Stiles wasn't entirely sure how long they stayed in that area of the woods, nor did he care. Derek didn't seem in too much of a rush to get anywhere, never told the omega to hurry it up or that they had to leave. He just let Stiles take his time, do whatever he wanted, standing off to the side without saying a word and keeping a stoic expression in his face. He never once questioned what they younger man was doing, why he was doing it, didn't judge. The only time his expression changed was a cock of the eyebrow when Stiles nestled himself inside the hollowed out tree, sniffing loud at the strong scent of his brother and the terror he was feeling in his final moments, and again when the omega leaned back against the tree they'd both been staring at, shuddering at the phantom memories of that pseudo-vision, that same bark digging into his back through his shirts.
Derek offered to take him to the creek where Stu had been found, but Stiles turned it down. He doubted he'd find anything there, just like he'd found nothing in the woods save for scents that would haunt him forever and an intense anger he wasn't sure he'd felt before. He didn't want to torture himself anymore than he had to.
Back within the town's inner-most walls, Derek drove them into the downtown area, parallel parking outside the diner. Stiles frowned in confusion before glancing at the clock in the dashboard, realizing it was nearly two o'clock. His stomach gave a grumble, protesting the lack of lunch, and Derek's head snapped over, concerned look on his face. Stiles simply gave a shrug and a sheepish grin. Wasn't like he had control over his stomach or the noises it made.
Exiting the vehicle, he glanced around, finding fewer people on the street than the evening before, meaning less stares aimed his direction. Granted there still was a trio of teenage girls who stopped and pointed as they exited a boutique across the road, but he pointedly ignored then, ducking his head and wringing the back of his neck as he followed Derek inside the diner.
The place itself was small, homely in a way chain restaurants never were. The walls were wood paneling, framed black and white photos of the town and its people hanging in various places, an old "Welcome to Oak Creek" sign fixed above the currently unoccupied hostess station. A sign told them to seat themselves and Derek led them to a wooden booth along the side wall, taking the seat that faced the door.
Stiles slid onto the bench opposite him, grabbing a menu from its place behind a napkin dispenser and condiment rack, laying it flat on the red and white checkered tablecloth before glancing around. The wall three booths behind him held windows that ran the entire length of it, giving a perfect view of the street and Derek's Toyota. Square tables with a chair tucked neatly underneath each side were scattered about the place, each one with the same tablecloth as the booths. Two teenage boys were the only other occupants, seated two booths behind Derek, the tan one grinning up at their waitress as the cocoa-skinned one palmed his face.
The dark haired waitress was shaking her head, thick locks pulled back in a swishing ponytail, jaw clenched in annoyance. Stiles focused his hearing, listening with an amused grin as the boy tried in vain to find a free spot in her schedule, getting rejected every time.
Derek glanced up from his menu with a cocked eyebrow, peeking behind himself at Stiles' head nod, turning back with a shake of the head. "Daily occurrence," he murmured, eyes focused on his menu once more. "Liam trying everything he can to get Hayden to go out with him, completely undeterred by her constant rejections."
The amused grin stayed on Stiles' face as he heard the waitress—Hayden, he now knew her to be—let out an aggravated growl before stomping away, Liam yelling that he loved her as she disappeared through a swinging door. His friend shook his head as he laughed, leaning over to pat his shoulder.
"One day you'll take a hint, man."
"No way, Mase. That girl's my Mate, I just know it."
Derek snorted, drawing Stiles' attention back to their own table. "What?" the omega questioned, brow furrowed, corner of his lips still quirked up.
He shook his head, flipping his menu over to read the back, even though chances were he had it memorized already. "Just can't believe you're that amused by it," he muttered, scanning the sandwich options.
Stiles shrugged as he peered down at his own menu, wondering if he could even stomach food after the morning he'd had, tummy grumbling with its own opinion. "It reminded me of my best buddy Scott. He was convinced this girl named Allison was his Mate. They dated for a while before she turned sixteen and called it off, too worried to get too involved then find out Scott wasn't it for her. Kinda too late for that considering the six-month angst fest that followed."
Putting his menu back in place, Derek gave Stiles his undivided attention, watching him with an inquisitive look on his face. "Lemme guess," he began, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in the booth, outstretched legs resting between Stiles' spread ones and crossing at the ankles. "They were still in love with each other, but denying it?"
"Oh, there was no denying it," Stiles argued, fingers drumming a made-up rhythm on top of the menu. "Allison just refused to give in to it while Scott constantly mooned over her and moped about, always declaring them Mates and saying he could be sure enough for the both of them."
"What happened between them?"
"They eloped right outta high school," Stiles explained with a grin, remembering the freak outs by Melissa McCall and Chris Argent both. "It wasn't that anyone disapproved or whatever, they just didn't wanna wait any longer. Lydia was pissed there wasn't a ceremony though, threw one together for them before we all left for college."
Derek slowly nodded, brow pulled into a frown as he stared unseeing at the tablecloth. "Guess he got lucky," he murmured gruffly, shifting in his seat.
"No," the omega argued, wolf rumbling in defense of his best friends. "Sometimes you just know."
"Not necessarily," he argued right back as he lifted his eyes and met the younger man's. "Sometimes it's just teenage hormones messing with your wolf's instincts."
Stiles glared, offended in Scott's behalf, fingers curling around the edge of his menu. Pretty cynical outlook really and it sounded a lot like something Stu would've said. But Derek had firsthand proof that Mates were real and should've been more of a believer.
Unless something had happened to give him that point of view.
He thought over the alpha's words, something clicking in his head. Leaning forward over the table, he fixed him with a curious stare, keeping his voice low as he spoke. "Who was it? The person you thought was your Mate?"
Derek inhaled sharply, body going stiff all over. He sat up straighter, pulling his legs back and tucking them under the chair and Stiles immediately missed the feel and the heat of them. The alpha glanced around the room, jaw working. Nothing was said for a long time, Stiles worried he'd hit a raw nerve and wasn't gonna get a response, until Derek finally opened his mouth and spoke.
"Paige," he answered gruffly, turning and staring down at the tablecloth. "We were in love when we were fifteen, convinced we were it for each other. And when I didn't have any Dreams after her death, I thought we were right and that my Mate had been killed."
Wolf whining, Stiles felt a small crack in his heart, though the reasoning wasn't all that clear. Maybe because it wasn't due to any one thing. Because he was sad that Derek had lost someone he cared about. Because Derek had so freely admitted that someone else had been—or could've possibly been—his Mate yet had been so reluctant to admit that about Stiles. Because Derek was still visibly upset about Paige's death.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Stiles fiddled with his fingers on top of the menu, wincing slightly before speaking. "How'd she die?" he asked cautiously, carefully, lowly, knowing what a delicate topic it was, knowing how much it stung to be on the other end of that question.
Derek looked Stiles right in the eye, features hard, scent a swirl of regret, loss, remorse, and anger. "The attack."
He didn't add on, didn't explain, didn't clarify which attack and who the attack was on. He didn't need to. Stiles immediately got it.
Stiles had no idea what to say to that, if there even was anything he could say to that. He'd been on the receiving end of fuck knew how many condolences, referring to both his mom and his brother, and most of the time the sentiment came across as disingenuous, something said solely because it was socially required to be said. The last thing he wanted was to appear false in his sincere apology.
Scratching at his forehead, he couldn't help but wonder how different things would've been had Paige lived. Would Derek have stayed with her after they both turned sixteen and it was clear they weren't Mates? Would they have stayed together after he began Dreaming of Stiles? Would he still have Mated Stuart if she was still in his life?
He dropped his hand, realizing it didn't matter. All the what ifs in the world couldn't change anything, wouldn't change anything. It was what it was and that was that. No use dwelling on it.
The door to the kitchen swung open, drawing his attention, Stiles watching as a petite Asian female appeared and came bounding over. Her black hair was in two braids, off-the-shoulder white shirt topped by a denim vest, black skirt flouncing around her thighs as she moved. Knee high white socks and black high top Converses completed the look, face make-up free, lips spread in a wide smile as she stopped at their booth, grinning down at Derek. Stiles stared up at her with a curious frown, trying to figure out why she looked so familiar, where he'd seen her before, coming up blank.
"Hey, Derek!" she greeted cheerfully before turning to Stiles, eyes going wide as she finally caught sight of him. Yup. Clearly knew Stu then. Her head snapped back to Derek, lips parted in surprise, struggling to form words.
"Kira, this is Stu's twin brother, Stiles," the alpha introduced, gesturing to his dining partner with an open palm.
Kira's head quickly flipped back to Stiles, uneasy smile forming on her face. "I'm so sorry. About your brother. He was a good guy. That's what they always say about someone who dies, isn't it? That they were a good person? But he really was and it's so awful what happened to him, he totally didn't deserve it, and I'm very sorry that he was taken from you. From both of you. It's really—"
"Kira!" Derek cut off her rambles, quirking an eyebrow in her direction.
The waitress jerked a little in surprise, wide eyes going to Derek again, before she let out an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry," she apologized, turning back to Stiles, sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry. How 'bout I just take your orders? The usual?" she asked, aiming the last question in Derek's direction.
"Yeah, thanks."
Stiles hid his smirk behind his hand, amused at how the other man had completely read over the menu despite having a "usual" order at the diner. Dork. "I'll have the cheeseburger, no tomato or pickles, with a side of fries and a coke with no ice," Stiles requested, putting the menu where he'd found it then turning back to find two surprised faces staring wide eyes at him. "What?"
"Nothing," Kira quickly answered, shaking her head a little too vehemently, uneasy smile on her face. "Just."
"That's Stu's order," Derek finished for her. "To a T."
Stiles' face fell, wolf whimpering in his head and chest feeling empty once again. He barely heard Kira as she muttered out that she'd be right back with their drinks before she slunk off into the kitchen, leaving the two men at the table alone.
"Stiles—"
"Stu loves pickles," Stiles cut off whatever Derek was about to say, the alpha clamping his mouth shut tight. "Loved pickles. Whatever. I just." He paused, rubbing his forehead as he closed his eyes, lips twisting in thought. "Why would he not get them? And why was he drinking his coffee different?"
"Maybe he was trying to be you," Derek theorized. "Maybe he thought he'd be safer that way."
"Maybe," he murmured, dropping his hand and staring at the door Kira had disappeared behind. "Where do I know her from by the way? She looks familiar."
Derek followed his line of sight, shrugging before turning back. "I think she's in one of the photos in the office."
Fucking bingo.
The omega smacked his hands together and pointed at the other man. "That's where. She's the one cuddling with that brunette chick."
A fond smile curved up the corner of Derek's lips, scent amused. "My cousin Malia," he explained before seesawing his head and leaning back, feet between Stiles' once more. "Although she feels more like another freaking sister. Her mom didn't want her and her dad, my uncle, he's not around much, more into traveling, so my mom raised her."
"That's pretty cool," the younger man commented with an impressed pout.
He shrugged and made a "meh" face, phone ringing in his pocket. "Meant I was outnumbered by females even more that I would've been," he quipped, sliding his phone out and answering it with a gruff "Hale".
"Cap? It's Isaac. We need you to come to HQ. Something's up with the computers."
The S-Dub's face grew tight at the sound of his subordinate's frantic voice, straightening up in his seat. "We'll be right there," he declared before hanging up and sliding out the booth, Stiles quick to follow. "I'll send someone to pick up our food," he called out, voice aimed at the kitchen, a female who definitely wasn't Kira or Hayden replying with an "okay".
Without another word, the two men left the diner and got in the SUV, starting it up immediately. All the while Stiles wondered if they'd ever catch a break of any sort during his visit.
He felt like an idiot for even thinking that while already knowing the answer.
From the urgency of Isaac's phone call, Stiles was expecting complete and utter chaos when they entered HQ.
Not so much.
They entered through the back door, making a right and heading to a different hall than the one Stiles had been through the day before. They passed a door marked "Captain D. Hale", one marked "Break Room", stepping inside one marked "Gate Communications".
The room itself was dark, the only real light source coming from a bank of monitors along the wall to the right, where ordinarily live feeds from security cameras would be playing. But instead, all that was displayed with a blue screen with "SYSTEM OFFLINE" written in orange font, matching the screens on three computer monitors lining the desk in front of them. Stiles had an errant thought that the screens were showing Mets colors before shaking it off and taking in the rest of the room.
Isaac sat on a swivel chair in the middle, staring at the center computer screen, typing frantically into a prompt box, only to repeatedly get beeped at in error. Parrish was standing to his left, hands on the desk as he leaned over, feeding him ideas of what to try, while Lydia paced back and forth behind them, fingers steepled in front of her face. Her eyes immediately came across Stiles and Derek when she turned and she huffed out a "thank god" before marching over, heels clicking on the linoleum floor, oversized and clearly borrowed Marines zip-up hoodie swishing with every step, parting to reveal a plain white tank and denim miniskirt underneath.
"What the hell happened?" Derek demanded to know as he stepped further into the room, focused more on the screens and his employees than the female heading straight for him with fire in her green eyes.
"I-I-I-I don't know," Isaac stammered, head shaking as he held his hands palm up in a helpless gesture. His scent was laced with pure anxiety, so strong it was making Stiles' wolf freak out, and he found himself subconsciously stepping closer to Derek for comfort.
"I was just sitting here bored out of my mind," Isaac continued, voice still shaky, "and the screen said 'two-thirteen, what's the password?' and when I didn't type in the right thing, the monitors all went blank."
"Shit," Derek breathed out, striding over to his employee then leaning down and tapping on the keyboard. After several more error prompts, he straightened back up, muttering out more swears as he smeared a hand over his face. He peeked down at Isaac before turning to Parrish who had risen to his full height when his boss had. "Go get Whittemore. Surprised he isn't here already to be honest."
Parrish nodded once before marching out to fulfill his orders, exchanging a worried glance with Lydia on his way. Stiles watched him leave, wondering what the hell Jackson could do. Guy wasn't exactly computer knowledgeable. He had to have Danny set up his damn iTunes account.
"Stiles," Derek barked, causing the mentioned male to snap his head to him. "C'mere and take care of this."
The omega's eyes went wide and his brows shot up to his hairline as he pointed to himself, head slightly tipping forward. "Me? What the hell am I gonna do?"
"Your twin set this up," Derek reminded, pointing at him with an accusatory finger that matched his tone. "You can figure out his damn password."
It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that he couldn't even get the password to his bro's personal computer so how the fuck was he supposed to get one for his work, but he shut his mouth with an audible click before uttering a word. No one was supposed to know about his late night snooping session, so admitting that was clearly a really fucking stupid idea. He puffed up his cheeks and blew out the air, tugging at his hair as he scuffed his way to the computers, knowing he didn't have much of a choice.
Derek gently rolled Isaac to the side as Stiles plopped down on a spare chair and moved in front of the screen. He flexed his fingers over the keyboard, staring at the screen and trying to figure out his brother's way of thinking, what password he would use for work.
But all he could think about was those Mets colors.
"What if he's thinking and behaving like you instead?," Lydia's voice rang in his head, a flashback to only two days before, when they realized Stu had fled to Oak Creek.
"Maybe he was trying to be you," Derek from only a few minutes before added on.
Wait.
He glanced up at the wall of screens, the royal blue backgrounds, the warm orange words. His twin had once gone on Stiles' locked laptop, commandeering it when he'd worn his own out and it'd finally given up on him, snarling at him that he needed to have less obvious passwords than his Mets themed ones.
Moving his hand so his fingers were over the number pad to the side, he typed without taking his eyes off the screen, watching the digits appear in the prompt box.
"37-14-41-42"
He hit "enter", the computer binging with the accepted password.
Sneaky asshole.
"Am I the only one wondering what the hell those numbers mean?" Lydia snarked from over Stiles' left shoulder, gesturing to the screen with her left hand in a move so full of attitude and annoyance it was practically a middle finger.
"The retired jersey numbers of the New York Mets," Derek answered from above his other shoulder, sounding impressed as hell. "Casey Stengel, Gil Hodges, Tom Seaver, Jackie Robinson."
Stiles might've fallen in love at that moment.
A commotion broke out behind him, Isaac bursting out of his seat and flying over to whoever had just entered the room, Lydia turning to join him. But Stiles paid it no attention. He was too busy staring up at Derek in awe, wondering why the guy had to be so fucking perfect and so fucking not Stiles'. 'Cause it wasn't torturous enough that he was attractive as hell and liked Star Wars, no, he also had to know facts about the Mets.
If he confessed to preferring Avengers over Justice League then Stiles was presenting right then and there, audience be damned.
Derek didn't return the affectionate stare—because it was affectionate and definitely not creepy—eyes still locked on the computer screen in front of the omega, frown forming before he nodded at it. "What the hell is that?"
It took Stiles a moment, mind still hung up on how arousing it was to hear a guy talk Mets and whether he could get away with laying a big sloppy kiss on him—most likely not, which was disappointing as fuck—but he finally turned to the screen, heart stopping in his chest at the new message being displayed, this time green letters on a black background.
"Nodat shioat nodose hasave slengla pewah"
His jaw dropped at the sight of his and Stu's language, this time put on display. He'd known Stiles would show up, had known the computer would mess up. Hell, he'd probably created some code in the computer system so that everyday at 2:13, a password had to be entered, one only he and Stiles would know or figure out.
Stu had been one step ahead of them, all of them.
Fucking genius asshole.
"Stiles?" Derek prompted, peering down at him with an inquisitive frown. "Any clue what that says?"
Shaking his head rapidly, he licked his lips and cleared his throat, hoping his erratic heartbeat would be chalked up to the worry over the failing system and the pressure of having to fix it. "None," he lied, voice rough, reading the words over again and automatically translating them in his head.
"This ship doesn't have lens flares."
He hit the "K" then "enter", sighing in relief and slumping back in the chair when the message went away and the camera feeds reappeared on the TV screens. He glanced at all of them, seeing the inside and outside of each gate, the gate by Hale Road, the downtown area, random places along each wall with cameras that panned back and forth, covering every inch of them. He wondered how Stu made it to the middle ring, how someone had managed to follow him yet no one had seen it on the screen, no one had gone out there to help him. Surely they'd at least reviewed the tapes by now, had some idea of who it had been that had tracked his brother down and killed him.
"I know what you're thinking," Derek stating, leaning down with one hand braced in the desk, the other on the back of Stiles' chair, speaking lowly and directly into omega's ear. "And we've already got Whittemore reviewing every tape from every camera along the inner wall. If that bastard's there, we'll find him."
His heartbeat was steady, no blips, meaning he was telling the truth, a fact that comforted Stiles. The younger man nodded, lips pressed into a hard line as his leg bounced beneath the desk.
"What the hell is going on in here?"
Stiles jerked around in his seat with a flail, Derek turning with far more grace than he could ever dream of having. Following the sound of the female voice, he found Laura standing by the door, arms crossed and hip cocked out, brows raised in expectation. Her scent was a mixture of annoyed and puzzled, alpha power rolling off her so strongly it made Stiles want to bare his neck to her. Her outfit of a black blouse, dark blue skinny jeans, and black knee-high stiletto boots was a combination of casual, professional, and ass-kicking and it was no wonder everyone in the room was having a hard time maintaining eye contact with her.
Derek gave her a confused scowl as he stared right back at her, his own arms folding over his chest and putting impressive biceps on display. "What the hell are you doing here?"
She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm in charge of the investigation of Stuart's death."
Surprise was a thick scent coming from Stiles' left, Derek's brows meeting his hairline. But no one else was shocked by the announcement, something that had the omega glancing around the room. Parrish and Lydia were only a couple feet away from her, Parrish with his hands on his belt buckle, Lydia with her own hip cocked out and her head tilted, analyzing the female before her. Isaac and Jackson were off in a corner, the former with his head buried in the latter's chest, Jackson rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words to him.
Which...
Huh.
Deciding that was something to snoop about later, he returned his attention to the two siblings currently squaring off, Derek yelling in disbelief over Laura declaring herself in charge when she wasn't even an S-Dub.
"As Acting Alpha, I'm—"
"Oh, Acting Alpha my ass," Derek cut her off snarkily, baring his teeth. "You made Acting Alpha by five minutes. Five minutes." He held up that number of fingers for emphasis before refolding his arms. "It could've just as easily been me."
Stiles glanced over at Lydia, who gave him a curious look right back. Okay, so he wasn't the only one who hadn't been aware that Derek and Laura were apparently twins. Good to know.
"Well, it wasn't you," Laura snipped at him, nose in the air. "So as Acting Alpha, I'm in charge of the investigation given the fact that the captain of the Security Wolves is too emotionally invested and too close to the victim."
Derek snorted, head bobbing with the noise, eyes rolling so hard it had to have hurt. "And you're seriously gonna stand there telling me you're not emotionally invested or too close?"
Laura shrugged a shoulder, blouse rustling with the motion. "Sure I am," she admitted nonchalantly. "But I have the ability to remain professional, level-headed, and objective. Can you honestly stand there and tell me you don't want to physically rip apart whoever did this?"
A muscle in Derek's jaw ticked from how hard he was clenching it, eyes narrowed to near slits from the strength of his glare. The agitation flooding his scent caused Stiles to have to step back, fighting not to bare his neck. Because it wasn't him that Derek was pissed at; it was Laura, it was the fact that she was right, it was the loss of position and power.
A huff was his only answer, head turning away, unable to stand looking at his sister—his twin, Stiles mentally corrected.
Laura let out a sigh, rubbing at her forehead as she shook it. "Look, I don't wanna fight or piss you off. I just." She stopped, glancing about the room, focusing mainly on Stiles and Lydia. "I don't think we should be discussing S-Dub business in front of civilians."
Both Stiles and Derek opened their mouths to argue and both were preempted by Lydia.
Typical really.
"Yeah, no, I'm the daughter of a County Alpha. I'm not a civilian." She pursed her lips in a haughty fashion, shaking her head.
Laura looked her up and down before a saccharine smile formed on her face. "Your mom is Alpha of a county that isn't this one. You aren't an S-Dub, you aren't a Hale, and you're an alpha in dynamic only, therefore you're a civilian and not privy to this conversation."
Lydia glared at the other female, lips pursing further then opening to argue further, only to get cut off herself.
Shockingly by Stiles.
"Lyds. Just let it go," he pleaded, the heaviness of the day starting to hit him and putting him in no mood to deal with any arguments, regardless of whether or not he's part of it.
A soft sigh left her before she huffed out a "fine", lips still pursed in annoyance, heated green eyes telling him that if it weren't for his recent loss, she wouldn't be going along with what he was suggesting.
Also typical.
Derek smeared a hand over his face, the fight seeming to be gone from him, too. With an air of authority, he turned his focus away from his sister and towards one if his subordinates. "Parrish, take Stiles and Lydia to my office, then head down to the diner to get our order."
A frown formed on the face as he turned to his boss, arms dropping to his sides. "Sir? With all due respect, shouldn't Whittemore be the one to do the grunt work?"
"Whittemore's otherwise occupied."
Stiles peeked over at the alpha they were discussing, noting how he was still cuddled up with Isaac in the corner, more gentle than Stiles had ever seen him. Fucking weird. He was used to Jackson shoving him into lockers, whacking him with the door of his Porsche, calling him every obscene insult in the book, all because Stiles was an omega. Now he was curled around one, comforting him, careful and considerate.
Made him wonder what the fuck exactly had happened to Jackson over the past four years to change him so drastically.
Parrish huffed through his nose but nodded, giving a gentle smile to Lydia before glancing at Stiles and nodding his head towards the door. Their attention captured, he led them out, Laura glaring at Lydia, face softening as she mouthed an apology to Stiles. He gave her a weak smile back, honestly glad to be out of that room and the tension that was filling the air to near choking levels.
Derek's office was pretty standard: white cement block walls, metal desk, file cabinets along the back wall, a couple chairs for visitors. An old couch was along the wall with the door, low coffee table in front covered in scuffs and scratches and not much else. A chalkboard had been wheeled to the side, timeline of Stu's last day written on it, photos of the crime scene taped around it.
Stiles gravitated right to it, only able to stomach quick glances of each pic before he had to look away. Stu naked, facedown in a creek. Close ups of the slash on his throat, where his Claiming Bite had been torn into by fangs, dried blood where it had dripped out his mouth.
"You really think that's a good idea?" Lydia asked in her usual rasp once the door had shut behind them and Parrish had disappeared to fulfill the second part of his orders.
"No," Stiles answered honestly, voice rough. Yet he didn't move, scanning the timeline, fighting the urge to correct where it said Stu had gone to bed with Derek that night, to put the exact time of his death.
He gave up when it was clear there was nothing new there, turning away to find Lydia seated on the couch, legs crossed primly, high heel dangling off her toes as she moved her leg up and down. With nothing else to do but wait, he stepped around the table and joined her, flopping down on the opposite end. He slouched in the corner, arm laying across the back, legs spread as far as his khakis would allow, fingers of his left hand rubbing at his closed eyes.
"Should I bother asking how your day's been, or should I just take your scent as a 'nuff said'?" she quipped, tone a mix of snark and concern that only she could pull off.
He snorted, dropping his hand to wave in dismissal. "Think it goes without saying."
A sympathetic smile formed on her face, putting dimples on display. Funny how the sight of them used to make his heart pound and stomach fill with butterflies, but now just brought him comfort and a different sort of joy.
He had an absent thought that underneath dark whiskers, Derek had dimples of his own.
Peering down, Lydia began picking invisible lint off her skirt, shrugging a delicate shoulder hidden by heavy gray cotton. "Alright," she agreed easily. Too easily, putting Stiles and his wolf both on edge. "Then how about we discuss how and why you smell so much like Derek?"
He'd had every right to have been on edge.
His eyes went wide, eyebrows shooting up and lips parting. Thank fuck she wasn't looking at him, couldn't see the surprised expression on his face. The comment was pretty much out of nowhere, not to mention worrying as hell. Was it that obvious that he and Derek had gotten pretty hot and heavy in the kitchen? Was it that obvious that they'd been all over each other and that there'd been some serious scent-mingling because of it?
No. No way. There were tons of reasons why he'd have the alpha's scent on him. He pretty much always had a hint of Scott on him, Lydia, too, and he'd never fooled around with either of them. Carrying a note of Derek wasn't necessarily indicative of anything illicit happening.
Recovering, he rolled his eyes at her, pretending like he hadn't just internally freaked out over being busted acting inappropriately with his technical brother-in-law. "I spent the night at the guy's house using his sheets and sleeping on his couch bed," he pointed out. "'Course I smell like him."
Lydia worked her jaw as she stared him down, eyes narrowed to show how very fucking unamused she was and how very fucking much she saw through him. "It's more than that and you know it. It's too thick to just be transference of a stale scent leftover on rarely used fabric." She quirked an eyebrow at him, lips twisting to the side, looking him up and down. "How 'bout you try that again? And this time, maybe tell the truth."
Yeah, that wasn't gonna happen.
His left leg began bouncing up and down, teeth chewing on a thumbnail. His anxiety began to build, wolf whimpering as the human part of him struggled to think up a plausible reason why he'd smell so strongly of Derek without having to fess up to what happened the night before. But other than the frotting in the kitchen, there'd been pretty much zero physical contact between the two of them.
Wait.
Wringing the back of his neck, he winced at the memory, throat closing and heart pounding. "I, uh. Had a panic attack. At the ME's," he confessed, voice rough.
Lydia's eyes went wide, head leaning closer, hand flying to his knee in comfort, the appendage covered by the too long sleeve of her borrowed hoodie. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"Yeah, I'm fine now," he honestly answered, weak smile playing on his lips. "Derek calmed me down, got me breathing. I just got overwhelmed by what the doc said, that was all."
She pressed her lips together, smearing her gloss, grimacing before parting them to speak. "Do you wanna ta—"
"He was raped," Stiles interrupted, barely giving her a chance to react to that bomb before dropping another. "After he was killed."
She physically recoiled, pulling her hand back to wrap herself up in the hoodie. "Oh god," she breathed, hand moving to her mouth. "That's disgusting. I might actually be physically sick."
Stiles shifted positions so he was bent over his knees, fingers tangling together as they dangled between his spread legs. "Yeah," he rasped, staring at the way his fingers trembled. "I don't think Derek did it though."
"Stiles," she sighed his name in exasperation, burying her face in both her hands, disbelief flooding her scent.
"I know," he muttered, sniffing, scratching his forehead with a finger. "But he seemed genuinely surprised by the news the ME told us and everything he says just goes against the impression I got from the alpha in that pseudo-vision or whatever."
She shook her head as she rubbed at her temples, both feet flat on the floor, elbows on her knees. "Ever think you're just blinded by the Mate thing?" she asked lowly. "That maybe it's you hoping he's innocent rather than actual having proof of it?"
"Constantly," he admitted, peering over his shoulder at her. "I'm not dumb or naïve enough to automatically trust him or believe he's innocent or anything, not without hard evidence. But everything is leaning towards him not being the guy."
Lydia's face scrunched up in annoyance, nostrils flaring. "He's staying at the top of the suspect list," she stated, pointing a finger at him, the effect diminished by the excess gray fabric covering her hand.
"He's second on the list," he bartered, fully capable of being just as stubborn as her.
She opened her mouth to argue, cut off by a knock on the door. She glared at Stiles, low growl coming from her throat, before telling whoever it was to enter in a falsely sweet voice.
Grateful for the distraction, Stiles turned his head to watch as the door open and Jackson slipped inside, shutting it behind himself. He sat up straighter on the couch, raising an eyebrow in question, curious as fuck as to what Jackson wanted with them.
Then again, Lydia was in the room.
But he didn't look at Lydia the way he used to back in high school. Gone was the adoration and awe of her beauty, gone was the sneers and stuck-up noses that had been way too frequent when they weren't together and constantly fighting. Lunches had been uncomfortable enough for Stiles, dragged over to the popular table by Scott, who was there with Allison, who was sitting by her best friend Lydia. Having to deal with the tension between two exes—two alpha exes—made him and his wolf completely uneasy and he'd spend most of the hour on edge, ready to bare his neck at a moment's notice, instincts keeping him on high alert.
But this wasn't high school, this wasn't the snide looks and snippy remarks of before. Lydia had blossomed away from Jackson, no longer held back by any need to impress him or make him feel like the superior one in their relationship by dumbing herself down, no longer caring about her image or popularity, no longer worried about her status in the school.
And Jackson appeared as though he'd grown, too. That air of pompous asshole that had clouded around him sophomore year was gone. He no longer walked around acting cocky or entitled, believing things should just be handed to him solely because he was Jackson fucking Whittemore. Yeah, the confidence was still there with his every step, but it was different, more genuine than his previous attitude seemed to be. It was the kind of self-assurance that came from growing up and figuring out who you really were and what place you had in the world, and Stiles realized in that moment that the cocky swagger Jackson had had in high school was a false sort of bravado, a defense mechanism, a coat of armor to cover the chip on his shoulder left by news of his being adopted and the need to prove himself to two sets of parents, as well as himself.
He wondered if that was what Lydia had seen in the other alpha when they first started dating. Because Stiles was having a really hard time trying to correlate the Lydia he knew now—smart, sweet, caring, selfless, put herself at risk of jail time for her friends Lydia—with the one in high school who only cared about how others saw her, the image of perfection she carefully molded with make-up, hair products, her credit cards, and a championship winning boyfriend who was just as pretty as her. Sophomore Year Lydia would freak if she saw herself now, best friends with lowly little Stiles Stilinski—whom she hadn't even really been aware had existed—wearing a hoodie that was three sizes too big, only a hint of eyeliner and gloss on her face, hair hanging loose and unstyled about her shoulders. Yet for all the missing superficial armor of her own, Lydia had never seemed happier and Stiles had a feeling Parrish was only a small part of the equation.
Talk about character growth.
Focusing back on Jackson, it seemed like he'd taken a similar positive story arc. He was less dickheaded, more caring and considerate given the way he cautiously moved closer, gesturing to the table as though to ask if it was okay that he sit on it.
Asking Stiles if it was okay.
That was definitely new.
The omega glanced at Lydia, getting a shrug and a look that said she wasn't sure what was up with that either. Okay, not helpful. Turning back to Jackson, he noted the blond's hesitation, the way he was pointing to the door as he leaned towards it.
"I can leave again if you want," he offered, shifting his focus between the twosome on the couch.
It was the gentle way he said it, the lack of ego or attitude that decided it for Stiles. He gestured to the table with his hand, telling him it was cool, he could sit, not a problem. Jackson gave him a small smile before sitting on the wooden piece of furniture, centering himself between the two friends on the settee.
"I just wanted to thank you for your help," the alpha told Stiles, completely genuine for the first time since... well, pretty much since Stiles met the guy. "If you hadn't gotten the system back online, Isaac would've spent the next year blaming himself and beating himself up about it."
Lydia tilted her head in curiosity, lips pursed in thought as she frowned at her ex. Stiles wore a similar look of confusion, resting his elbows on his knees once more.
"I thought Isaac said it just popped up automatically when it turned two-thirteen," he mused, wondering what exactly the truth was there. Knowing Stu, he was more inclined to believe a timer in the code than Isaac accidentally hitting something to cause the system to lock up the way it had.
"It did," Jackson quickly clarified, bending over his own knees. "Isaac, uh. He didn't have a good life growing up. His mom died giving birth to him and his dad blamed him for it and anything else bad that happened to them." His fingers curled into fists, blue eyes narrowing to angry slits, scent full of rage and something Stiles could only really describe as protectiveness. "Because of all that, Isaac tends to blame himself when shit goes wrong, even when it's not his fault. Took me months to convince him he's not a fuck-up, just like it took him months to convince me it's okay to have a male Mate."
"Well that's homophobic as fuck," Stiles blurted out, straightening up and sneering at the other man.
"That's not what I meant," Jackson insisted, hands held up in a placating manner, eyes wide and scent remorseful.
Stiles sat there stunned by it, unsure how to react or respond. For a decade, Jackson had picked on and bullied him, simply because he could, simply because he was an alpha and Stiles was a weak little omega. And not once did Jackson ever show a single hint of regret or apology, even when getting chastised by this teacher or that parent. Yet there he was, genuinely sorry that his words had been misinterpreted and taken as a slight against someone's sexuality, a sexuality that apparently he shared.
With a sigh, Jackson hung his head, hand running through his perfectly styled hair. "I spent my entire life being attracted to females, one in particular." He peeked up at that, giving Lydia a smirk as though sharing an inside joke.
She just shrugged a shoulder, wordlessly saying she didn't blame him for it, a small glimpse of old high school aged Lydia.
"So when I turned sixteen and starting having Dreams about a guy, I kinda freaked out."
Stiles thought back to sophomore year, to the cagey way the blond behaved, his erratic behavior, his more snappy than usual attitude. "That day you fell asleep in Econ then woke up freaking out," he realized, not needing to further explain.
Jackson nodded, sheepish grin on his face. "I had a Dream in class, yeah," he admitted with a grimace and the omega had to hold back a laugh at the thought of cool, calm, and collected Jackson fucking Whittemore having a sex dream in Coach Finstock's class. "I got really paranoid that people would know I'd Dreamed about a guy and that they'd judge me for it. I dunno." He sighed, smearing a hand down his face. "Looking back, it sounds really fucking dumb, but at the time it was fucking terrifying, having this huge sexuality crisis when I'd never ever thought of a guy in a sexual way like that."
Stiles nodded, thinking it sounded plausible. Not that he could relate really. Given their anatomy, male omegas tended to be bisexual, most ending up with male alphas—and on some occasions, male betas. Figuring out he was just as attracted to men as he was women hadn't been some sort of world shattering event the way it sounded like it had been for Jackson.
"Anyway, I had a hard time dealing with it and with trying to figure out who I was—again," Jackson went on, wringing the back of his neck before clasping his hands between his knees. "And I figured getting out of Beacon Hills would be a good idea. I moved to London, got my GED, then when I turned eighteen I moved here to Oak Creek. Couple months later, Stu moved here, too, and he helped me get this job."
Lydia nodded like the whole thing made perfect sense, but there was still one thing nagging at the back of his mind.
"Why was everyone so surprised that you knew us when you knew Stu?"
The grimace returned to Jackson's face and he turned away, swallowing as his scent turned remorseful once more. "Because no one knew we'd met before," he admitted lowly, fingers yanking together, head ducked as it faced forward again. "It was Stu's idea. He said he wanted a clean break from all things Beacon Hills and begged me not to tell anyone. He made it sound like it was life or death." Pausing, he turned his head to his right and the chalkboard, eyes flitting about as he looked at everything taped up. "Guess he was right."
That familiar ache returned to Stiles' chest and he swallowed hard at the reminder of his brother and his death. A soothing hand rubbed over his shoulder blades, Lydia comforting him, and he gave her a weak smile for it.
"I really am sorry, Stilinski," Jackson stated genuinely, subdued. "You gonna try and find the guy?"
"I'm working on it, yeah," he informed him, voice rough, thick, his own hand rubbing the back of his head and smoothing down his hair.
The alpha peered over at the door before scooting closer, ass barely on the edge of the table, knees against the couch holding him up. He leaned in more towards them, glancing back and forth between them both, before focusing on Stiles and speaking lowly. "The day of his death, I was in the comms room, that room with all the computers in it that guys were just in? I was watching the monitors as Stu fiddled with the system like he usually did. His phone rang about three or so and when he checked the ID, he went completely white, like he'd seen a ghost. His heartbeat was fast like he'd just run a marathon and he reeked of anxiety."
Stiles felt his stomach drop and his own heart go crazy, hands trembling where they dangled between his legs. "Who. Who was it?"
Jackson shrugged. "He said it was someone from back home and hit 'ignore' then dropped the subject completely." He took a deep breath, messing with his hair once more, then aimed a hand in Stiles' direction. "Look, I have no clue why Stu left or what the hell he was doing in Oak Creek, but I figured it must've been something bad in order for him to just—" He slashed a hand in front of himself for emphasis. "Totally cut himself off from everyone like that. I just thought he got into it with your old man and ran away, had to hide from the fucking sheriff. If I'd've known it was that serious," he pointed at the board, "I'd've told him to talk to Derek or Alpha Hale or someone about that phone call."
The corner of Stiles' lips turned up in a vague semblance of a smile. "Thanks, man," he stated, mentally noting how weird it was to thank Jackson without it being full of sarcasm. "You tell anyone else about that call?"
He shook his head. "Didn't get a chance to yesterday with the Big Guy at the crime scene then you guys showing up and now he's too pissed at me to want anything to do with me except bark orders. Laura's all right, but she's no investigator and Parrish is too self-righteous to listen to me after I lied. No offense," he aimed the last part at Lydia, who waved him off, then turned back to Stiles. "But I remember hearing about how you were always meddling in investigations and kept getting busted at crime scenes snooping about. I figured there'd be no fucking way in hell you're not tryna solve this mystery."
"Damn right," Stiles muttered then clapped Jackson on the arm. "Seriously. Thanks."
The blond shrugged as he straightened up. "'Least I could do after you helped my Mate like that," he replied before rising to his feet. "And I'll let you know the second I find something on those tapes. Big Guy's got me watching every second of 'em as part of my punishment for lying." He gave them a wave then headed to the door, pausing halfway when Lydia called his name.
"I'm happy for you," she told him sweetly, genuine smile on her face that Stiles didn't think he'd ever see aimed Jackson's way ever again. "Isaac seems to be really good for you."
The alpha's face lit up as he beamed at the mention of his Mate's name. "We're good for each other," he clarified, saying his goodbyes once again. Opening the door, he slightly reared back at the sight of Derek on the other side, hand reaching for the knob.
Stiles felt his lips curl up in a smile of their own and he pressed them together to hide it. Not that it mattered. The grin he could see out the corner of his eye spreading across Lydia's face meant she already saw it, or was detecting the way his scent lit up with happiness at seeing the alpha.
Dammit.
"Hey, Cap," he greeted with a nervous smile, slightly cowering beneath the weight of his boss' confused frown.
"What're you doing here?"
"Isaac's conked out on the break room couch so I thought I'd thank Stilinski for his help and see if they needed anything." He wrapped it up with a shrug of one shoulder, lying easily.
Derek slowly nodded once, seeming to believe him before stepping to the side and motioning into the hallway with his head. "Back to work."
"Yes, sir." With that, Jackson slipped out the room and scampered away to do his job.
Derek fully stepped into the room and Stiles took note of a plastic bag in his hand, what appeared to be two styrofoam containers inside. Their lunch from the diner, he concluded, although after seeing the crime scene photos and hearing what Jackson said about a mysterious caller that'd freaked Stu out, he wasn't entirely sure he was all that hungry anymore.
Lydia gracefully rose to her feet, excusing herself by saying she was off to find Parrish, giving Stiles a knowing, conspiring look before she disappeared. Derek stared after her with a cocked eyebrow only to dismiss it, closing his office door.
"Lunch," he declared unnecessarily, raising the bag in the air to show it off.
"'M not hungry," Stiles murmured, staring down at where his fingers were tangling and untangling between his knees.
The alpha breathed out a swear, smearing a hand down his face. "I forgot about the photos. Fuck, I'm sorry."
He shrugged it off, wringing the back of his neck. "Not the first time I've seen photos of a murder victim," he claimed with a fake smirk and a nonchalance he didn't feel, peeking up to see the puzzled look on the older man's face. "Sheriff dad and a bad habit of sticking my snout where it doesn't belong."
Bottom lip sticking out, Derek bobbed his eyebrows and his head in a conceding manner, wiping the expression away as he turned to the board. "Wanna get outta here?" he questioned, sounding as though he really wanted to yet didn't wanna influence Stiles' decision. "With Laura in charge, I don't really have anything to do around here and I'm sure you'd get bored just hanging about."
Stiles wanted to correct him on that, wanted to bring the sheriff dad and snooping habit back up, only to realize that was a terrible, stupid idea. Because then Derek would start wondering where else Stiles was rifling around and would keep a closer eye on him, meaning the omega couldn't give in to the aforementioned snooping habit. Not very helpful when conducting a secretive investigation.
But hanging around HQ also sounded like a terrible idea, too many people around to overhear or walk in on him looking through something he wasn't suppose to. Plus he was dying to figure out his brother's weird lens flare message, to try the new password he'd figured out on his laptop, to add new info to his own notes to see if they helped at all.
Peering up at the chalkboard, he tried to memorize as much of it as he could, nodding as he breathed out a "yeah". Decision made, he rose to his feet, prying his eyes away and focusing on Derek. His face was pulled in a frown, but his scent was practically nonexistent, not allowing Stiles to get a read on his emotions. Without a word, the alpha led him to the door and out it, the twosome silently leaving the S-Dubs' HQ.