Chapter 9: Calm Sometimes Hides the Storm

Derek picks a side and Stiles goes missing.

He was better now. There was no reason for him to stay.

There was no reason for him to go.

Derek had called the rental agency in New York, told them he wanted out of the sub-let, but he hadn't told them to look somewhere else for him. New York was Laura's place, and he didn't want to go back there.

He actually hadn't really liked the east coast at all. Too many people. Too many packs he didn't want to join.

Maybe Los Angeles would be nice. It was a free town because of the movies, of course, but also all the universities. He could look into finishing his business degree. He wasn't ever going to work in an office, but his family had holdings, investments, and he didn't mind working with numbers.

He could go to Seattle. Another free town. He could let his beard grow out and become a lumberjack hipster, except he really didn't like coffee. Or plaid.

Las Vegas wasn't an option. The hunters based in Nevada made the Argents look like Care Bears.

His phone rang. Only a couple people had the number, so he answered right away. "What?"

"Derek. Do you remember if the Argents were here when your mother held those talks?"

"Yeah, they were here." Argent hunters had chased him through the woods a couple times by. The smell of the woods at night, the blood, his fear—the memory of it was within easy reach.

"Do you remember which ones?"

That was harder. He hadn't stopped to look at them after all.

"Um, Chris was there," he said. "And his father. I don't remember Victoria being around, but you don't generally see her until she's shoving a knife in your ribs."

"Good to know." Sheriff Stilinski huffed an almost laugh. "So you definitely remember Chris and Gerard Argent being in Beacon Hills eight years ago."

That question seemed awfully precise, almost legal, so Derek took a couple moments to rethink. "More that I remember other people talking about them being here. Like I said, I wasn't involved in the talks. Plus, as a teen their supposed Code made me off limits."

"A code?" the sheriff asked.

"Yeah. Some French thing that translates to 'we hunt those who hunt us,' but I think they only follow it when it suits them." Which was mostly never, as far as he could tell. "Why the 20 Questions, Sheriff?"

"Well," Stilinski began. "We've got Gerard and Chris Argent from the failed peace talks, and we've got the Alpha Pack, many members of which also attended the failed peace talks."

"You think Deucalion's here for the Argents?"

"It's a possibility."

"You can't rely on that." Derek wanted to swallow his words. The sheriff didn't need his warning.

"I'm not going to." Stilinski's voice was wry but unconcerned, and that worried Derek. He had no great desire to be an alpha, but he sure as hell didn't want to leave Beacon Hills without one. If the Alpha Pack managed to kill Sheriff Stilinski, he'd have to fight them for sure, and then he'd die.

"Just be careful," he said.

This time Stilinski's voice was fond. "You sound like my son." Before Derek could express how offended he was by that, the sheriff had hung up.

Derek stared at his screen, stunned (and still offended) but mostly—reluctantly—worried. Was the sheriff stupid? Or just stupidly optimistic? He was acting as if Deucalion and the Alpha Pack were annoying rather than dangerous.

Derek knew it wasn't anything to do with him, not really, but Sheriff Stilinski had been decent to him. He was a good man, and he tried to be a good cop. . He was certainly handling the transition to being a werewolf—an alpha werewolf—with more ease than Derek would've thought possible for a near-middle-aged human. He hadn't deserved what Peter had done to him. He wouldn't deserve what Deucalion—or the Argents—would do to him

Derek tried to set aside his worry with the knowledge that he had warned Stilinski. He, Derek, had done all he could to keep the sheriff safe. Besides, Stilinski was a cop, and he was surrounded by cops who were aware of the danger.

Still… They were all humans.

Kali and the twins didn't seem like they'd be bothered by opponents being either vanilla humans or cops, and the Argents certainly wouldn't let that stop them if they felt it was justified.

Derek rolled over on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position. His stomach still hurt, but thanks to the sheriff and his safe house (and Stiles and Scott's intrusive care), he was a lot healthier than he would've been if he'd been alone.

The once-comfortable couch was now lumpy and unwelcoming.

Derek rolled over.

The man had too many enemies, Derek thought, and not enough allies who could actually do anything to help him. It took time to build up a network of alphas you could trust. Laura had had only three after eight years, and they'd all been more trustworthy at a distance, really.

The clock ticked. The fridge hummed. Somewhere outside, someone ran a power saw.

Derek pulled himself off the couch, and gave a resigned sigh. He owed the sheriff, damn it. And the best way to pay off that debt was to watch Stilinski's back because it sure as hell sounded like man wasn't going to do it.

-o0o-

Being a werewolf gave the sheriff less patience than he'd had before, but he figured his current level of annoyed had nothing to do with his furry side and everything to do with being sheriff

He'd received notice that Shay Hardwicke was pushing to have him put on paid leave until he passed a psychological examination. "Since the attack had to have been traumatizing..." was how the County's General Counsel had phrased it. As if Noah couldn't think past violence to do his job. He'd been in the military, goddamnit. He'd served in Bosnia, and the first Gulf war. Of course he could work around and past and through whatever goddamn trauma killing a crazy, supernatural person had "inflicted" on him.

Plus, he was attending his mandated counselling sessions and the county board knew it. This was just some more of Hardwicke's bullshit troublemaking.

Then he'd had phone calls from a couple of the large news outlets. How the hell they'd learned of the omega's death he didn't know. He'd fended them off, redirecting them to the FBI since he was planning to consult with the Bureau anyway, and one of them had made a snide comment about small-town police departments... So now Noah was beyond grumpy as he pulled into the driveway.

Strangely, given his mood, he was looking forward to listening to Stiles and Scott's relaxed chatter, but the living room was quiet and dim when he entered. It was disappointing, but he figured the boys were just up in Stiles' room.

Except he couldn't hear them...

Ever since he'd been turned, Noah had had to actively not listen to the sounds his son made when he was in the house. He'd gotten good at it too—had to, since Stiles was a hormonally-healthy teenage boy, and one who had trouble being still and quiet even when sleeping.

The sheriff pulled out his phone and called Stiles' number.

"I don't know why I'm not answering my phone, but you can leave a message and I'll get back to you. Soon-ish. I think."

"Stiles. I'm home now, so anytime you want to come back," Noah said. "If you're going to spend the night at Scott's let me know." He ended the call. He knew it was typical to get Stiles' voicemail when he hung out with Scott. They were probably in a PVP match in some online battle game.

But it still meant Stiles wasn't here, and Noah's grumpiness gained an extra level of discontent.

He went into his office to put his service weapon away in the safe as he debated between shower or beer. Before he'd done more than get his belt off his cell rang. Figuring it was Stiles he answered without looking. "Yuh."

"Sheriff?"

That was Astiago's voice. With an internal sigh, he started reattaching equipment to his belt. "What've you got?"

"I was sweeping the high school, as part of my patrol, and Stiles' jeep is here. It's locked and there's no sign..." He barely heard her continue with her report.

Why would Stiles still be at the school? It was hours after lacrosse practice would've been over, and he didn't have any other extra-curricular activities. So he wasn't at the school. Except he wouldn't've left Roscoe behind...

The sheriff interrupted Astiago without thought. "Search the grounds. Get somebody out there with you in case it's something..."

"Larger than life?"

"Yeah, that." He nodded. He couldn't feel his lips. "I'll call around; see if he went home with one of his friends." It wouldn't take him long. Stiles really only had the one friend.

Astiago signed off. The sheriff looked up Scott's number in his contacts. (Memory was one of the few things being a werewolf hadn't improved.) It rang through to Scott's voice mail. Noah hung up and dialed again as he went downstairs to his office and the gun safe. This time Scott picked up. He put it on speaker so he could finish getting ready.

"Hey, Mr. Stilink—"

"Is Stiles with you?"

"Uh, no." Scott sounded guilty. "We're at Lydia's."

Lydia's? The sheriff wondered without real interest. He was already wondering where Stiles would've gone if he wasn't with his best friend.

Scott wasn't finished. "We were gonna hang out after practice, but Allison showed up in the middle looking for Lydia and Lydia decided Allison needed the company more than Stiles did."

"Allison," the sheriff questioned blankly.

"Yeah, uh." Scott's voice dropped to a whisper but Noah could still hear him. "There was some fight, and she left home, like, maybe permanently," Scott explained. "She's taking it hard."

Oh, the sheriff thought. It wasn't surprising that Allison was having problems with her family, but he did wish she'd picked a different day to walk out. "When was the last time you saw him?"

Scott made a noise while he thought back. "It was at practice. I, um... He was still on the field with the others when I left with Allison and Lydia."

"And you didn't notice Stiles' jeep in the parking lot?" the sheriff asked.

"What? No. I just grabbed my clothes from the locker room and left." Scott finally sounded panicked, but it didn't make the sheriff feel better.

"Did he mention going someplace else?" he asked. "Like the hospital or the safe house?"

"No," Scott answered. "But he wouldn't've left Roscoe."

The sheriff had hoped—strenuously—that Scott would say that Stiles went to the safe house. If his son couldn't be safe with Scott, then Derek was the next obvious choice, but Scott was right. Wherever Stiles had gone, if he'd left his jeep unprotected and abandoned at the school it hadn't been voluntary. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his free hand into a fist. He could feel the wolf clawing beneath his skin, demanding he find, protect!

"Can you call a teammate; see if he made it into and out of the locker room?"

"Sure. I'll call Danny." Scott answered. "Then I'll help you look—"

The sheriff stopped him. "No. The Alpha Pack already threatened you once today. Take Allison—and Lydia if you can convince her. Then find your mother at the hospital and stay there, where there're lots of people."

There was tense quiet on the other end of the phone. "You think they've got Stiles."

The sheriff shook out his jaw before fangs could form. "They're known to go after the family members of the packs they target."

"Right." Scott's voice was hard and much older than 16. "I'll let you know when we get to the hospital."

The sheriff's next call was to Derek. He wasn't exactly a friend of his son's, but they'd bumped into each other before, and Stiles had spent an evening with Derek at the safe house. It was possible (not likely, but possible) that Stiles was there again tonight.

Derek's answered his phone with his usual politeness. "What?"

"Is Stiles with you?"

"No. Why?" He was on speaker and it sounded like his was in his car.

"He's gone missing from lacrosse practice. His jeep's still at the school."

"That's bad?"

"Yeah." Noah paused. Derek was a born werewolf, comfortable with his supernatural abilities. "Are you well enough to help look for him?"

"Sure. I can look."

"Thank you," the sheriff said, trying not to sound too desperate.

"You're welcome." For those two words Derek's voice sounded warm. Then he coughed, almost embarrassed, and hung up with no good-bye. The sheriff barely noticed. It was enough that Derek had agreed to help.

There was part of Noah that wanted Scott and Derek here, with him, but the sheriff planned on moving out anyway, so it was a silly impulse that he ruthlessly ignored. Instead he reached for the area awareness that he'd been working on with Derek, seeking out the flashes of "otherness" that had found him Malia Tate, Derek, and the unfortunate omega. And the weird spark that was his son.

Noah wasn't anywhere near calm, but he was focused.

One deep breath... two. Another.

Flares bloomed in his mind's map of his territory: Scott, Deaton, Derek—various other groups and individuals he'd picked out before. He looked for the big flare of supernatural energy that he associated with the Alpha Pack and found it outside of town near the mountain. He focused in further on the group, looking for his son (not supernatural, but still something).

It wasn't there.

His cell phone rang and his claws sprang out.

"Shtil—" He worked his jaws a couple times to get the fangs to go back to wherever they came from. "Stilinski."

"Sheriff?" It was Allison. "Danny says he didn't see or hear Stiles in the locker room." It sounded like they were in a car. Hopefully on their way to the hospital and Melissa.

"So he didn't make it even that far." Not seeing Stiles, okay. Not hearing Stiles? Unlikely.

"I'm sorry," she said. "If I hadn't distracted Scott."

"What else happened on the field?"

"Uhh... Lydia and Jackson got into a fight," she said. "Over Aiden."

"Were the twins there?"

"Not that I saw," she said. It backed up what he'd sensed with his supernatural radar, but it was still disappointing. "We've reached the hospital."

"Good. Find Melissa and stay close until I give you the all clear."

Allison's voice quieted. "Does she know? About Scott, I mean?"

"She knows," he heard Scott answer her. "Mr. Stilinski said I had to."

"Some secrets parents will forgive you for keeping," the sheriff explained. "Becoming a werewolf against your will isn't one of them."

"Oh," her voice was small. "Makes sense, I guess."

"Be safe. Let me know if anything happens." He hung up, too unsettled for polite goodbyes.

Did he leave now, or try focusing again?

Before he could decide, his radio crackled to life.

"Unit 5 to sheriff." It was Astiago checking in. "We found signs of a disturbance—kicked up dirt, drag marks—on the path to Garner Road behind the field."

"Anything to indicate it was Stiles?"

"Nothing that I can detect."

"I'll meet you there."

-o0o-

This was probably the stupidest thing Derek had ever done. Considering the last two months, that was saying something.

The Alpha Pack was staying in a hotel a couple luxury-levels above what was available in town. Backed up against natural hot springs and a golf course, it was made for semi-rich people to get away from the city, but still have access to all the nice city things.

He was barely on resort grounds when he was stopped by Kali and a big, bald Alpha that he remembered...

Ennis. It was Ennis—who had killed Paige because Derek had asked him to.

Derek felt more breathless than he had while Kali played in his stomach. He stood, tense, ready to run…

But he didn't run. He watched Kali, didn't look at Ennis, and waited for the boss to show up.

"Well, well, well. The last Hale." The smooth, British voice belonged to Deucalion. Slim, white, elegant, the lines of his face accentuated by the dark glasses he wore. He carried a white cane that was rumored to be completely unnecessary.

Derek swallowed. "Hello, Deucalion."

"This is an unexpected move on your part," Deucalion mused. "A lowly beta, come to confront... Well—" He waved a hand around his pack. "Us."

The twins had stepped up beside Derek. He was surrounded. "I'm not here to fight you."

"Fight? Is that what you thought it would be?" Deucalion chuckled, and Kali and Ennis allowed themselves to smile. "One poor little beta against us." Duecalion tsked, and shifted to a thoughtful pose. "Are you here to call out Ennis for the death of your teenage sweetheart? Because you know he was invited..."

Derek cut him off. "I'm not here about that either." He forced the words through his painfully tight throat. He did not want to discuss Paige with Deucalion.

Deucalion smiled. "Well. That is certainly smarter than I expected you to be." Again, the alphas all chuckled at Derek's expense.

Derek thought of how the sheriff had remained calm at all those press conferences and tried to pull some of that attitude around him. The Alpha Pack wasn't going to kill him, he reminded himself. He told himself they had to be curious at his coming to them. They wouldn't kill him.

It sort of worked.

"If you're not here to fight, then you must want to join us." Kali lifted her lip in a sneer. Deucalion made his voice sympathetically saccharine. "Unfortunately, my dear boy, we don't take little betas like you."

Derek's jaw clenched, but he refused to fidget while Deucalion and the other alphas looked at him like he was bad meat. "I'm not here for that either."

"So tell me—last mighty warrior of the once great Hale pack—why exactly are you here?"

"You're not in Beacon Hills for the sheriff."

Kali lifted a brow. "We're not?"

Derek looked at her. "You might be, but I wasn't talking to you." He tipped his chin at Deucalion. "He's here for an Argent."

Deucalion went still. Derek could feel the pressure of his attention.

"You lost your sight about 8 years ago. The same time as those truce talks. It wasn't a wolf," he said firmly though he wasn't exactly sure. He vaguely remembered his parents talking about a beta who'd tried to take over the pack, but whether that happened after or was the cause of Deucalion's blindness, Derek didn't know. His palms were sweaty, and they could all hear his heart thundering in his chest, but he kept his voice steady and that's all that counted. "That leaves one of the hunters the packs were negotiating with. Out of the four hunter clans invited, the Mathers didn't show, the Campbells are scattered and essentially powerless, and the Calaveras haven't left Mexico for twenty years. That leaves the Argents."

In front of him, Deucalion wasn't just still; he was frozen, prey-still. Derek kept talking.

"Chris..." Derek mused. "He's a hard bastard, but he'd've just killed you. Victoria would have done it, but she stays in the background. The only other one I remember being discussed is Gerard Argent."

"He's not an Argent," Ennis growled. "He's a Mather."

"Mathers are all fucking fanatics," Kali added.

Derek looked at her and her 4-inch toenails, and kept his mouth shut. "Gerard comes to town and a few days later, you all show up." He looked at Deucalion, leader of the Alpha Pack. "You're here for Gerard Argent. He's the one that blinded you." Derek didn't look away from Deucalion, but he watched the other alphas exchange glances, shifting uncomfortably. The twins even moved out from behind him giving him a clear escape path.

Not that he was going to run, but it was nice to have them where he could mostly see them.

Deucalion, when he finally spoke, did so in a low, vicious tone. "Well, well, well. Aren't you clever."

It was so tacky that Derek almost snorted. There was also a voice in his head (that sounded suspiciously like Stiles) that wanted to respond with 'Not really, but at least I don't spout hackneyed villain lines', but he suppressed both because Deucalion (and Kali and Ennis and the twins' other form) could all kill him.

"He's dying," Deucalion announced with cold viciousness. "And I want to be there to watch as he grows helpless and feeble."

Dying? Derek thought. Gerard was old, but not ancient.

"I think he may have grabbed Stiles, the sheriff's son," Derek said calmly. "If that's the case, then Stilinski will arrest Gerard, like he did Kate, and you won't get to do anything to him."

Finally, Deucalion's show of calm control cracked. A small frown showed above his sunglasses. "Arrest him?"

Derek shrugged. "It's what he does."

That had the other alphas exchanging even more looks, this time of disbelief and amusement. Only Deucalion was still. "What are you suggesting?"

Derek took a deep, steadying breath. Now came the hard sell.

-o0o-

Stiles had been kidnapped, but it wasn't the Alpha Pack that took him.

There were traces of Scott on the field and the benches, but no other werewolf had been anywhere close to his son. Stiles' scent was clear. Nearly two hours of training and running around the lacrosse field had saturated his skin and clothes with his sweat, and it was easy to track him through the teen-drenched forest to Garner Road on the other side.

However, Noah had picked up another smell close to his son's. He could tell it was an older human male. It was slightly sour and vaguely familiar, and too damn faint for him to identify. Whoever had taken his son had barely broken a sweat.

Desperation had him pulling out his cell and dialing his son's number one more time. It rang, and rang… He braced himself for his son's voice telling him to leave a message.

"Hey, Dad."

"Stiles!" Noah felt lightheaded. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Um. No?" Stiles' voice was tiny, uncertain, and the sheriff had to fight back his claws.

"What do they want?" His voice was a growl, but he didn't bother trying to sound normal. They had his son.

"No idea. This guy's a silver-coated loo—" The sound of a solid hit cut Stiles off. "Ow! Careful of concussions, grandpa!"

Gerard Argent had his son.

He crooked his finger at Astiago, drawing her to his side, even as he continued speaking.

"Stiles! Don't be brave. Or stupid." Or stupidly brave, the sheriff silently added, even knowing it was futile. Noah had to work not to crush his phone. It was pressed against his ear hard enough to hurt, and he didn't need to imbed pieces of broken plastic in his skull.

He could hear movement from Stiles side of the call—cloth shifting, dragging. Stiles muttering complaints because he didn't know how to keep his mouth shut against bullies.

"Hello, Sheriff." Gerard's voice on Stiles' phone explained the noises from before. "Your son thinks he's clever."

Beside him, Astiago was talking to dispatch, trying to get a location on Stiles' cell. She stood next to him as if she'd never had a problem with him being a werewolf, never doubted his ability to stay in control. Waiting to communicate with dispatch and whoever else could assist. She was a good cop and he was glad she'd stayed.

"What do you want, Gerard?"

"You dead?" Gerard suggested lightly.

It took only a moment for the sheriff to reject it. "You could've had me killed any time since you arrived. I haven't been hiding." Noah thought fast. There was only one other thing he had in common with Gerard. "I can't get the charges against Kate dropped, but I can talk to the prosecutor—"

"I'd appreciate that, sheriff, but that's not what I need from you."

Damnit! Damnit! Damnit! He'd done that wrong. Never offer something that wasn't asked for—it was a basic principle of hostage negotiation. Noah quickly tried to recall his training, but he had a SWAT team for this sort of thing, and they used up most of the money for specialist training.

The only thing that he remembered was that targeted actions were bad. They meant that the hostage taker had already envisioned the ending—often death for everyone.

Breathe, he told himself.

"I'm willing to listen to what you want, but you know I can't guarantee—"

"You're incorrect. What I want you can guarantee."

Oh.

Gerard's demands had nothing to do with Noah as the sheriff, and everything to do with him being a werewolf.

"I'm listening."

"I need to talk to you. Alone." Gerard said. Noah resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Just you. None of your deputies, or your pathetic betas."

"That can be arranged, if you do something for us." Don't give anything away for free. It was another basic principle of hostage negotiation.

Gerard chuckled. "I won't kill your son," and then he hung up.

"Goddamnit!" He wanted to chuck his phone. He wanted to rip apart something.

"We have units going to the Argent's house to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Argent," Astiago reported in a soft voice. "Lassie and Sher– I mean Officer Dowd, are tracking down Gerard Argent's rental vehicle. Apparently, he got a parking ticket a few days ago and made a fuss about it. It's new. It should have OnStar. "

Noah listened to Astiago. There was a small shake in her voice—she knew he was close to shifting—but she still stayed, giving him the information he needed to make decisions as sheriff and not as a wolf. It steadied him, because he was the goddamn sheriff!

"Send a unit to the hospital to talk to Allison Argent," he said. "There was some confrontation between her and her family this afternoon. Maybe it'll help identify what Argent is after. He has a posse—two or more men."

Astiago nodded. "I've seen them."

"Have they been spotted since Stiles was taken?" the sheriff asked.

"If no, are they with Argent Sr.?" Astiago restated the question. She hesitated. "Um, did you hear anything identifying from his end of the call?" It was a good idea.

The sheriff shut his eyes, tuned out the forest around him as much as he could, and concentrated on what had been behind Stiles and Gerard. "The reception cut out a couple times, so not in town but not far outside of it either."

Astiago wrote it down. "What else?"

It had been hollow, cut off from other sounds… "Inside. A room, a car—something small. Slight metallic pinging…

"Car engine just after it's been turned off?" she suggested.

The sheriff nodded. "Very close to that."

Her radio clicked and she turned away to answer it.

"I'm going to try something," he told Astiago softly. She nodded, and kept listening as Cordova detailed their search of the Argent house and Gerard's room.

Assured she had his back, Noah crouched close to the ground. He put his fingertips on the dirt and widened his senses the way Derek had taught him. It was twice as effective as doing it from the couch in his office. Beacon Hills lit up like a CG map in a sci-fi movie. He ignored the big splotches of energy. He didn't go looking for Derek or Scott. Instead, this time, he deliberately looked for the odd blip of something that was so often beside Scott. The spark that could only be Stiles.

And he found it.

"They're on the move. Heading to the highway."

"Copy."

"You'll need to drive." He was already marching back along the path to the school.

Astiago jogged to catch up. "Sir! We should wait until they've stopped moving.

Noah swallowed a growl. She was right.

Didn't make him feel better.