It wasn't what Stiles wanted to wake up to the morning after his first real sexual experience. But it was Stiles and it was his life, so of course it was happening.

He woke up on his stomach, still naked, sheet and comforter both pulled up to his shoulders. Because the other side of the bed was empty and cold and so very Derek-free and what the fuck?

Blearily he opened his eyes, head turned in the direction of the bathroom, soon finding the alpha in question fully dressed and standing by his open closet as he grabbed a set of handcuffs out a safe.

"Don't suppose you're getting those for round two?" he quipped, voice rough from sleep and other activities, joking to cover up the hurt he was feeling over being walked out on after fooling around with his Mate.

Talk about an ego blow.

Derek peered over at him with a cocked eyebrow, wordlessly asking if he was serious, before turning back to the safe, cuffs now tucked into their designated holster at the back of his left hip.

With a sigh, Stiles flopped over onto his back, freeing his arms from the covers as he took in the other male. It was totally unfair that Derek still looked completely perfect and put together after what had happened. Okay, yeah, so they'd both showered after, the alpha paranoid that they'd smell too much like one another to the point where their lie wouldn't work anymore. But still. His hair was perfectly coiffed, whiskers trimmed, uniform neat—not quite perfectly pressed, but neat nonetheless. It was like nothing had gone on between them.

Probably what he wanted really.

A frown formed on Stiles' face as he watched Derek withdraw his gun from the safe, checking the magazine, racking the slide to check the extra round already in the chamber. He was fully dressed, almost ready for work. He'd covered Stiles up with both the sheet and comforter knowing that as an omega, he was most likely gonna get cold without an alpha around to keep him warm. He'd already eaten breakfast, judging by the scents of coffee, bacon, and eggs Stiles caught in the air. He was fucking bailing.

"Ya know," he began, peering down at himself as he played with the edge of the very fluffy and warm comforter—another reason to be jealous of his twin's life because damn was that the nicest duvet he'd ever felt. "When someone's sneaking out after a regretted one night stand, it's usually not out of their own home."

"I gotta go to work for a few hours," the alpha responded flatly, sliding the gun into its own holster on his belt by his right hip before grabbing a second, smaller pistol and giving it the same check. "Figured you'd appreciate the sleep."

Stiles' frown deepened, this time in confusion, and he sat up in bed, the covers falling onto his lap, watching as Derek slipped the smaller firearm into a holster around his left ankle. "Work? Thought Laura was handling the case?"

"She is." The safe was closed, beeping as the locks engaged, before he slid the louver door into place. "But I need to be there when this guy shows to try and remove that 'two-thirteen' code from the system and I need to make arrangements for the pyre later tonight."

The omega swallowed hard as he slumped back against the wall, fingers clutching onto the covers. He'd completely forgotten, had totally lost track of the moon and its cycle. Thank fuck it wasn't a full one and he hadn't shifted on accident. But still, it wasn't good to lose track of where they were in the cycle, what was going on with the moon and how it correlated to the wolf.

Because that meant he was caught completely off-guard with the realization that it was the night of the New Moon, and therefore the night funeral pyres were held.

He stared blankly at the mounds of covers he was pretty sure were his toes, heart sinking and wolf whimpering. Was it really so soon? Was he really gonna have to say goodbye to his brother that night? Was he really gonna have to watch him turn to ash as they all paid tribute to his memory? Fuck, he wasn't ready, wasn't prepared, wasn't...

"Stiles?"

He jerked his head up, noting the concerned look on the alpha's face as he slowly stepped closer. It was only then that he became aware that his breathing had become heavier, that he was shaking all over, that his heart was pounding, that his knuckles were the same color as the comforter he was clutching. He took a few controlled, measured breaths, calmed himself down, relaxed his body. It was okay, he was okay. Wasn't like he hadn't gone to a funeral pyre before, wasn't like he hadn't watched a family member burn before.

But that hadn't been his twin.

Derek sank down on the bed beside him, not touching, but close enough so that Stiles could feel his body heat and inhale his scent with every breath. It went a long way to calm him further, and he managed a shaky smile to try and ease the concern still etched into hard lines on the alpha's face.

The older man didn't seem to believe him, scratching at his whiskered jaw as his lips twisted in thought. "You could come to work with me if you wanted," he offered, gesturing with his hand at nothing in particular. "You might be kinda bored though. But Lydia might be there with Parrish. Rumor has it they've been inseparable since you guys came to town." He put on a small grin of his own, breathing out a laugh through his nose, trying to lighten things up.

Stiles furrowed his brow as he thought about it. Going with Derek would give him a shot at rooting around his office for clues, maybe even checking out that timeline board again, possibly even follow Jackson's lead about the mysterious phone call. But then he remembered how he'd had that same idea the day before, only to squash it when he realized there were too many people and ears around and that he'd be busted within moments. Hardly worth it.

Wringing the back of his neck, he remembered what else had happened at the S-Dub HQ, Stu's coded message leading him to those flashdrives he never got a chance to check out. It was the perfect opportunity to do just that, no risk of Derek popping in or overhearing a potential video or audio file. It was also a good time to snoop around the master bedroom—not that he honestly thought he'd find anything, given the little amount of personal items in it—since his scent was already in it now.

Dropping his hand onto his lap, he shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. Think I'm just gonna stay here and wash those sheets like I owe ya," he stated with a wince, not really lying. He was gonna do the laundry. Just, that wasn't all he was gonna do.

Derek nodded, head ducked, chewing on his bottom lip. Worry was the dominant emotion in his scent and it made Stiles' wolf ill at ease, the human part of him shuffling in his seat. "How, uh," the alpha began then paused, lifting his head to stare straight ahead at the armchair tucked in the corner. "Are you leaving town after the funeral?" he rasped, wincing slightly.

Stiles' brows raised at the question and he scratched at his forehead with a finger. "I honestly don't know," he admitted, shrugging, noting how Derek seemed to relax and the worry left his scent at that. "There was never any real plan when we decided to come here, other than 'find Stu'. I wanna at least stay until the killer is found. If that's okay." He added the last part in a hurry, shaking his hands in front of his body, not wanting to overstay his welcome or seem like he was taking advantage of anyone's hospitality.

The older man turned his head to him, small smile on his face. The worry was almost nonexistent at that point, but a small note of melancholy was still there. Not that Stiles could really blame him. He carried the same thing around when he thought of Derek, of how their time together had a limit neither of them was fully aware of.

Sometimes it was better to just ignore it and pretend it didn't exist, go about your business like nothing was wrong.

Ignore the problem until it goes away.

Or until he pops up outta nowhere and fucking blindsides you as things suddenly ended without warning.

Right. Ignoring seemed way better at that point.

Rising to his feet, Derek adjusted his belt around his waist and peered down at the other man. "I should be back by mid-afternoon. My cell and work numbers are on the fridge if you need 'em. And don't forget that anything in the house is yours."

Stiles nodded, giving him a small smile, secretly ready to take him up on that offer and use the MacBook in the office that was technically Stu's.

Leaning down, Derek kissed him chastely on the forehead before leaving the room. Boots slipped on by the door and keys grabbed from their spot, he left the house, doors automatically locking behind him.

Stiles waited until he couldn't hear the Toyota anymore before shoving the comforter back and getting out of bed. His first thought was clothes, since he was very much without any and the boxers he'd had on the night before were pretty much ruined. Trekking across the house was an idea, one he wasn't entirely sure he was cool with. But there were no neighbors and Derek would've warned him if anyone was stopping by. Plus he could hear if someone was close...

With a shrug and a mental "fuck it", he braved the cold air of the house and lightly jogged his way to the office-slash-guest room to get some clean clothes.

Soon dressed in a pair of jeans, faded Han Shot First tee, and red flannel, he made his way across the house to the laundry room, flipping on the light as he entered. A bundle of white sheets had been thrown on top of the light blue Star Wars ones he'd borrowed, obviously having been done on purpose. He quirked an eyebrow at that before shrugging it off, figuring it was an alpha thing, either remarking his territory on those sheets, or trying to cover up the smell of unclaimed omega.

Or a third option, he'd been trying to blend their scents together without being obvious.

A small grin formed on his face and he set to work, noting the fancy high efficiency washer and dryer set and letting out an impressed whistle. His machines back home weren't even the same brand. Or even name brand.

They were—thankfully—fairly easy to figure out and he soon had all the sheets going through a cycle, figuring he was safe given how old and faded the Star Wars ones were. With nothing more to do at that moment, he headed into the kitchen in search of breakfast.

Coffee was made first and he checked out the calendar page on the front of the fridge as it brewed. Derek and Stu were pretty much always scheduled to work together and worked a typical nine to five day, meaning Stu was always there when that code was cued to go off. He'd put it in as a fail safe, Stiles figured, something that would occur should anything bad happen to him, insurance in a way.

Good thing they never really got sick.

Although really they were both at risk for inheriting their mother's illness. Then again that fail safe might come in handy for that. Stu comes down with dementia, his thoughts are jumbled, can't tell reality from hallucinations. If he has proof of something—which he clearly must, hence the two flashdrives—he'd want it kept safe, he'd want it on record so no one thought it was a delusion.

Stiles rubbed the middle of his chest as he thought of his mom, her adamant belief that someone was after her. She'd even accused Stu of being in league with them and had gone to attack him, one of her worser episodes. Stiles didn't think his brother remembered it, it'd been that awful. He didn't think he'd ever forget.

He shoved all that aside, finishing making his coffee, focusing on the most important meal of the day. He sipped on the hot and yummy as he looked through the cabinets, stopping dead when he found a particular box in one clearly designated for snacks.

Toaster Pastries.

Not name brand Pop Tarts. But Toaster Pastries.

Okay, he wasn't dumb. He knew they were just as likely to be Stu's as they were Derek's and there was every possibility that a small, closed off town like Oak Creek would only have generic brand items in their store.

But still.

He shoved all that aside, flat out refused to see the parallels, focusing instead on grabbing a pack of chocolate fudge and settling at the island counter to eat. After breakfast, he started up the dishwasher, ignoring how incredibly fucking domestic it all seemed with the omega doing the housework and the alpha off to make a paycheck, then made himself another coffee before finally heading back into the office-slash-guest room.

After digging the flashdrives out of his duffel, he set up shop at his brother's desk. The MacBook came to life almost immediately, once again prompting him for a password, and on a whim, he typed in the same code from the S-Dubs' system.

"37-14-41-42"

Taking a deep breath, he hit enter and hoped for the best.

"Welcome, Stuart."

Oh fuck yes.

The main desktop loaded on the screen, the background a photo of the Enterprise's bridge from the reboot movies, all bright white and shiny chrome, no lens flare to be found—thank god. He ignored the plethora of icons and the connecting wifi, finding a USB port and sliding the first flashdrive into place. Using the finger pad, he clicked to open it, finding only one file, a video labeled "For MS".

Because of fucking course Stu would use his birth initials. He always did, claiming he had dibs on "SS", since neither of them had a middle name to differentiate which SS was which.

Muttering a few obscenities his twin's direction, he clicked to open it, watching as the media player took over the screen, his breath catching in his throat at the still image. Stu was sitting right where Stiles was, dressed in a yellow "Star Fleet Academy" tee and black cardigan, matching beanie on his head, a tuft of brown hair sticking out the front of it. His usual thick rim glasses were on but did nothing to hide the heavy bags under his chocolate eyes or the fact that his skin looked more pale and sallow than it had been two years ago.

Stiles felt a lump form in his throat, a trembling hand moving to click the play button and bring the still image to life. On screen, Stu took a deep breath and sighed it out harshly, clearing his throat as he shuffled in his seat. Two years. It'd been two years since he'd seen his brother, seen him alive and moving and talking and breathing. Yet there he was, doing all those things in video form.

Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, he covered his mouth, watching almost in disbelief as Stu looked right at the camera, a sad sort of smile pulling up the corners of his lips.

"Hey, bro."

His eyes closed at that, fighting back tears. It'd been so long since he'd actually heard his twin's voice. Despite everyone's insistences that they sounded exactly alike, to Stiles, it just wasn't the same.

Worst part of it all was how no one seemed to understand that.

Reopening his eyes, he watched as Stu's smile turned sardonic and he cocked an eyebrow at the camera.

"And yes, I know it's you that's watching this. After the clues I left—or am planning to leave as of this moment—only you'd be able to figure them out. And since you found this, it means that I'm dead, otherwise I'd be telling you all this shit face-to-face."

Stiles swallowed hard, absolutely hating the fact that his brother had been so resigned over the ending of his life, had been so convinced that it was an inevitable thing that he'd thought ahead and left a video message and a trail of clues. It was no way to live and the anger he felt at the alpha who'd been stalking Stu doubled.

"I owe you an apology for." He paused, seesawed his head as though considering something before wincing. "For a lotta shit really. I just. I lied to you. I mean, I lied to a lotta folks around here, practically the entire town, but you most importantly." He sighed as he glanced around the room, bending over to rest his elbows on his knees, fingers tangling together below the shot judging by the play of muscles beneath a cardigan that seemed to fit a little tighter.

"The day after our sixteenth," he went on, voice rough. "I lied to you and I said that I didn't have a Dream."

"Dick," Stiles found himself muttering before refocusing on his brother's words.

"I guess a small part of it was a pride thing, ya know? Not wanting to admit I was wrong and you were right, but." He turned to the side, jaw clenching as his leg shook under the shot. Tension had taken over his entire frame and Stiles watched as Stu swallowed hard, as a shaky hand reached up and began wringing the back of his neck. When he turned back, it was with a brow pulled in worry and lips pressed tightly together in fear. "You know how they say you can tell what a person is like in those Dreams? How you can get a feel for their persona, their aura, their soul? I felt it and. And it wasn't anything good."

He ducked his head and shook it, body still trembling, and Stiles wanted nothing more than to climb through the screen and wrap his brother up in a tight embrace, to comfort him as he held him close, to protect him against this asshole who'd been terrorizing him during what was supposed to be peaceful rest.

But he couldn't. All he could do was trace his twin's arm with his finger on the screen.

"This alpha," Stu picked up where he left off, voice thick, shaky. "He was brutal, violent, controlling. It freaked me out, ya know?" He lifted his head, giving Stiles a good look at the terror on his pale face, his wolf whimpering inside his head. "Our entire lives we've been told that our Dreams are these erotic things, full of passion and love. But this? This was a, a, a claiming. It wasn't passionate or loving at all; it was possessive and aggressive and. And I got scared. But I didn't wanna ruin your good mood or anything so—" He ended with a shrug.

Stiles snorted, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms over his torso. "Kinda did anyway, bro," he muttered, momentarily forgetting his twin wasn't around to hear it.

On the screen, Stu huffed out a laugh of his own, head rocking with the action, sheepish grin forming on his face. "Guess I kinda did anyway, huh? Sorry 'bout that."

Stiles cocked an eyebrow but said nothing, watching as Stu straightened up and cleared his throat, ridding it of the rasp that had been building in his voice.

"Guess what I really mean is that I didn't wanna bring down your good mood any further than I already had or completely erase the joy you were feeling by dragging you into my bullshit drama or whatever, so I lied. I knew you wouldn't let it go if I didn't. Just seemed easier on both of us to claim I'd been Dream-less. Probably why I lied to Derek about that, too."

Both of Stiles' eyebrows shot up at that. He'd had no clue that Derek believed Stu was Dream-less, had no clue about their Mating at all really. Their relationship got more curious the more he looked at it and learned about it.

Stu shrugged again, lips turning up into a grin of sorts, hope lighting up his face and his voice as he went on. "But just because you have a Mate and you Dream about them, doesn't mean you end up together, right?"

Stiles snorted. His brother had no idea.

"So I thought I was safe, thought I'd be okay." His face fell and Stiles got the sinking feeling that he wasn't gonna like what came next. "But then I met the guy somewhere, somehow, I don't even know, and the Dreams became more violent, more brutal. I could hear him threatening me now, not just feel it, and he." Stu stopped, swallowed hard, eyes shining behind thick black frames as his shaky hand rubbed under his nose. "He was saying some pretty fucked up stuff about how I was gonna be his little bitch for him to dump his seed into and that my body was his to do whatever he wanted to, that I was nothing more than his property to fuck and fill and fuck more. And then he." He took a shaky breath before continuing, Stiles barely aware of his hands clenching into tight fists against his torso. "He started threatening you and Dad."

Shit.

Stiles' heart stopped and dropped, remembering Lydia's theory of Stu's Mate doing just that, only it was to force him into a Mating he didn't want. Although it sounded like that had been the alpha's intent and they'd placed the blame on the wrong guy. But still, it was never a good feeling when your worse case scenario turned out to be the truth.

"He said that if I didn't go to him and do exactly what I was told like a good little omega, he'd come after you guys. So I ran, thinking you'd be safe and not get caught in the crossfire or something and I came to Oak Creek thinking it would be the best place to hide out in. And then I met Derek."

A small smile formed on Stu's face, but it wasn't the soft wistful kind Stiles usually saw on someone discussing the person they loved. It was fond, yeah, but not overly affectionate, not a dreamy look of someone in love and completely happy with their lot in life.

Not that Stu would be completely happy, not when his True Mate was a violent possessive bastard threatening his family and causing him to run for his life, but there still should've been a little something more there when discussing Derek. A twinkle in the eye, a glow to the cheeks, a goofy dumbstruck expression like Scott got whenever anything Allison-related was brought up. But no. Stu looked like he was discussing a friend rather than a lover and someone he'd agreed to spend the rest of his life with.

Curious, Stiles folded his arms on the desk and leaned closer to the laptop as his brother continued.

"He was the first person I met in Oak Creek and he was nice, understanding. I explained that I was being stalked and threatened by an alpha I didn't know—which technically isn't a lie," he sidebarred, pointing a finger at the screen. "I don't know the guy's name or who he is or where he's from or anything. But anyway." He dropped his hand and sighed. "Derek got it and he didn't judge me or think I was crazy or anything like that. Just promised to protect me and keep me safe, offered to let me stay at his place since I didn't really have anywhere to go. The fake Mating was all my idea though."

That had Stiles' eyebrows raising again. Okay, so he knew the Mating wasn't due to them being Fated or True Mates or whatever, but he'd at least thought they'd been in love. What the actual fuck?

He scowled at the screen, pissed at Stu, pissed at Derek, pissed at everyone, even though they were the only two at fault.

Fuck everything though. Seriously.

He smeared a hand down his face as he focused on the screen, watching as his brother stared down at his tangling fingers below the shot, his voice meeker than it had been the entire time he'd been speaking.

"I thought that if another alpha had a Claim on me, then the one from my Dreams would back off and leave me alone. But the Dreams kept coming and wouldn't stop, just got more violent, the alpha pissed that I was letting someone else use his hole and mark his territory with their scent. But still, I thought I'd be okay, thought I'd be safe." He peered up at the camera, grimacing. "Guess I was wrong, otherwise you wouldn't be watching this."

Stiles grimaced at the reminder that the video he was currently watching wasn't real time, that his brother was dead and long gone. Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair once more, he placed his fingers on his lips, leg shaking up and down, tears pricking the back of his eyes. His wolf was whimpering in his head, a continuous low pitiful sound that only just added to the sorrow he was feeling. No one should be that certain, that affirmed that their death was coming soon—barring a terminal diagnosis from a doctor, of course. But Stu hadn't been told he was dying of a disease or had a mortal wound inflicted upon him. He just had a possessive asshole alpha as his True Mate, tormenting and stalking him.

On the screen, Stu sniffed then sat up straight again. Resolution hardened his features with a fierce sort of determination that was admirable and Stiles just knew that for all his twin's talk of being dead, he hadn't gone out willingly or without putting up a damn good fight.

"This is an insurance policy of sorts," he stated, rapping the knuckles of his left hand on the desk and scooting forward to the edge of his chair. "Someone needs to know what I know, someone needs to know what this guy is up to. Because it's more than just me belonging to him in some fucked up archaic cavewolf way. He's after something much bigger, I dunno what, but his plans go way beyond just Claiming and Mating me. He's." Stu stopped, inhaled shakily and blew it out slowly. His leg was shaking again as he scratched above his left eyebrow, eyes fixated at something off screen.

Stiles' own eyes looked in the same direction, only seeing the corner where two walls met, nothing special. Apparently Stu had just been trying to gather his thoughts, not point anything out. Damn.

Stu sighed again, drawing Stiles' attention back to the screen. "He's evil, Stiles," he declared, slight tremor in his raspy voice. "There's nothing good about him. At all. And I'm pretty sure I'm onto something huge, something terrible that he's planning and he knows. He knows I'm figuring it out and I'm in more trouble and more danger than ever. I can't tell Derek any of this 'cause he'll take it over in an official capacity and I just. I need to solve this myself. But since I clearly couldn't or didn't or whatever, I need you to pick up where I left off and find this guy, okay? Not for any sorta bullshit justice for me or anything, but to stop whatever it is he's planning on doing and even for yourself and Dad. Because he'll come after you next. He won't care that I'm dead, he's gonna keep trying and nothing's gonna stop him but his own death." His voice grew stronger as he went on, becoming more and more full of conviction and a sense of being absolutely right. It was the same heated passion Stiles had witnessed during countless debates Stu had with practically everyone he knew, debates with Stiles himself. It was intense and it filled him with the same righteous anger, the same drive and determination to figure out what the alpha was doing and take him down.

The steam seemed to have left Stu though and his head hung once more, both hands gripping the back of his neck. "Don't hate Derek, okay?" he asked softly, quietly, lifting his head just enough so Stiles could tell he was staring at his hands as they now dangled between his legs. "He really is a good alpha and a great guy. He's probably, no, definitely is my best friend here in Oak Creek and we both know what shit I am at making friends." The corner of his lips twisted up in a wry grin, Stiles' own lips mirroring it, before his face grew serious once more. "He's taken on a huge risk and a major life adjustment by Mating me. But he's good and kind and caring and I wake up every single day feeling so fucking guilty that I've stolen him from someone else."

Stiles swallowed hard and leaned back in his chair as Stu did the same on screen. The younger twin wrapped his arms around his torso, wondering how his brother would've reacted had he known who Derek's True Mate really was. Would he have stepped aside and let them be together? Or would he have begged Stiles to understand and play along with their charade?

Because that's what Derek and Stu's Mating was, a charade. It was blatantly obvious now and he honestly had no clue how no one seemed to really notice. Laura clearly smelled something fishy, judging by the suspicious look she had on her face in that photo. And Erica seemed to think something was up, but she never really looked at it too closely, wrote it off as Derek and Stu being weird. But no one else had really bothered to analyze or look at it closer. They just accepted it for what it was and believed when they were told it was love and possibly even True Mates.

There's no way Stu would've let that go for Stiles, no matter how guilty he felt.

"I know he has a True Mate," Stu continued on screen, twirling a small section of hair as it stuck out from the front of his beanie. "I know he has Dreams, but whenever I ask him about it, he tells me to let it go, that it doesn't matter and he doesn't care."

Ouch.

Fucking ouch.

Okay, yeah, Derek was saying all this shit before they'd even met, much less fooled around, but still. Fucking ouch.

He pressed his lips into a hard line, turning his head to the right to stare with watery eyes at the closed closet door. His leg shook up and down more than ever, arms wrapping tighter around his torso to hold himself together. His wolf whined louder in his head and he struggled to shut it out, almost missing what Stu said next.

"He told me he doesn't wanna meet the guy," his twin went on and Stiles sniffed loudly in the otherwise quiet house. "And that he has no plans of ever being with him or Mating him, and I believe him, but I still can't help but feel bad for this unknown guy I've unwittingly stolen Derek from. Just hope he understands and doesn't hate me."

Stiles swallowed hard as he shook his head vehemently. Yeah, he was jealous of his brother, yeah, he was upset with him because he'd taken Derek, had been with him and now Stiles couldn't be, not completely and not the way he wanted.

But he understood.

And he didn't hate Stuart for it.

"Anyway." Stu cleared his throat and Stiles sniffed, fighting back the tears as he returned his eyes and his attention to the screen. "Yeah, don't be mad at him for lying, alright? He's lying to a lotta people, including his own family, and it's all because I asked him to. And I hope you don't hate me for lying to you, too, and for running. It was an idiotic, wayward plan to try and keep you and Dad safe. Telling him wasn't an option, I didn't want the alpha going after him, not when all he'd done at that point was threaten me in those Dreams and that's not a crime." He let out a sardonic laugh as he shook his head, licking his lips before continuing, staring right into the camera. "I love you, bro. And I'm sorry, for everything. Tell Dad I love him, too, and try to make him understand, okay?" A sad smile pulled up one corner of his lips, left hand waving a goodbye. "Golateby." He reached forward and laid his hand on the camera, obscuring half the shot as the video stopped, frozen on that image.

Lifting a trembling hand, he laid his palm over his twin's, free hand covering his mouth, tear rolling down his cheek. "Goodbye, Stuey," he whispered with a raspy voice, unable to close out the video just yet, unable to let his brother go.

Several long minutes later, the washing machine buzzed and he used it as an excuse to get his emotions back in control. He gathered up his dirty clothes and left the room, the video still up and taking over the screen. After a quick pitstop to the master bedroom where he gathered his clothes from the floor and even grabbed the hamper from where he sniffed it out in the closet, he got to work in the laundry room, moving the sheets to the dryer, sorting out the clothes, putting on a load of darks. He cried when he caught Stu's scent on some of the items, when he recognized familiar logos on graphic tees, when he found an old Spider-Man shirt of his own that he'd been looking for.

When he'd finally pulled himself back together, he went back into the office, settling in once more. He gave the video still one last glance before exiting out of it and removing the flashdrive, immediately clicking the second one into place. His mind was in investigative mode, all emotions shoved aside and ignored. He needed to find out what his brother knew, what he'd been on to, what he wanted Stiles to finish for him.

The second flashdrive contained three folders marked "Mom", "Family Tree", and "Nemeton", all of which made his brows raise. He had no idea what the hell his brother had stumbled upon, what the hell any of it had to do with a stalker alpha.

Although staring blankly at file icons wasn't gonna fucking help.

Cupping his chin, elbow on the desk, he clicked to open each one individually, finding even more folders, countless files, mostly images, scans, things printscreened from web pages. A few were word docs, copy and pasted info with the sites they'd come from. All of it was very neat, very organized, very Stuart, but Stiles was having a hard time finding any correlation between any of it, much less understanding what it had to do with the alpha or Stu's death.

Shooting up to his feet, he went on the hunt for a printer, knowing there was really only one way he'd be able to keep all this crap straight.

Five-twenty found Stiles in the laundry room, slipping the last pair of pressed pants onto a hanger as the front door opened. He'd somehow managed to get all the laundry done, in between printing and sorting all the info Stu had left for him, putting it all away in the proper places. Except for the underwear because apparently his brother had joined Team Boxer-Briefs and he honestly had no idea what pairs belonged to who so he just left them all in a stack on the chair in the master bedroom.

Derek entered the room as he was hooking the hanger on the metal rod that sat just below a shelf, adding the pants to the other half dozen he'd washed, dried, and pressed, all of them grouped with Derek's work shirts—at least he was assuming they were Derek's, given the size. The alpha gave an impressed pout, inspecting the shirts with both his eyes and his hands.

"You starched these?" he questioned, fingers sliding along the crisp collar. "Stu could never get it right. He either didn't use enough and everything stayed wrinkled, or he'd use too much and it was like wearing paper all day."

Stiles chanced a look at him, hearing his wolf grumble in the back of his head. He'd been so caught up in what he'd been doing all day that he'd completely forgotten about what Stu had claimed Derek had told him about his True Mate, how he never wanted to meet, much less Mate, the guy. The earlier hurt came back, stabbing him in his hollow chest, as memories of that video, of what he'd learned, swirled in his head.

Turning away, he shrugged, stepping back from the clothing. "I do my dad's work shirts all the time," he murmured, folding his arms over his chest. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed the other man opening his mouth to say something, but he cut him off before he got the chance to utter a syllable. "Did you ever really love Stu?"

Derek's head snapped to him, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He'd clearly been caught off guard, small choked off noises escaping past his lips as he struggled to respond. After a moment, he shut his mouth with an audible click, sighing through his nose as he fully faced the younger man, folding his own arms over his black tactical shirt. "No," he admitted flatly. "Not in that way, more of as a friend."

A disbelieving snort left him and he shook his head dubiously. "How can you Mate a friend?" he questioned harshly, turning the full force of his scowl on the alpha. "How can you agree to spend the rest of your life with them, Bite them, exchange vows? How can you repeatedly sleep with them and knot them and mark them all while knowing it was a lie and that your True Mate was out there somewhere?"

Shame was the predominant emotion in his scent, along with an undercurrent of regret and Stiles had to fight off a smug smile, knowing he was fucking right and Derek was pretty much admitting it.

"Friends sleep with friends all the time," the alpha pointed out, weakly, knowing it wasn't much of an argument.

Another snort. "Yeah, in a no-strings sorta way."

"It was for Stu's protection, okay?" Derek admitted loudly, arm flying to the side to gesture at someone who wasn't there, wasn't ever gonna be there. "The marking, the knotting, the scenting, it was all to keep him safe."

Stiles swallowed hard, remembering why exactly it was that his brother had needed to be protected in the first place. "From the stalker alpha," he added on, using only the info Derek had given him.

The aggression seemed to be drained out of the older man as well, his arm dropping to his side. "Yeah," he said softly, brow furrowing in upset. "I know it was wrong to lie to everyone, but we did it for Stu and his protection. Helping each other out with—" He winced, seesawing his head in consideration. "Certain urges and our heats was just a bonus of sorts."

Well, that was a thought and an image he didn't need in his head.

Yet there it was, playing out for him, Derek knotting Stuart, Stuart begging Derek to fill him, the two of them locked together because Derek didn't have to hide his relationship with Stuart or pretend they weren't actually attracted to one another sexually.

Fuck, he might be sick.

Instead, Stiles focused on the anger he was feeling, at the lack of choice he'd been given, at the fact that Derek had done all this without ever taking his feelings or his wants into consideration. He'd just been written off as a non-factor.

And, okay, yeah, they hadn't met, Derek hadn't known who his True Mate was. At that point, Stiles was nothing more than a nameless, faceless stranger who popped up in a sex dream once a month or so—a bit more frequently when he was at school due to the closer proximity. But it was still fucked up and rude and very fucking self-centered.

Jaw working in anger, he glared more at the older man, fists clenching between his torso and folded arms. "Well, it's good thing you had Stu for all those heats, since you don't have a True Mate to help with that," he snarked before sarcastically smiling wide. "Oh wait! You actually did. You just didn't want to be with him." Point made, he went back to glaring, leg shaking in aggravation.

Derek's brow pulled together and his lip curled up on one side in confusion, head rapidly shaking as though to clear it. "Whoa, what? What are you talking about?" he questioned, sounding genuinely perplexed.

"I know you told Stu that you didn't even wanna meet me, much less be my Mate," he clarified, anger still coloring his tone and scent. "Sorry for being such an inconvenience and throwing a kink into your plan, but don't worry. I'll leave tomorrow and you won't have to worry about me or being Mated to anyone." Throwing a hand in the other man's direction in dismissal, he stepped forward, readying himself to leave the room, only to have Derek move right in his way and stop him.

"I'll admit it, okay, that yes, in the beginning when I first started having those Dreams, I didn't wanna meet my Mate," Derek stated, putting his hands up when Stiles huffed and tried to step around him. "But it's not because I didn't care about you or whoever my Mate might've been. I just knew you'd be better off without me."

The younger man let out another disbelieving laugh, head shaking as his arms crossed once more. "So, what? I don't get a choice or a say in anything? I'm just supposed to be the good little omega and go along with whatever the alpha planned, with zero regard to my own personal opinion or wants? That's pretty fucked up, Der."

"I know, okay? I know. And I'm sorry," he replied lowly, genuinely, eyes pleading with Stiles for...something Stiles couldn't quite figure out.

If he even wanted to figure it out. Which he wasn't entirely sure he did.

"I just," Stiles started then paused, turning his head to glance around the room for a long moment before finally looking back at the alpha. "I don't get how you can agree to Mate Stuart if you knew your True Mate was out there and that you'd never be truly happy."

Derek's features flattened into an expressionless mask and he shrugged his shoulders as he shook his head. "Because I don't deserve happiness," he said plainly, continuing on before Stiles got a chance to question him or argue or even have a thought beyond "what in the actual fuck?!" "When Stuart explained his situation with the stalker alpha and suggested his plan for us to get Mated in order to throw the alpha off, I figured it'd be all right. Stu was close enough in body type to match my True Mate and I thought maybe I could fool my wolf into being satisfied with what we had. And while what we'd had wasn't one-hundred percent perfect, it was still good and we were happy." He seesawed his head, wincing slightly before adding on. "When we weren't having Dreams and being reminded of the truth about our situation anyway."

Tears welled in Stiles' eyes but he refused to let them fall, refused to be that weak ass little omega bawling like a baby over an alpha. It wasn't who he was, who he had been, and wasn't who he was going to be. Biting his lower lip, he ducked his head and shook it, arms moving so they were holding him together rather than displaying any sort of anger or intimidation. "S'not fair," he murmured. "I never got a say. I'd been waiting for years to find you and you just didn't want me." He sniffed, catching the scent of remorse and upset and apology and regret.

"I know," Derek whispered thickly. "And I'm sorry. It's easy to have this plan of never meeting your True Mate when that person is just a broad concept, a faceless nobody who you Dream about every now and then. It's way different and much more difficult when they're real and alive and standing in front of you with their heart breaking and it's all your fault."

He closed his eyes tightly, refusing to admit his heart was breaking. But it was. He could feel it fracturing in his hollow chest, feel the sting of rejection piercing him all over, pricking at his skin and chilling him to the bone. It wasn't until then that he realized he'd never even had his heart broken like that. Sure, he'd felt the cold burn of unrequited feelings and had learned why they were called "crushes"—mainly all thanks to Lydia—but it was never on the level that it was at that moment, that soul deep wound he knew he wouldn't recover from.

The alpha cleared his throat as he rocked back on his heels, the rasp of his whiskers as he scratched at his jaw filling the room. "How, uh. How'd you even find out about that?"

Sniffing once more, he lifted his head, pressing his lips into a hard line. "Stu," he began then paused, clearing his own throat of the emotional lump trying to choke him. "Stu left me a couple flashdrives. One had a video he recorded on it, talking about the stalker alpha and his Mating to you."

The tips of the older man's ears went red and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Can. Can I see it?"

He nodded, agreeing, but not for Derek. But for himself, for Stu. Having another set of eyes and a brain helping with the case wouldn't hurt, especially when they belonged to someone with more access than he had, an inside knowledge of the town, and wanted to catch the bastard just as bad as he did.

"But I wanna show you what else Stu left first."

Derek frowned in confusion at that, but didn't say anything, simply following Stiles out the laundry room and into the office-slash-guest room.

Where he said something.

"What the—?"

Stiles cleared his throat as he stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, scratching his forehead with a finger. "Yeeeeah," he stretched the word out. "I've been busy today."

"No shit," Derek snorted, stepping further into the room and turning a full three-sixty to take it all in.

The walls were practically covered with countless pages of things he'd printed off, all organized in his own system. 'Course he'd taped it all up, not wanting to cover someone else's walls in holes, but it worked out pretty damn well. He'd taken a couple highlighters he'd found in a drawer and marked things he thought were important with green, things worth further digging in yellow, things he wasn't entirely sure about in pink.

There was a lot of pink.

Some pages were almost blinding really.

Vibrating his lips and making a sound almost like a motor, he winced as he took it all in, really took it all in for the first time that day. "I'll pay you back for the tape," he promised, gesturing to the room before resting his hand on top of his head. "And the paper. And the ink." He winced at that last one. Ink was fucking expensive and of course they had some fancy ass multi-use high end big name printer. He was so broke.

Derek waved a hand at him as he continued looking around himself dumbfounded, mouth hanging open, eyes wider than normal. "I get it discounted through work."

Stiles frowned at that. Why the hell couldn't his own dad just swipe office supplies like that? He'd given Stiles a dirty look for stealing a damn paperclip for a school report.

"What is all this?" the older man asked, finally stopping his turning around—guy had to be really fucking dizzy at that point—and facing Stiles, puzzled look on his face.

The omega gestured with his arms open. "This. Is what was on the second flashdrive Stu had," he stated, dropping his arms to put his hands on his hips, sighing slightly. "He said he was on to something big, some nefarious plan that stalker alpha had concocted. He just didn't get a chance to fully put it together."

Derek slowly nodded once, scents shifting so fast they couldn't be kept up with much less identified. Scratching his jaw, he turned to the bookshelves, eyebrows momentarily lifting as he noted all the papers taped to the wood shelves and even on some of the actual books. Stiles hoped like hell those would come off without any damage. "Have you figured it out?"

"Nope," he replied honestly, popping the "p", peering around as he scratched his head. "I haven't a damn clue."

More nodding, before the alpha gestured to him with an open palm. "Mind explaining it all to me."

He jerked slightly, realizing he'd totally spaced and that not everyone would understand all of the jumbled papers. "Right, yeah, totally." He strode over to the wall next to the folded-up couch, Derek following, waving a hand over it all. "This is all stuff related to my mom's illness and her death." Derek turned to him at that, eyebrow quirked before facing the wall again. "It's got copies of all her medical reports, notes from her doctors about her symptoms and any incidences from her hospital stays."

"Incidences?"

Stiles swallowed, licking his lips as he nodded. "Mom had frontotemporal dementia. It's when parts of your brain atrophy and die. It causes vivid hallucinations and made her extremely paranoid," he explained weakly, tapping his finger on one page, the type highlighted green. "Like this. She was convinced someone was after her, completely adamant about it to the point of violence."

The older man's head reared back and his eyebrows momentarily shot up in surprise, but other than that he didn't comment, so he went on.

"There's also ME reports from her death after her car crashed into a wall and she was killed," he stated as he tapped that paper, clearing his throat. "And then there's this." He placed his finger on another page. "Her discharge papers from her last hospital stay."

"You highlighted it green," Derek pointed out, the question going unspoken.

"Green means it's important," he explained. "See, my mom had been admitted after attacking my brother for conspiring with whoever it was she believed to be after her, as well as more migraines and terrible parasomnia. The way the doctors explained it to us, it was one of those making her comfortable until the end kind of stays." He wrapped his arms around his torso to fight off the chill he was feeling and to hold himself together. Talking about his mom was always hard. Add in a recently deceased brother and it was kind of a miracle he wasn't in Oak Creek General after a major mental breakdown. Or a panic attack. Or both.

Derek stepped closer to him, noting his distress and chilliness, lending both comfort and warmth while still respectfully not touching him. "So someone discharged your mom when she wasn't supposed to be?"

"Exactly," Stiles agreed, pointing to the doctor's signature. "See that? It's a forgery. You can see the criminal tremor in the loop there and there and in the dot over the 'I'."

A smirk formed on the S-Dub's face and he questioned it. "Nothing. Just. You never really hear a civilian use phrases like 'criminal tremor'."

"Cop's kid," he reminded the older man. "And a criminal justice major."

Derek cocked an eyebrow at that. "Where at?"

"Stanford."

Both eyebrows went up, his grin growing, thoroughly impressed. "Very nice."

Stiles felt his face heat up as he flushed, clearing his throat and wringing the back of his neck before changing the subject. Twenty years later and he still couldn't take a damn compliment to save his life. "Anyway," he began, getting back to it. "We'd all been under the impression that her accident was just that. She wasn't supposed to be driving anyway, had her license revoked when she'd tried to chase down a hallucination and we knew her disease was getting worse. So we all figured it was just another case of that, only this time, she chased it right into a wall. But it's possible that the whole thing was a set-up and Stu was trying to figure it out."

The alpha frowned. "Why would anyone wanna kill your mom?"

He shrugged, gesturing helplessly to the wall before scratching the back of his neck. "Not entirely sure. But those pages over there—" He pointed to the wall of bookshelves and the pages taped there. "Is stuff about my family history. Only it's in Polish and I started going cross-eyed as I tried to translate it."

"So you think your mom was killed due to some deep dark secret hidden in your family's past?" Derek questioned, somewhat dubiously, cocking an eyebrow at the younger man.

Stiles shrugged again. "Stu seemed to think so, yeah."

More nodding before the alpha stepped away, heading across the room to his desk. "What's all this stuff?"

He quickly joined him, looking over it all. "It's stuff about something called a Nemeton," he began, pointing to a printed off drawing of a giant tree. He took in the pages of info, some of it looking like scans of old books, the photos and the drawings, sketches of five-fold-knots and other Celtic symbols he only halfway recognized. "It's a type of tree, one worshiped by Druids and believed to be magic. Lore says that if someone were to perform certain ritualistic sacrifices, they'd be granted incredible power and be practically unstoppable."

Derek's head snapped to him, his eyes wide. "Sacrifices? Like, killing people?"

He nodded. "Three virgins, three warriors, three healers, three philosophers, and three guardians."

The alpha snorted. "Lovely," he deadpanned.

"Oh yeah, great fun," Stiles added just as drily. "No clue what any of this means, by the way, just that apparently such a tree exists on the outskirts of our hometown." He put his finger on its approximate location on a map of Beacon County before gesturing to it. "Or at least it used to. Some of this info says it was cut down and is now nothing but a giant stump. Rumor has it that it doesn't even work anymore."

"If it even worked in the first place," Derek commented, eyes flicking about all the pages. "All of this could just be fantasy and folklore passed down through the generations, getting warped and blown up by each storyteller. Chances are it's all a bunch of hoopla and fairy tale hocus pocus bullshit."

Stiles conceded the point with the bob of a head. "True. But as a virgin of Beacon Hills, I'm rather hopeful no one tries to jumpstart it."

The alpha's eyes flashed red and once again, he turned away, heading to the third and final wall above Stu's desk. Rather than print outs though, this one was covered in Stiles' notes about Stu's death, including new pages he'd written in English after having watching the video on the flashdrive, taped to the wall and the blinds. He scuffed his way over, wringing the back of his neck, stopping on Derek's left like he had been the whole time.

"This is all stuff about Stu," he unnecessarily pointed out, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Green eyes roamed the space, frown deepening with each page they scanned before he huffed in annoyance and crossed his arms. "I can't read most of this. It's all in gibberish."

Stiles winced at that, almost apologetic. Because he didn't entirely regret not writing his initial notes in English, but he did feel bad that Derek had no idea what the hell was up on his wall. "Yeeeah," he stretched the word out once again, slouching for a moment then popping back up straight. "It's a secret language."

The confusion grew, the older man sneering, before realization dawned on him and his features relaxed, head slowly nodding once. "Twin speak," he stated rather than asked, more than likely having done the same thing with his own twin when they were kids. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to think further on it, lips pursing slightly before turning to the younger man in confusion. "That email you said you got from Stu on his last day that you claimed was all in gibberish and that message on the computers yesterday? You've known this whole time what they said and you lied to me about it." Another statement, no questions, jaw clenching and eyes narrowing in anger now.

He refused to feel bad or guilty or remorseful, so he didn't. He simply turned and stood toe to toe with the larger man, looking him right in the eye, tipping his chin up to show he wasn't scared, wasn't intimidated, wasn't backing down. "I didn't know you and I didn't trust you, so yeah, I lied." He shrugged to wrap it up, pointing out that it wasn't a big deal and there was no point to further argue it.

Eyebrows bobbed in concession, the alpha dropping his arms and adopting a more relaxed posture. "Do you trust me now?" he genuinely asked, scent almost reluctant, afraid of the answer.

He gestured around the room with open arms. "I showed you all this, didn't I?" he asked rhetorically, dropping his arms. "But yeah, I do. I know you didn't kill Stu and I know you're a good guy."

A muscle in Derek's jaw ticked as he clenched it, eyes turning down at the corners, lips a hard line. But he didn't smell angry, just...like he didn't agree for some reason. Once again, he didn't give any chance to be questioned or for Stiles to figure out what exactly was going on, slipping his phone out his pocket and checking the screen.

"We actually need to get going soon," he stated, sliding his phone back where it had been. "Laura's having a family dinner before the funeral, but I definitely wanna check all this out further." He pointed around the room at everything then at Stiles, nodding once before heading to the door, only to stop when his name was called.

"You're not pissed, right?" Stiles double-checked, Stu's words in his head. "You aren't gonna tell me to back off and let the pros handle it, right?"

He sighed through his nose, shoulders slumping as he shook his head. "I'm a little pissed, but I get it. I'd do the same if it'd been Laura. But no, I'm not telling you to back off." He stepped closer, an air of authority rolling off him, determination hardening his features and tensing up his muscles. "You and I are gonna conduct our own investigation, Laura be damned. We both owe it to Stu."

A smile slowly spread across his face as relief flooded his body, followed by a determination of his own. With a final nod of the head, he stepped over to Derek, stopping right before him. "One problem though: I don't have any black clothes for tonight."