hurt or kill someone," he stated, ducking under a limb. "There was just no way, because hurting your Mate was like hurting yourself. You just can't live without them. But nowadays, they're the first one that gets implicated, especially when there's a lot of red flags or strange behavior being exhibited by the surviving Mate."

Stiles nodded, showing he understood, mind racing through all the red flags that had popped up for him due to Derek's behavior, his own suspicions aimed his brother-in-law's way. He also thought of Tracy, how only a decade ago, if she'd told anyone her Mate was the one abusing her, they'd all call her a liar. Now they automatically hauled Donovan in, noting his history of violence and his aggressive behavior, a recorded history of anger problems and failed psych exams. Really, it was any wonder that Donovan hadn't already been locked up on a more permanent basis years ago.

But that was Donovan and this was Derek and Stiles still wasn't sure where he fell on the innocent-guilty spectrum. Those red flags all made him seem suspicious, his attitude and behavior towards Stu more than a little curious, but that could've been chalked up to them being Mates in title only. It didn't mean the guy was abusive or violent. Stiles had been around him for hours and he hadn't seen any signs of aggression or anger.

Although that didn't really mean much. Serial killers lived double lives and people were often shocked to see the friendly neighbor from their local church confess to torturing and killing people for decades.

Not that they were talking about a serial killer.

At least Stiles hoped they weren't.

Fuck, he'd totally forgotten his original point.

"It was also why we thought maybe you had done it," Derek spoke up after a long moment, assuming Stiles wasn't gonna say anything. "You showed up the day we found his body and we knew nothing about you. Made you pretty suspicious."

"But killing your twin is like killing your Mate!" Stiles objected, arms flying about for emphasis. "It just—it takes away your soul, you're half a person, you—" He cut himself off at Derek's pointed look, the sight of Tracy and her injuries back in the forefront of his mind. "Never mind."

"I get it," the alpha stated honestly. "And for the record, I don't think you killed Stu."

It was another one of those things that Stiles wanted to give a "backatcha" to but couldn't. Because while his wolf believed in Derek's innocence and an overwhelming part of the omega was inclined to agree, there was still that small nagging part of him that had its doubts. And that small part was controlling everything. It had to really. It was the safest option for him, the way to guarantee staying alive, remaining vigilant and suspicious and being aware of everything around him. It helped him traverse his campus at night and was helping him now.

Granted being in the middle of the woods in a strange town with a man he didn't know but suspected of murder most likely wasn't going along with that safety thing.

Whoops. Too late now.

Silence descended over them once more, Derek again not expecting any reciprocation of his feelings or beliefs. It was strange as hell. Stiles had been beyond insistent when it came to the Mate thing, yet reluctant to trust him, while Derek was open with his belief in Stiles' being a good person yet not wanting to talk about what they were to one another. They were both on different wavelengths and it was no wonder there was such a sense of disconnect between them.

Stiles smeared a hand down his face, wondering if it was ever gonna get easier between them, only to stop that train of thought before it gathered too much steam. What was the point really? There was a slight chance Derek could be going to jail for murder and even if he wasn't, it wasn't like anything would or could happen between the two of them. The alpha had made it clear that it couldn't due to the entire town believing his True Mate had been Stu and even if he shoved all that aside, Stiles didn't live in Oak Creek. Couldn't live in Oak Creek. He was all his dad had left and as sheriff of Beacon County—not to mention had lived in Beacon Hills his entire life—he wasn't about to relocate. Plus Stiles had school up in Palo Alto, friends and an entire life in Beacon Hills. He didn't wanna give all that up just for one guy, Mate or not.

His wolf's whimpers brought him back to the moment and he glanced around to see a familiar group of trees. To the right, he found the hollowed out trunk his brother had hid inside to send him that text, apologizing for running away two years prior. To the left, he found Derek standing in front of a thick oak, staring at the wood, face stoic. But his scent was full of guilt, remorse, sadness.

The alpha's features screwed up, brow pulling into a hard frown, eyes turning down at the corners, jaw clenching, lips thinned out. His fingers curled up into fists, muscles tightening all over, scent turning anxious and full of despair. "I owe you an apology," he murmured, voice thick before he cleared it. "You and your brother both. But since he's not here anymore—" He trailed off and shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest, still staring at that tree.

Stiles scuffed his way off, kicking up wet leaves as he went. He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching up around his ears, feeling that depressingly familiar hollowness in his chest. With a frown of his own, he stood in front of the tree, getting a good look at it when he hadn't before. Because he'd been spun around too fast in the pseudo-vision, because it had been too dark, because his back had been slammed up against it before he was able to catch sight of his surroundings.

"I promised him that I'd protect him and take care of him and I didn't," Derek continued with a rasp, sniffing. "I failed both of you. I don't blame you if you hate me."

"I don't hate you," Stiles argued without hesitation, meaning every syllable. Because while he didn't fully know or trust Derek, he definitely didn't hate the guy. "I hate whoever killed my brother."

The alpha's scent turned to a righteous sort of anger, eyes narrowing. "You and me both," he growled, turning to the younger man. "I swear I'll find the guy and punish him for what he did."

Stiles nodded, reaching a hand out and laying it flat against the tree, the rough bark being one of the last things Stu had ever felt.

'Not if I find him first,' he thought to himself with a ferocious determination he'd never felt before. 'I'm gonna rip that alpha's throat out. With my teeth.'