Chapter Three
...
Stiles had a day of tactical driving which ended up being more monotonous than he'd expected. He was used to Roscoe's heavy handling, so being in a far smaller automatic car with all-wheel drive, cruise control, and a reverse camera was a little daunting.
Who needed a camera to reverse, anyway?
After his first drive, knocking over every single traffic cone in sight, his instructor spent a good five minutes yelling at Stiles. The man butchered the pronunciation of his first name but Stiles didn't want the evil man to have the honour of using his nickname anyway.
When it was his turn again, Stiles sat behind the wheel and imagined the traffic cones were baby werewolf cubs. He came to an abrupt stop next to his peers and instructors, the former with their jaws open in surprise at his sudden ability to avoid the cones.
"Not bad, Stilinski, but you can do better!"
Stiles' eyebrows shot up at that; he hadn't missed a single cone and his time was mere seconds from his peers who had hit the cones. He was tempted to do the course in reverse, just to prove that he fucking could and his instructor was an asshole, but Stiles forcefully reminded himself that if he fucked up here, he wouldn't get any further with Derek's case.
The thought made him feel sick to his stomach; if Stiles wasn't at the FBI, he wouldn't be able to solve the case, his peers would hunt Derek down, he'd probably end up in prison, and then Stiles would end up becoming an accomplice and going on the run because there was no way he was letting Derek rot away in prison. The martyr would probably think he'd deserved it, even though he hadn't deserved anything life had thrown at him. Sometimes literally.
"Focus on what matters, Stilinski," he muttered to himself, getting out of the car so the next person could get behind the wheel.
...
Again, at lunch, Agent McAsshole came to their table to talk to the recruits. One of Stiles' peers mentioned how he'd been the first to pass the intensive driving, and Rafe looked straight at him for the first time in ten minutes.
"Congratulations, Mr. Stilinski. I'm sure your family and friends would be very pleased to hear that you're doing well here," Rafe said, the words far too nice and his eyes sharp.
Stiles clenched his jaw and couldn't bring himself to reply; not without his usual sarcasm, not without wanting to hurt the man who'd hurt Scott.
"How are you all enjoying the case so far? I could request a different case, if you'd like?" Rafe asked, looking between the recruits.
Stiles heard the threat in his question and under the table his hands clenched into tight fists. What the hell did he want? Everyone wanted something, and Rafe obviously wanted something from Stiles or else he'd take the case - Derek's case - away from him. A hundred possibilities ran through his mind; Stiles was pretty certain that if McCallous didn't want him at the FBI, then he wouldn't be there. Stiles thought back to their last encounter, to Scott's last encounter with his father, and he suddenly knew what the man wanted.
"My best friend is going to UC Davis," Stiles blurted out.
Rafe relaxed. It wasn't obvious to everyone at the table as Stiles' peers were looking at him like he was crazy - why would Agent Rafe McCall care about his best friend?! - but Stiles, who had spent a summer watching Derek Hale for the slightest bit of emotion, the way a tilt or raising of his eyebrows could convey entire sentences, saw Rafe's shoulders lose a hint of tension, the twitch of a smile at his mouth. He was right.
"I'm sure his parents are very proud," Rafe said, again with words that seemed simple and nice, but conveying another message for those who knew where to look.
Stiles had received 99% on his accuracy test (he lost a percent for writing a paragraph that detailed the history of one of the ink blot tests; they were lucky it was only a paragraph), so he knew exactly where to look.
Agent McNutsack wanted Stiles to be a messenger boy to Scott since he couldn't get the balls to do it himself, and to make sure he complied, he was using Derek as leverage.
Stiles nodded, his jaw clenched, and ignored the agent for the rest of the lunch break.
...
"You spoke to my dad? Willingly?" Scott asked, surprised.
"Yeah, he's currently at Quantico, heading up his own division; it's surprisingly difficult to avoid him," Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes. "He's proud of you for going to UC Davis," he added, pulling a face.
"He is?" Scott asked with a smile.
"Yeah. About that, he's basically bribing me to provide info on you so I can keep working on Derek's case. Can I feed him a bit of random crap until he gets the balls to talk to you again?"
"What's Derek's case?"
"Oh. Uh, he's being framed for mass murder. It's a total set up 'cause he was either in BH for most of it, de-aged by Kate, or fighting the Nogitsune."
Scott took a moment to breathe before he answered, both of them silent at the memory of the Nogitsune, of Allison, of the darkness still inside them. "Tell him whatever you want. Just... no embarrassing stories from primary school, okay?"
Stiles snorted. "I'd be embarrassing myself right there along with you, so no problem, Scotty. Now; when were you going to tell me what was going down? There was an attack at the station, Parrish got hurt, what else aren't you telling me?"
Scott winced; he'd forgotten to talk to the Sheriff about not telling Stiles what had happened. "Wait. You're not coming back to deal with this?"
"Dude, I'm stuck with the FBI for four months; if I leave now with no warning, I'll never get this chance again. But I'll help as much as I can from here, I promise. Now, spill every detail," Stiles said, pulling out his notebook and eyeing the opposite wall as a new board.
He didn't really need to hang his clothes up, did he?
Scott was still a little surprised, but he dutifully relayed everything he remembered. Then he called Lydia to add her input to the call. She was re-packing Malia's suitcase for France, who had decided to go rat hunting with Liam and Mason in some of her nicer clothes.
"You weren't going to tell me, Lyds?" Stiles asked, sounding more hurt than he'd intended.
"I don't want to lose you again. I refuse to lose any more best friends," Lydia replied, her stern voice slipping and breaking at the end.
There was a long moment of silence.
"I'm your best friend?" Stiles asked, grinning.
"If you have to ask -"
"Nope, I'm good. I'm your best friend. Huh, cool. Hey, is there like, a legal limit of how many best friends you can have?"
"Stiles, you're at the FBI now, you're a grown adult, please act like one," Lydia said, rolling her eyes.
"Ha, no chance of that! You knew what you signed up for, bestie," Stiles teased, grinning.
Lydia made a noise that sounded as though she regretted every decision she'd ever made in her life.
"Can we, uh, get back to the hellhound terrorising town?" Scott asked.
"Sure thing, Scotty. Parrish said the hellhound's hunting for something or someone, didn't he? Can you just ask him what it is?"
"What?" Scott and Lydia said at the same time.
"Y'know, be an adult and actually ask the hellhound who or what they're looking for? Within a safe distance, of course."
"What exactly is a safe distance when a hellhound is concerned? Mountain ash doesn't work on them. Or me, remember?" Scott pointed out.
"Oh, yeah, I know. I think I've got a spell for that, actually. Well, it's in one of Deaton's books that I might or might not have illegally copied..." Stiles added, trailing off with a cough. He opened a file on his laptop that was hidden away, password protected, and encrypted. Even his porn folder had less protection. "It's a spell to keep both parties stuck in their separate areas, and it lasts for a good two hours or something, so be careful with it," Stiles added. "Also, check with Deaton in case there's another spell that can let you out before the hellhound or something. I don't want to modify it and get you stuck somewhere for two weeks or something."
"This is surprisingly mature of you, Stiles. I'm very proud," Lydia said, teasingly.
"Good. Don't tell anyone," Stiles said with a laugh. "Okay, there; I've sent the spell to both of you. Let me know how it goes, yeah? And stop keeping secrets from me, dammit," he added.
"Sorry, buddy," Scott said, wincing.
"Sorry, Stiles. We only hid it because we were worried you'd come back," Lydia said.
"Yeah, I know. I'd probably do the same thing if you were here and I was there," Stiles said, knowing it for the truth. "I've gotta study for tomorrow. We're working on Derek's case again."
"Hey, say hi to my dad for me? Y'know, if you can. He didn't exactly leave his number when he left last time," Scott said.
"Sure thing, Scotty; that won't be awkward," Stiles muttered. "Let me know what happens with the hellhound, okay?"
Both Scott and Lydia agreed, then said goodbye and hung up. Stiles set his phone down, sighing heavily before moving the wardrobe out of his way.
...
End of the third chapter.