Chapter Two
...
Stiles turned his phone on once he'd reached his shoebox apartment later that night. It was a personal form of Hell to not have his phone to distract him on public transport, but he couldn't bring himself to turn it on. Now that Stiles was finally home, he turned the phone on. He immediately felt sick, even though the chime was only to tell him the phone was actually turning on. Stiles turned the phone to silent, set it on the bedside table face-down, and willed it not to vibrate.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
The phone stopped and Stiles breathed. He could handle five messages. He picked up the phone when he was certain no more messages would come through, turned the volume back on and unlocked the screen without looking. Stiles took three deep breaths, counted his fingers to ten, and then opened his eyes.
The Sheriff: Hey kiddo. Just texting to see if everything's going okay. Hoped I'd get you in your lunch break, but I must've missed you. Talk tonight.
Bro: I couldn't do it. I got to the border of Beacon County. I'll try again tomorrow. UC Davis doesn't start for another two months anyway.
Red-headed goddess: I want a full report of everything you did and everyone you met; until I go to MIT, I'm living vicariously through you, understood?
Malia: Flight was delayed. Didn't go to France. Next time.
Wolf: What murder? Who's framing me? What's going on, Stiles?
Stiles gnawed at his nail, looking at the last text. He suddenly felt exhausted. No one would have to know if he just ignored their messages and went to bed instead, right?
He re-read the other four messages, frowning at Scott and Malia's texts. It didn't seem right that both of them suddenly had to stay in Beacon Hills, but maybe he was overthinking it. Scott hadn't left Beacon Hills for more than a lacrosse game in years, he had a right to be nervous about it. Still, that didn't mean Stiles wasn't going to make him get away with it guilt-free.
To Bro: Dude, you promised. Don't make me come back there!
To Malia: Bummer. Did they at least give you your money back?
To Red-headed goddess: I saw Scott's Dad today; don't tell him. Oh, and Derek's been framed for mass murder. Again. Has he left town yet?
Stiles closed his eyes and sighed, then he rang his father immediately, not wanting to deal with the consequence of that last text just yet. Maybe tomorrow.
"Stiles? How was your first day?"
"Uh, yeah, it was great. Learnt a lot," Stiles said, not exactly lying.
"That's great to hear. Did you let the instructors actually teach you?" the Sheriff asked, sounding amused.
"I tried," Stiles said with a laugh, feeling a little better already. "How's things there?" he asked, hoping to distract his father from further questions.
"About the usual," the Sheriff replied.
Stiles frowned. "Usual as in everyone's fighting for their lives, or usual as in someone tried to rob Mrs. Gawler's corner store?"
The Sheriff looked out at his office where one of his deputies had a bandage around his head and Parrish was bloodied and bruised. "It's nothing we can't handle. You're at the FBI now, Stiles."
"What happened?" Stiles asked, instantly alert and pacing between his bed and kitchen.
"Stiles, no, you are not getting back into this, okay? This place won't fall apart without you here to save it, I promise," he replied.
Stiles clenched his hand in a fist and bit it hard, though he knew his father was right. He'd said the same thing to Scott, after all. So why didn't he believe it?
"Okay. Fine," Stiles said, sighing. He stopped pacing and sighed again, then rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand before admitting in a rush, "Derek's been framed for mass murder."
"Again?" the Sheriff asked, sounding exasperated.
"Yeah, and all of these kids were picking apart his life, and they don't know the first thing about what he went through, what any of us went through. I just... I want to find out who's framing him, but that's not going to go down too well with my peers," Stiles muttered.
"When's that ever stopped you before?"
Stiles looked to the wall he'd kept free for his work, to the photo of Derek he'd brought with him, and nodded to himself. "That's true."
The Sheriff managed a wry laugh. "I'll let you get to it then."
"Thanks, Pops. Oh, and... let me know what's happening, okay? I promise not to fly back at the first thing, but... I need to know what's going on."
"Same with you, Stiles. Oh, and tomorrow, try to listen to your instructors this time; they might know more than you know."
Stiles scoffed. "Unless they know all twelve types of wolfsbane to incapacitate a werewolf, then no one there knows more than I do."
"Yeah, all right, don't sound so cocky about it. Love you, kiddo."
"Love you too, Pops," Stiles said, then ended the call.
He opened the suitcase he'd brought with him and started unpacking the most important things of all: multiple balls of string, scissors, and thumb tacks.
"All right; time to find out who's framing Derek," he muttered, looking to the notes he'd taken in his notebook.
...
Stiles' phone rang abruptly, making him curse and flail, his hands getting caught in a length of red string. He saw the time and the caller ID, then winced at both.
"Hey, Derek. How's things?"
"How's. Things? Stiles, you text me saying I'm being framed for mass murder and then didn't send anything else for the rest of the day! Explain. Now," Derek said, his voice a low growl.
Stiles sat on his bed, yelping when he sat on his scissors, then moved them and sat down again. "Uh, so... I started at the FBI this morning. There was a... they had a video of you, and said you were wanted for mass murder."
There was silence on the other end of the phone and Stiles undid the red string while he waited, setting it aside.
"Who's murder?" Derek asked finally, his voice sounding thick, but most of all, he just sounded tired.
"Basically anyone in the last three years who's had their throats torn out," Stiles said. "I get the irony, but it's so not funny. I'm trying to find out who framed you."
Derek exhaled loudly at that, as though he'd expected Stiles to believe the FBI, as though he was expecting Stiles to hunt him down.
"Dude, you okay?"
"Don't call me dude," Derek said, the words practically a Pavlovian response after all these years. "I thought... I thought you'd texted me to give me a head start."
Stiles frowned. "I kinda did? I don't want you to be in town when the FBI show up. But I'll work on clearing your name. Y'know, again. Hey, doesn't it seem stupid that you keep getting pinned for this stuff? I mean, you're basically a giant teddy bear. But with claws."
"Bears have claws too, Stiles."
"Touché. But still, it's stupid. You think they'd go for something more original." Stiles could practically hear Derek rolling his eyes in response, and grinned. "I'd better get some sleep if I'm going to clear your name."
"All right. Thank you, Stiles," Derek said, the words almost a whisper.
"Anytime, Derek," Stiles replied.
He could practically hear Derek's heart breaking and Stiles wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug Derek, to give him some form of comfort beyond this.
"Stiles?" Derek added before he could hang up.
"Yeah?"
"I trust you."
Derek hung up without waiting for a response, and Stiles set the phone aside, his hand trembling.
...
End of the second chapter.