Reading Time: 48 Minutes
Title: A Subtle Threat
Series: What We Gain
Series Order: 7
Author: enigmaticblue
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Relationship(s): GEN
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: *No Mandatory Warnings Apply
Word Count: 80,250
Summary: The hunters appear to have gone quiescent, but Noah doesn’t completely trust the lull. The younger members of the pack are preparing for senior year, but Stiles is uncertain about the future. And Derek is trying to hold everything together.
Artist: ringspells
Chapter 2
Stiles straightens in his chair and stretches, hearing his spine crack. He’s been hunched over his most recent project all afternoon, a runic array for one of Moira’s clients.
He’s set up shop in one of the bedrooms, since the basement work area doesn’t have a window. Everyone prefers the outdoor workspace, so the basement area is really just for bad weather.
But no one is using this bedroom right now, and he can use the space for the work he’s helping Moira with this summer.
And at least here, he can look out the window to the backyard.
Stiles stands and does just that, seeing the late summer sun shining down on the group practicing lacrosse. Today, that includes Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Danny, and Kira, who is just back from her trip to Japan.
They’d invited him to join, but Stiles needed to finish this array for Moira, since he has a judo competition in two days.
Stiles has done fairly well at the three meets he’s been to so far. He received an ippon at two of the three, which Sensei OB and Sensei Leigh have assured him is good, especially for someone who just started doing competitions. He likes them because it gives him a chance to test his skills, and Stiles is beginning to think that he might get to a point where he could succeed in law enforcement.
Or maybe not, because he’s been enjoying working with Moira this summer, and he’s been thinking about ways to supplement that career path.
Stiles may have lost his certainty, but he’s beginning to appreciate the options that he does have.
Stiles has finished the array now, though, so he carefully packs the stones in individual silk pouches, and places those in a wooden box also lined with silk. That goes into the cardboard box that will be used to ship it, but he leaves it unsealed. Moira is still checking his work, not that Stiles minds.
He doesn’t always know when he’s overpowering them, although he’s learned more finesse.
Stiles tucks the box under his arm and heads downstairs to the kitchen. He shoots off a text to Moira to ask where she wants him to leave the array, and she immediately responds that he can bring it over and leave it inside her front door.
Stiles shrugs and says, “Come on, Batman. Let’s enjoy some time outside before we have to worry about dinner.”
Moira usually leaves her door unlocked, since she claims that everything she has of value is in her bag of holding, and her place is well warded. Stiles puts the box on the table just inside the front door.
He’s not surprised that she isn’t at home; Moira has been doing a lot of traveling this summer, mostly to marshal their resources to figure out how to integrate Parrish and his Hellhound and build a sanctuary town.
To help out, Stiles has taken over some of her consulting work, and she’s been giving him a cut of those proceeds. Stiles is seriously considering at least having a side hustle during college now that he knows how much money he could make.
Stiles takes the stairs down from Moira’s apartment, Batman at his heels. Since they’d been at home all day, he’s out of his vest and off the leash.
“Hey, Stiles!” Danny calls. “You want to join us?”
“We promise to be careful,” Boyd says.
“Well, hell, why not?” Stiles says. “Where are the girls?”
He can tell that they’re safe and happy, but he’s not entirely sure where they are.
“Erica, Cora, and Malia went to the mall,” Boyd says. “Erica said it was their god-given right to go back-to-school shopping.”
Stiles glances at Kira. “You didn’t want to go?”
Kira smirks. “We took care of everything I needed when we were in Japan, and then South Korea.”
“How was that?” Stiles asks.
Kira smiles brightly. “Really good! I learned a ton, and I feel a lot more confident in my abilities now.”
“That’s great,” Stiles says sincerely. “I’m glad you were able to get a handle on things.”
Kira shrugs. “It’s a work in progress, but you probably understand that better than most.”
“You aren’t wrong, young Padawan,” Stiles jokes.
Scott sighs. “I still haven’t watched those movies.”
“You’re missing out,” Boyd claims. “We keep telling you that.”
Scott shrugs. “I’ve got AP biology to study for. I don’t have time for movies.”
“All work and no play make Scott a dull boy,” Isaac jokes.
Scott swings his lacrosse stick. “With Stiles here we can play three on three.”
“I’ll grab my gear,” Stiles says. “Batman, stay.”
He might have given up lacrosse last year, but he still has his stick. Stiles decides to take the ‘wolves at their word and not put on pads.
“I’m not wearing pads,” Stiles reminds them.
Scott nods. “We’ll treat this like a passing and avoidance drill, three on three, no contact.”
“Can I use magic?” Stiles asks.
“As long as you don’t set anybody on fire,” Danny says with a laugh.
Kira and the ‘wolves shrug. “I think there’s at least one werewolf on Devenford Prep’s team,” Scott says. “And maybe there’ll be another were this year.”
Isaac and Boyd both nod, and Boyd says, “I’ll take Stiles for my team.”
“Wait, why are you a team captain?” Scott protests.
Boyd just smiles smugly. “Because I called dibs.”
Stiles shrugs and tries to hide his grin. Maybe they’re just goofing off, but he doesn’t think he’s been ever been picked first for a team in his life.
Scott sighs. “Fine. I pick Kira.”
“Isaac,” Boyd replies.
Danny makes a face. “I don’t think I’ve ever been picked last.”
“No offense!” Scott quickly says.
Danny grins. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. You had to pick your girl first for the same reason Boyd had to pick his bro.”
He could have taken a pot shot at Stiles, but this is Danny, and he’s gracious as always.
“I’m glad you decided not to graduate early,” Stiles blurts out.
Danny’s smile softens. “I’m pretty happy with my decision, too.”
“All right, let’s kick this off,” Scott says. He puts the ball down on the ground in the middle of the area they use for both the full moon and other gatherings. There are nets set up on either side, but since they’re going no contact, it’s going to be about speed and dodging.
Boyd claps Stiles on the shoulder. “You’re up. Isaac is going to play defense for this first part.”
“But no pressure,” Stiles jokes.
“Use those judo moves you got,” Boyd replies. “I know you have them.”
Stiles takes a deep breath. “You got it.”
He takes his position across from Scott, who grins at him. “Just like old times,” Scott says.
“Not quite,” Stiles counters.
“Go!” Danny calls.
Stiles briefly tussles with Scott for the ball, but he doesn’t fight too hard for it. He plans on intercepting it soon. Scott passes it over to Kira, leaving Danny to guard the goal behind them.
Stiles has been working with Moira this summer—as well as with Lydia and Parrish—to develop his sixth sense.
Well, that’s what Stiles is calling it. He has no idea how to quantify it, other than the earth tells him things.
Which is how he knows when Kira is going to pass the ball back to Scott, who sidesteps Boyd to catch it. Stiles snags it out of the air before it hits Scott’s net, and Boyd jumps away from Scott, giving Stiles a clear shot to pass.
Boyd catches it easily and fires off the shot into the goal from fifty feet away. Danny is an excellent goalie, and he manages to save it.
Scott stares at Stiles. “Why aren’t you playing lacrosse this year?”
“Because I still like judo and krav maga better,” Stiles replies easily. “But I don’t mind playing with my friends.”
“Heads up,” Danny calls, passing the ball to Kira.
And then they’re off again.
Stiles has more of an edge than he anticipated, since he’s often able to anticipate the others’ moves, and where Boyd will be. He’s still not as strong, fast, or coordinated as the others, and he fumbles more than a few balls, but he can almost make up for it.
In the end, he thinks they end up mostly even, although no one bothers to keep score.
They give up after about an hour to grab a cold soda inside to take advantage of the air conditioning. They’re hanging out around the kitchen island when Erica enters through the front door.
“Hey!” Erica calls out. “Who’s here?”
“We’re in the kitchen,” Stiles calls back.
The three girls are all weighed down with shopping bags, and Erica says, “You missed a good time, Kira.”
Kira shrugs. “I had a pretty good time here, and this is my last year to play lacrosse.”
“And our last year to win state,” Isaac comments. “It’s our senior year.”
Malia heads for the fridge. “I’m just glad I’ll be a senior.”
“Are you still going to take driver’s ed?” Scott asks.
Malia grimaces. “I don’t know. That one time Derek tried to teach me, I kind of freaked out on him.”
From what Derek said, Malia seemed to be having a flashback, and that’s probably no wonder. With what happened to her mom and sister, and with the circumstances of the first time Malia transformed, cars are apparently a trigger for her.
“You don’t have to get your license,” Scott says gently. “Or maybe you could get your motorcycle license? That might be different enough not to bother you.”
Malia seems to perk up at that. “I hadn’t even considered that. I think I’d like riding a motorcycle.”
“You can practice with my bike,” Scott offers. “We’ll start this weekend if you want.”
Malia nods. “I’d at least like to try.”
“Sure,” Scott says easily. “I don’t have anything going on Sunday afternoon, other than hanging out with the pack.” He punctuates that statement with an arm draped over Kira’s shoulders.
Stiles suspects that Scott hadn’t cleared that with Kira before volunteering his time, but Kira doesn’t seem to mind, because she just leans into him.
Then again, Stiles thinks the entire pack is just a little bit protective of Malia, who might be tough, but is also vulnerable.
“What are we doing for dinner?” Cora asks.
Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. Derek said he’d handle it since he’s off at 4 today.”
Derek and Parrish are still both working days, usually with Sundays and Mondays off.
“It’s our turn to cook tonight,” Isaac says. “So, we’d better get going.”
Danny also stands. “I think that’s my cue as well. My parents wanted to have dinner together tonight.”
Stiles looks at Scott, who says, “Kira and I made dinner plans, if that’s all right.”
“Of course,” Stiles says quickly, knowing how much Scott has missed Kira over the summer.
“When is Lydia coming back?” Erica asks Stiles.
Stiles shrugs. “Three days before school starts. She wanted to spend as much time there as she could.”
Lydia has been vague about where her mentor wanted to take a retreat, at least with Stiles. Moira knows where it is, but Lydia’s mentor has been very firm about not providing information that identifies her or her location. Stiles knows it’s somewhere in the United Kingdom, but that’s about it.
“I’m sure you’re missing her,” Kira says sympathetically.
Stiles manages a smile. His relationship with Lydia is a little different, but he has missed her. “I’m just glad she’s getting this experience. I have no idea where I’d be if Moira hadn’t agreed to come here.”
“It’s important to get a handle on your gifts,” Kira agrees.
“Well, I’m sticking around if you don’t mind,” Erica announces. “My parents are still on vacation.”
Stiles has noticed that Erica’s parents have been taking a lot of trips this summer, and they haven’t invited her along. Then again, Erica has said that she doesn’t want to leave the pack, not this summer, not when they don’t have much time before they all split up to go to college.
“I don’t mind,” Stiles says readily. “We always have room for one more.”
Everyone is packing up to leave when Derek calls out, “Anybody home? I have groceries.”
“We’ll help before we take off,” Isaac says.
Moira likes to say that many hands make light work, and she’s not wrong. With everyone helping, including Danny, they soon have Derek’s Camaro unloaded and the supplies put away.
At that point, everyone other than the girls takes off, calling out cheerful goodbyes. Malia, Cora, and Erica disappear upstairs to put their purchases away, leaving Stiles in the kitchen with Derek.
“Did you get your project done?” Derek asks.
Stiles nods, finishing up his soda. “Yeah, although Moira hasn’t looked at it yet, so I have no idea if it works or not.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Derek replies. “You haven’t had a problem since the beginning of the summer.”
Stiles shrugs. “Still, you never know, and Moira won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest.” He pauses. “Anything interesting happen today?”
Derek laughs a little. “No, and I’m starting to think they got the message that Beacon Hills isn’t open. Everything has been completely normal this summer.”
Stiles raises his eyebrows. “You realize that you probably just jinxed us, right?”
Derek shrugs. “I didn’t think you were superstitious.”
“I’m not, but saying things have been quiet is just an invitation to the universe to make some noise,” Stiles feels compelled to point out.
“We’ll be fine,” Derek says, pulling out a family-size package of chicken thighs. “You want to start on the potatoes?”
Stiles has no problem with that, and he starts scrubbing them with a will. “You thinking wedges?”
Derek nods. “Yeah, and I got green beans, too.”
“Sounds good,” Stiles replies.
They’ve cooked together often enough at this point that they don’t have to say much. “Is Parrish coming over this weekend?”
Derek shakes his head. “Moira gave him the week off. When Lydia gets back, we’ll start up again.”
They’ve made some headway in integrating Parrish and the Hellhound riding him, but it’s definitely easier when Lydia is present. Stiles can facilitate, but with limited benefit.
Stiles has some affinity with the spirit element, as demonstrated by his use of the rune stones, but he hasn’t had any luck in connecting to Cerberus—the Hellhound. Lydia, on the other hand, can easily get Cerberus to talk to her.
Although, Cerberus still hasn’t indicated what his mission here is, other than protecting the supernatural from discovery.
“I’ll bet he’s relieved,” Stiles comments.
Derek shrugs. “A little relieved, and a little frustrated. The whole thing still freaks him out. How is Lydia? Have you talked with her?”
“Yesterday,” Stiles confirms. “She sent an email and said she’s enjoying herself, but she’s looking forward to coming home, too.”
“And her mom?” Derek asks.
Stiles shakes his head. “Her mom still doesn’t approve of any of it, but Lydia is eighteen, so she can’t do anything to stop her.” He pauses and adds, “Especially since her dad gave her the money for the trip.”
“And Scott’s dad?” Derek asks.
Stiles snorts. “Oh, Scott hasn’t heard a peep out of him all summer. He told Scott he got a big case and would be in touch, and to the surprise of no one, hasn’t been.”
“Well, we know all about shitty, deadbeat parents around here,” Erica announces as she leads the other two girls into the kitchen. “Good thing we have a few really great adults we can share.”
“Good thing,” Stiles agrees.
Cora grabs three sodas from the fridge and hands one to Erica and Malia. “What are we having?”
“Chicken thighs, potato wedges, and green beans,” Derek replies. “I wanted something easy tonight.”
“You won’t hear me complaining,” Erica says.
Everyone in the pack understands that if someone else is cooking, you don’t complain about what’s being served. You can fend for yourself, or go grab food elsewhere, and you can voice the fact that it’s not your favorite recipe if asked, but no complaining.
Stiles finishes cutting up the potatoes and tosses them with olive oil and seasoning salt, then spreads them out on a sheet pan. Then, he shoves the pan in the oven and sets the timer for ten minutes.
They’ve made something similar a number of times before, so he and Derek don’t have to talk about timing.
“Thanks for your help,” Derek says as he trims the green beans.
“Of course,” Stiles replies.
The girls have all migrated to the den, and Stiles can hear the tell-tale sounds of a first-person shooter. Malia has taken an interest in playing video games, feeling as though it’s a socially acceptable way of releasing aggression.
Stiles could join them, but he’s been exploring his options to be law enforcement-adjacent, and what might fit him best. Stiles had once thought about creating a ViCAP for the supernatural, but that’s going to require technical skills that he doesn’t currently have.
But forensics is also interesting, and he thinks he might be pretty good at forensic psychology in particular.
“What are you researching?” Derek asks.
Stiles shrugs. “If I can’t be a cop or an FBI agent, maybe I could do something to help them.”
“That’s a thought,” Derek says. “But you could probably join the sheriff’s department.”
Stiles shrugs. “Maybe, but it’s small, and the budget is limited. I want to keep my options open.”
“You have time to make a decision,” Derek replies.
“Yeah, but I do better with more information,” Stiles counters. “And I have to pick schools to apply to, which means I need to narrow down my options for majors.”
Derek smiles. “I think you’ll do fine, no matter what you choose.”
“I’m pretty sure you and my dad are contractually obligated to say as much,” Stiles jokes.
Derek snorts. “You know me better than that.”
Stiles laughs. “I guess I do.”
He’s hopeful that his dad will join them for dinner, especially given Derek’s report of a fairly quiet day. Sure enough, around 6 pm, the door opens and his dad calls, “Something smells good!”
“We’re in the kitchen,” Stiles calls back.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” comes the reply, which means his dad is planning to stay in for the evening.
When his dad emerges from the master bedroom, he’s changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and he immediately comes over to pull Stiles into a hug. “How did your project go, Stiles?”
“Awaiting Moira’s seal of approval,” Stiles replies. “How was work?”
Noah ruffles his hair. “It was just fine. I won’t comment further, because I don’t want to invite trouble.”
“Fair,” Stiles says. “Derek was inviting trouble earlier.”
“Did you explain that we don’t say the q word?” his dad asks.
“I tried,” Stiles says. “He thought I was just being superstitious.”
Noah gives Derek a look. “It might be superstition, but I’ve had a shift go completely to hell just because someone commented on it being quiet.”
Derek shrugs. “Okay, I won’t use the q word.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Noah says dryly. “Is it just the girls here for dinner tonight?”
Stiles nods. “Everyone else had plans.”
“Well, I can’t say I mind having a smaller crowd on occasion,” Noah admits. “What are you working on next?”
Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m researching majors and the best colleges for what I might want to do.”
“You just have to pick a major you can live with,” his dad reminds him. “And you can take a year or two to figure that out if you can’t decide before you go.”
Stiles shakes his head. “Not with all the AP classes I plan on taking. I’ll maybe have a year to make up my mind, and at least a couple of the majors I’m considering are going to require all four years even if I have a full semester of college credits going into it.”
His dad squeezes his shoulder. “Easy, Stiles. You’ve got plenty of time to figure things out, and you can take a little longer if you need.”
“Time is money, Pops,” Stiles replies. “And I don’t want to waste either.”
His dad takes a breath, and then doesn’t say whatever he was going to say. “Okay. Do your research. I know you do better with more information. But just because your future might look a little different than what you thought it would, doesn’t mean it’s not bright.”
Stiles knows his dad is right about that. In some ways, his problem has become that he has too many options. He had a single purpose for so long, just as long as Scott wanted to be a veterinarian, and now he’s uncertain.
And yet, he knows he’ll always have the pack, and magic, and that he can always come back to Beacon Hills and make his home here. Maybe his dad is right, and he should just let that be enough.
~~~~~
Derek has settled into his life at the station with relative ease, and his time at the pack house feels similarly easy.
He doesn’t trust it. He might joke about it being quiet, but that just means the hunters are biding their time.
He’s at the deli for lunch—which is his go-to if they’re not going to the diner or bringing leftovers—when someone bumps into him from behind.
Derek feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, remembering Jennifer, although he doesn’t smell gunpowder or aconite.
But the hunters had hired a cadre of hitmen not that long ago, and they hadn’t smelled of either of those things. Derek isn’t taking any chances.
“Oh, excuse me,” a pleasant female voice says. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Derek pastes on a smile that he hopes looks sincere. “No problem. Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course, I just tripped over my own feet, is all,” she says, holding out a hand. “I’m pretty new in town. My name is Becky. I work at the hospital.”
Derek doesn’t let on that he’s heard her name already as he shakes her hand. “Derek Hale. Deputy, but I figure that’s pretty obvious.”
Becky smiles, flashing a pair of dimples that remind Derek of Allison’s. She has the same dark hair and eyes, the same round cheeks. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Derek replies. “I’m always happy to meet a new resident of our town. How are you finding Beacon Hills?”
“Oh, it’s been delightful,” Becky replies.
Whatever charm Derek is managing to dredge up is coming from his faith in his own abilities, and faith in the strength of his pack. If there’s a spike of emotion along the bond, Stiles will feel it. He’s not back in school for another week, so he can alert the cavalry if necessary.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Derek replies. He’s next to order, and he says, “I have to get back to my shift, but it was nice to meet you.”
“You, too, Deputy Hale,” Becky says smiling.
First Stiles, now him. Derek doesn’t like it. He thinks she’s either a semi-terrible spy or a distraction.
Although, if she’s trying to find an in, she’s not going to get very far.
Unless she’s trying to make overtures—very clumsily.
Derek resolves to keep an eye out.
He orders his sandwich—turkey on rye with Swiss today—selects his toppings, and then pays, taking the paper sack with him as he leaves. Derek beats feet back to the station, plopping down at his desk.
“Derek, bring your sandwich and join me,” Noah calls, poking his head out from his office.
Derek sighs, but he does as he’s ordered, bringing his food and sitting down across from Noah. “Did you eat?” he asks, feeling uncomfortable eating if his Alpha hasn’t.
“I brought leftovers from home,” Noah admits. “That pasta dish Stiles made was amazing, and I wanted more.”
Derek had taken note of Noah’s obvious enjoyment of Stiles’ dish the night before. It had been a small crowd again, just the three of them. Everyone else had a date or a shift, or just other plans. Stiles had made pasta with bacon and peas, and Derek has no idea what about it had been so delicious, but there had been a single serving left.
Hence, why Derek had opted for a sandwich for lunch.
“What’s up?” Derek asks.
Noah waves to him. “Eat your lunch. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you any leftovers.”
“I saw how much you liked it,” Derek admits. “I left it for you.”
Noah laughs. “Thank you. What happened while you were picking up your sandwich?”
“You remember the woman who approached Stiles while he was at judo?” Derek asks, unwrapping his sandwich, but not starting to eat yet.
Noah nods. “Did she approach you, too?”
“She bumped into me while I was in line,” Derek confirms. “Said she was new in town, and she worked at the hospital.”
He takes a bite of his sandwich as Noah leans back in his chair, apparently contemplating what Derek just said. “Well, I know from Mel that’s all true, but it seems like a little bit of a coincidence that she’d approach Stiles at judo and bump into you at the deli.”
Derek can’t disagree. It’s not as though it’s any secret that Stiles is in judo and a lot of people at the station frequent the deli. On the other hand, she might just be taking judo and like a good sandwich.
Noah sighs. “Of course, it could actually be a coincidence,” he adds, echoing Derek’s thoughts.
“She didn’t smell like a hunter,” Derek admits. “But maybe it would be a good idea to get some more information and have Alana look into her.”
Noah nods. “I think that’s a good idea. Do you want to call her?”
“I’ll do that after work,” Derek promises.
“Finish your sandwich,” Noah advises. “I need you and Mark to go check out an anonymous tip we received this morning.”
Derek frowns. “Both of us?”
“The tip said there might be an illegal grow operation,” Noah says. “If that’s accurate, there might be trouble, and I want whoever goes to have backup.”
Derek can understand why Noah might send two deputies. Although there’s been a push to legalize recreational marijuana in California, it’s still illegal to grow it unless it’s for medicinal purposes, and it requires a license. If discovered, the plants will be destroyed, and people get rather upset about that—and the jail time they’re going to serve.
He makes quick work of his meal, then goes to find Mark, who’s finishing up his own lunch at his desk.
“Noah tell you to find me?” Mark asks.
“Yeah, if you’re ready,” Derek replies.
“I’m done,” Mark confirms. “Let’s see if we get lucky.”
They take Mark’s assigned vehicle with Mark driving. Derek has noticed that Mark prefers to be in the driver’s seat, and Derek is fine with that.
Besides, as Mark has said before, if Derek is in the passenger seat, and someone needs to leave the vehicle to chase a suspect, Derek is younger and faster.
The anonymous tip points them to a location past the city limits but inside the county line, where there’s a heavily forested area. The caller had directed them to a path that leads into the trees, alleging that there are marijuana plants growing in a clearing, about one hundred yards in.
Mark leads the way, fighting past low-hanging branches and overgrown ferns. His right hand stays near the butt of his service weapon, and Derek follows his lead.
Just the fact that there’s a visible path through the underbrush suggests that the caller is right about there being something in these woods.
The path, however faint, ends at a small clearing, and sure enough, there are at least a dozen marijuana plants, bright green and healthy-looking.
“Huh, guess it wasn’t a crank call after all,” Mark comments.
“Are we going to destroy them?” Derek asks.
Mark shakes his head. “No, I have recording equipment in my vehicle. We’ll put it up and see if someone comes back here in the next few days.”
It’s the first time Derek has been able to set up this kind of surveillance, and he always enjoys learning something new.
“It’s motion activated,” Mark explains as he walks Derek through how to set up the camera. “The battery will last around 24 hours, so we’ll be back here tomorrow to change it out.”
Derek has worked with most of the deputies at this point, and while he likes all of them, he enjoys working with Mark the best. Mark has a wealth of experience, and a hands-on way of teaching that suits Derek’s learning style.
“Why not set up live surveillance?” Derek asks.
“Good question,” Mark replies. “The bottom line is that we just don’t have those resources, not for something like this. We want to stop this sort of operation, but lives aren’t at stake. There are other things that take priority.”
Derek nods. “Got it.”
He knows resources are an issue in a department this size, and they have to be careful in how they use them.
Mark smiles. “Besides, this way we get them on candid camera, which always plays well in court if it goes to trial.”
“That makes sense,” Derek admits.
Derek isn’t sure what tips him off, but he suddenly senses danger and moves decisively, tackling Mark to the ground.
Mark lets out an inarticulate shout of surprise as he hits the dirt. The bullets start whizzing above their heads a split second later.
“Fuck,” Mark hisses.
Derek can tell that the bullets are coming from deeper in the woods, on the other side of the marijuana plants. He spares a moment to wonder whether they were set up. “Go, I’ll cover you.”
“You’re not bullet proof, rookie,” Mark growls.
“But I heal a lot faster than you,” Derek points out.
“Unless those are wolfsbane bullets!” Mark replies, but he starts to crawl back towards the path.
Derek feels a white-hot pain in the back of his left leg, and he hisses. Mark reaches the cover of the trees, getting behind a large trunk, and Derek takes shelter behind another.
“You hit, kid?” Mark demands in a whisper.
The hail of bullets stops, and Derek hears someone crashing through the trees.
“My leg,” Derek admits. “I’ll be fine.”
“Wolfsbane?” All the deputies know about the potential danger of one of the ‘wolves getting hit with a bullet laced with wolfsbane.
Derek shakes his head. “No, and I’d know by now. What do we do?”
Mark grimaces. “They just shot at a couple of deputies, and they probably saw us setting up the equipment.”
“I can track them,” Derek offers.
Mark raises his eyebrows. “On that leg?”
Derek shrugs. “I’m a werewolf.”
In response, Mark activates his radio. “This is Deputy Rossi. We have shots fired. We need backup. Deputy Hale and I are going to pursue.”
Derek shakes his head. “Mark—”
“You need backup,” he insists. “At least until someone else arrives.”
The radio crackles, and Maria’s voice comes through. “Tara was nearby, and she’s on her way to you. Can you wait?”
“They fired on two deputies, and I don’t think they’ll be back,” Mark replies. “Have Tara meet us.” He looks at Derek. “Let’s go. You lead.”
Derek really wants to protest, to tell Mark he could change into his full shift and follow the scent that way. If Mark stays behind, that would protect him.
Then again, they’ll have a really hard time explaining why the guy was caught by a wolf, so Derek just pulls his service weapon and starts to follow the scent of gunpowder.
Gunpowder and the acrid scent of fear.
Derek follows the trail through the trees, moving as quickly as he can. The bullet still hurts like a motherfucker, and Derek knows that someone is going to have to dig it out. At least he’s not bleeding anymore, though.
Derek can see the trees start to thin out, and they slow down, not wanting to walk into another ambush. There’s no one immediately visible, and Derek can see deep tire tracks in the soft shoulder of the gravel road.
“Shit, they’re gone,” Mark mutters.
The radio crackles again, and Tara’s voice comes over the radio. “I’m in pursuit of a black Buick LeSabre, looks to be an older model, heading eastbound on Highway 12, going about 80.”
Noah’s voice comes over the radio. “I have Cindy and Rhonda on an intercept, coming from the south. What’s your mile marker?”
Tara rattles off additional details about her location, and Noah says, “They’re two minutes out. Did you get a look at the license plate?”
“Too much dust,” Tara says shortly.
Mark turns to Derek. “Let’s see if the camera survived, and you need to get that leg seen.”
Derek grimaces. “Someone is going to have to remove the bullet. It’s not bleeding anymore, but I can feel it in there.”
“Not it,” Mark says, his tone bone dry. “But those were some great instincts and better reflexes today, Derek. If you hadn’t been here, I’m not sure I’d be going home to my wife tonight.”
Derek can feel his face heat up as he follows Mark back through the woods. “I don’t know about that. They didn’t seem to be crack shots.”
Mark gives him a look. “Take the compliment. I know you’ve got a pretty sweet deal with the sheriff, but you come over for dinner some night, and I’ll make my famous bolognese for you—with fresh pasta.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” Derek replies. He pauses. “You don’t think it was a setup, do you?”
Mark frowns. “What, with the anonymous tip? I don’t know. When the ladies catch up with them, I guess we’ll have to investigate and see.”
In retrospect, Derek probably should have known it wasn’t a setup given the fact that the bullet clearly hasn’t been treated with wolfsbane. Between the adrenaline and the pain, though, Derek hasn’t given it much consideration.
He climbs into the passenger seat, and slumps back.
“That was your first firefight, wasn’t it?” Mark asks as he turns on the engine.
“In a manner of speaking,” Derek replies. “It’s not the first time I’ve been shot. The first time, Stiles almost had to cut my arm off.”
There’s a long pause before Mark puts the car into drive. “Why the hell didn’t you tell law enforcement?”
Derek shifts uncomfortably. “Once Scott got another wolfsbane bullet, we were able to neutralize it, and then the wound just went away.”
“Werewolves,” Mark mutters, putting the car in drive. “Well, let’s see what we can do.”
Mark drives them back to the station, and Noah comes out of his office, nostrils flaring. “Are you hit?”
“It’s already closed over, but I’m still going to need the bullet removed,” Derek admits.
Noah sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to make some calls. Derek, do me a favor and go sit on the couch in my office. I want to get that leg taken care of before you do anything else.”
“I’m okay,” Derek protests, but it’s half-hearted.
Noah just raises his eyebrows, and Derek doesn’t argue further, trudging to Noah’s office and slumping on the couch. He rubs the back of his leg where the bullet hit, feeling the damp fabric. His hand comes away bloody.
“Ah, hell, I’m going to need new uniform pants,” Derek mutters.
“You are, and you’re going home after we get that leg taken care of,” Noah replies. “So, let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” Derek asks, taking the hand Noah holds out to him.
Noah gives him a look. “The hospital, where people should go when they get shot. Mel and Ellie are going to meet us there, and Mel said they can treat you and keep it off the books.”
Derek sighs, knowing that Noah is right. He’s following Noah out of the station when Cindy and Rhonda enter, each with a man in handcuffs.
“Good job,” Noah comments.
“Gotta love a good car chase,” Rhonda says cheerfully. Her blonde hair bobs in its ponytail. “It turns out these two don’t like having guns pointed at them, even though they’re comfortable shooting at deputies.”
“Book them,” Noah says. “Call the DA and see what charges he thinks he can make stick. I’m going to take Derek to get treated.”
Cindy frowns, then peers around Derek to see the back of his pants. “Why aren’t you already at the hospital, Derek?”
“I heal fast,” Derek says.
Cindy shakes her head. “I’m glad the sheriff is sensible, at least. If you were my kid, I’d be reading you the riot act right now.”
“Come on,” Noah says. “Best get going before you get a lecture.”
Derek sits in the passenger seat of Noah’s car. “It really did heal over fast.”
“Yeah, and we’ll get a picture when Ellie digs that bullet out,” Noah replies. “The bullet will go into evidence in case we need to use it, but just firing at you and Mark means they’re looking at attempted murder charges.”
“I thought maybe it was a setup,” Derek admits.
“If it was, you’d have wolfsbane poisoning right now,” Noah points out.
Derek winces. “I should have thought of that.”
“You got shot,” Noah says dryly. “The fact that you even thought about it being a setup bodes well for your future as an investigator.”
“All that over a dozen marijuana plants,” Derek mutters.
“Yeah, they’re going to rack up an impressive set of charges,” Noah says. “Good thing you’re a werewolf, son. That injury would have taken you out for at least a few weeks, depending on how bad it was.”
Derek winces. “I think it was just a flesh wound.”
“Next time, let Mark drive you to the hospital,” Noah orders. “We have friends there who can treat you now.”
“Got it,” Derek says.
And Derek gives himself over to the care of his Alpha.
~~~~~
Noah doesn’t blame Mark for not taking Derek straight to the hospital. Everyone at the station knows the werewolves heal fast without much sign of injury, and Derek said he was fine.
From what Noah can tell, Derek is mostly fine, but fine is not great.
Noah doesn’t go in to the emergency room, but rather one of the other entrances that people use for appointments. He texted Mel before they left the station, and she’s there with Dr. Ellie, as Stiles refers to her.
“Hi, Derek,” Ellie says, her dark eyes crinkling with concern. “I’m sorry to be meeting you again under these circumstances.”
Derek winces. “I’m really mostly fine.”
“So, we’ll get you a little closer to great,” Mel says, patting his arm sympathetically.
They usher Derek to a nearby room with a hospital bed. “Do you want Noah to stay?” Ellie asks. “I’m going to have to ask you to drop your trousers.”
Derek shrugs. “It’s fine.”
Ellie just raises her eyebrows. “Do you want him here with you?”
Derek nods at that. “Yeah, I do.”
“All right, I’m going to need you to take your trousers off, and then we’re going to get that bullet out of your leg,” Ellie says gently.
Derek does that and stretches out on the bed on his stomach, his head pillowed on his hands. “I don’t know if this will work. I heal too fast.”
“We’re going to be quick about it,” Ellie replies. “Mel is going to use the ultrasound to locate the bullet, and then I’m going to extract it.”
“Wounds from an alpha take longer to heal,” Derek mutters.
“We’ll keep that in reserve,” Ellie replies. “Mel, if you would be so kind.”
Mel runs the ultrasound want over the back of Derek’s leg, and Noah doesn’t have to be trained to be able to see the shadow on the screen that’s clearly a bullet. “It looks like it’s lodged in the bone.”
“That’s not ideal,” Ellie says. “But that’s what we have forceps for.”
Ellie cleans the back of Derek’s leg with an alcohol wipe, then begins to cut into the skin with a scalpel. Noah can tell almost immediately that it’s not going to work. Derek’s skin starts to close up before Ellie can get deep enough to get at the bullet.
Noah sighs. “You’d better let me.”
“At least clean your claws with alcohol,” Mel says. “I know werewolves can’t get infections, but it will make us feel better.”
Noah pops his claws and wipes his index and thumb with alcohol, then he follows the same line Ellie had with the claw on his index finger. He hits something hard, and digs into the wound he made with his index finger and thumb.
He’s trying really hard not to think about how gross this is, or the fact that he’s hurting Derek. Noah just grips the bullet tightly and yanks.
The bullet comes free with a squelching sound, and Noah drops it in the metal cup Ellie holds out. At the same time, he puts his left hand on Derek’s leg, just above the wound, and pulls Derek’s pain while Mel snaps a quick picture of the wound.
“Thanks,” Derek mutters. “That sucked.”
“At least wolfsbane wasn’t involved,” Noah comments. “Let’s be grateful for small favors.”
“We can close it with surgical glue and let you heal up the rest of the way,” Ellie says. “I don’t think we need stitches.”
“Not based on what I’ve seen,” Mel agrees.
“I heard how quickly Deputy Graeme healed,” Ellie says. “I reviewed her chart, so I know just how fast her recovery was. It was one of the reasons I agreed to be involved.”
Noah isn’t quite sure what she means by that, but he can guess. A doctor would want to know about a miracle cure, even if it’s not suitable for everyone.
“It was something of a miracle for Scott and Erica,” Mel says softly, echoing Noah’s thoughts.
“I would never propose it as a life-saving measure unless the situation was truly dire, and you were able to vet the person,” Ellie says. “Mel and I have talked about this extensively.”
Noah watches as Ellie closes the wound with glue, and Derek slowly sits up.
“Let me grab some scrub pants for you,” Mel says. “I’ll be right back.”
Noah gives Ellie a long look. “I don’t suppose you want to take the bite.”
Ellie shakes her head. “But if something were to happen to me, and it’s necessary to save my life, you have my permission.”
“Good to know,” Noah replies. “I hope it’s not needed, but I think you’d make a great addition.”
Ellie laughs. “Having a doctor around is often useful.”
Derek clears his throat. “Do you know anything about one of the occupational therapists here, Becky?”
Ellie hums thoughtfully. “I think she started about a month ago. Our jobs haven’t had much overlap, so we’ve mostly just nodded at one another in the hallway.”
Mel enters with a set of scrub pants, and apparently catches the tail end of the conversation. “Is this about Becky?”
“I bumped into her at the deli earlier today,” Derek admits. “It just seemed a little too coincidental.”
“I’m not sure, Derek,” Mel admits. “If she were interested in the pack, I would think she’d approach me first, rather than you or Stiles.”
Derek pulls on the pants. “Would she know to do that?”
“It’s kind of an open secret around here,” Ellie admits. “All she’d have to do is ask who knows about the strange things that happen in Beacon Hills, and they’d point to Mel, and probably me next.”
“Or she could have just been friendly to Stiles and attracted to Derek,” Noah says dryly.
“Or that,” Mel says. There’s a teasing glint in her eyes when she adds, “It’s the burden of being beautiful, Derek.”
The tips of Derek’s ears turn pink. “Please stop.”
Ellie laughs. “You know what you look like.”
Derek’s blush deepens.
“Okay, we’d better get out of here before Derek spontaneously combusts,” Noah says. “Send the bill to the sheriff’s department.”
“It’s on the house,” Ellie replies. “Unless you need it for record keeping, and then we’ll send an invoice.”
Noah’s phone chimes, and he sees the text from Mel with the picture of Derek’s leg—after he removed the bullet, but before Ellie glued the wound shut.
“Thanks,” Noah says. “I don’t know that we’ll need it, since they definitely shot at two deputies. The fact that Derek got hit isn’t going to make much of a difference.”
Derek has pulled on his scrub pants and taken off his uniform shirt, leaving him in his black t-shirt.
“You good to drive home?” Noah asks. “If not, I can drop you at the house and give you a ride tomorrow.”
Derek shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m more annoyed than anything else at this point, but I’m glad that Mark is okay.”
Noah pats him on the shoulder. “You probably saved his life today, Derek. You can be proud of that.”
If anything, that causes Derek’s flush to deepen. “I really might spontaneously combust.”
Noah laughs at that, but he leads the way out of the hospital back to the car. All told, the whole episode had taken an hour, if that, but he can tell that Derek is uncomfortable.
“Is everything okay?” Noah asks as they get in the vehicle. “I’m sorry if the teasing was too much.”
Derek shakes his head definitively. “That wasn’t—I just—I’ve never had anybody actually…”
Noah remembers Stiles’ horror story about thinking he might have to cut Derek’s arm off. “You never had anyone who actually looked after you when it was an injury that seemed to disappear in short order.”
“I mean, I healed,” Derek says quietly. “The bullet might even have come out on its own.”
“Doubtful,” Noah counters. “I really had to yank on it.”
Derek laughs a little bit at that. “Okay, fair. Still, thanks.”
Noah just manages not to sigh. He’s already told Derek that he shouldn’t thank Noah just for taking care of him, so he figures he’ll just keep showing up until Derek realizes that thanks aren’t necessary. “You’re off the rest of the day, and if you need tomorrow, you can have it.”
“I’ll be healed before you get home for dinner,” Derek points out as Noah takes the turn onto Main Street, which will take them to the station.
“Yeah, and you also got shot today,” Noah replies. “I’d say the same thing to any of my deputies, especially a greener one.”
Derek almost breaks into a smile at that. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll tell me if you’re not.” Noah doesn’t make it a question.
He gets a nod in response, and Noah decides that it’s good enough.
Noah pulls up next to Derek’s Camaro, and says, “Be careful driving home.”
“Will do,” Derek replies easily.
There’s a part of Noah that wants to follow Derek to make sure he gets there safely. Derek doesn’t seem particularly traumatized, but he does seem shaken that so many people want to help him.
Noah shakes his head, remonstrating with himself. Derek is a grown-ass man and a fully-fledged deputy, even if he does have layers of trauma that probably haven’t been fully excavated.
Right now, Noah has an investigation into an illegal grow operation and two counts of attempted murder.
He heads into the station, and Mark immediately stands to greet him. “Sir, I’m sorry—”
Noah holds up a hand. “Don’t apologize, Mark. We heal up fast, and Derek said he was okay. We got the bullet out, and he’ll probably be back tomorrow. Truth be told, he’d have come right back to work once he got into a clean uniform if I hadn’t told him to take it easy.”
Mark nods. “Still, I should have insisted on the hospital.”
Noah snorts at that. “He’ll know to go to Mel or Dr. Wagner next time. That’s progress. Where are we at?”
“Tara called Parrish to deal with the grow operation and collect evidence,” Mark says. “Rhonda is interviewing the suspect who hasn’t lawyered up. The other one exercised his right to an attorney, so we booked him.”
Noah nods. “What did the DA say about charges?”
“Start with manufacturing, possession with intent to distribute, possession of a firearm, and attempted murder,” Mark replies. “Brogan said he’d probably think of a few more before they’re arraigned.”
Noah chuckles, although there isn’t much mirth in the sound. “He gets creative sometimes. What do we know about the two perps?”
Mark is old school, so he grabs a small notebook off his desk. “The one who isn’t talking is Vincent Thomson. He has a long list of priors, mostly misdemeanors. He got busted with a pound of weed about two years ago, but managed to plead it down. He served twelve months in county and got out a year ago.”
“Well, this will get him moved up to big boy time,” Noah comments dryly. “And our songbird?”
“Robbie Kincaid, just graduated from high school, first time offense,” Mark says. “From what I’ve overheard, he was a small-time user and got suckered into helping Thomson, thinking he was going to get rich selling. He wasn’t prepared for Thomson to open fire on a couple of deputies.”
Noah nods. “Gunshot residue?”
“Thomson, not Kincaid,” Mark confirms.
“Think I might join Rhonda,” Noah comments mildly. “I’d like to see what this kid has to say for himself.”
Rhonda is young, in her late twenties, and she has a baby face that’s currently creased in sympathy when Noah peers through the one-way mirror. “I know you’re a good person, Robbie. You’ve never been in trouble, not like Vinnie.”
Robbie looks painfully young to Noah, short and slight, with a bad case of acne, lank hair dropping over one eye. “I didn’t know he was going to shoot at anybody! I just thought we were gonna hide until they left.”
“You didn’t have any gunshot reside on your hands,” Rhonda replies. “You could help yourself quite a bit if you agreed to talk to the DA.”
Noah decides to step in before she makes promises they can’t keep.
He raps on the doorjamb before he enters, then sits down at the table across from Robbie. “Sorry to interrupt, Rhonda. I just got back from the hospital.” He makes sure to keep his tone heavy. “Do you know who I am, Mr. Thomson?”
Robbie gulps audibly. “Yes, sir. I saw the deputy who got hit, though, and he walked out of here!”
“You mean, you saw the person that your friend shot,” Noah corrects. “And he did walk out of here, but the bullet needed to be removed, and a lot of things can happen, even with a minor surgery.”
There’s no rule against lying to suspects, and what Noah said has the benefit of being entirely true. A lot can happen. He’ll just let Robbie draw his own conclusions based on Noah’s words and his tone of voice.
Robbie says, “I never wanted anybody to get hurt! I didn’t want Vinnie to shoot anybody. We were just going to hide until the deputies left, honest!”
Noah nods, pretending to think about that. “What do you think, Rhonda?”
“I think a kid like Robbie who’s willing to testify might be able to cut a deal that gives him some shot at a life,” Rhonda says. “Where he won’t spend the next ten years in state prison.”
“I’ll talk to the DA!” Robbie says quickly, and from the desperation in his voice, it’s clear that he knows just how much trouble he’s in, and he’ll do anything to get himself out of it.
Noah drums his fingers on the table. “Well, I suppose I could put in a good word for you with the DA, but if you back out—”
“I won’t, sir!” Robbie says. “Swear I won’t.”
“Guess I’ll make that phone call then,” Noah says. “Rhonda, see if he’ll give you more information on their buyers.”
Robbie moans and buries his head in his arms, and Noah sends Rhonda a wink that pulls an answering smirk from her.
Noah goes straight back to his office and calls Brogan, who answers right away. “Brogan.”
“It’s Stilinski,” he says.
“Noah, how’s Deputy Hale?” Brogan asks immediately. “I heard he was injured.”
Noah appreciates that’s the first question. “He’ll make a full recovery. It was a flesh wound.”
“Good,” Brogan says. “What else do you have for me?”
Noah quickly outlines what he knows, including Robbie Kincaid’s desperate pleas to make a deal.
“And there was no gunshot residue on his hands?” Brogan presses.
Noah snorts. “Kid’s got the constitution of a wet paper towel. No, there was no residue, and I think he’d probably piss himself if he tried to shoot someone.”
“You never know,” Brogan replies. “But given those facts, I can offer him a deal. Is he still talking?”
“Rhonda’s with him,” Noah confirms.
“I’m on my way,” Brogan replies. “See if you can keep him talking. If he gets a chance to think about it too much, he might clam up.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Noah promises.
Rhonda is still chatting with Robbie, and Noah can tell that Robbie has a bit of a crush on her. Noah doesn’t want to break the rhythm of the interview, but he sits down and doesn’t say anything.
At a natural break, Rhonda turns to him. “Were you able to talk to the DA, sir?”
“He’s on his way over right now,” Noah replies. “And he’s very interested in cutting a deal with Robbie.”
“What does that mean?” Robbie demands. “Am I not going to get in trouble?”
Noah shakes his head. “I think we’re past that point, Robbie, wouldn’t you agree?”
Robbie stares down at the table. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“But you’ll do a lot less time than your friend will,” Noah adds. “What that looks like probably has a lot to do with what you can tell him, so I suggest being really honest.”
Robbie nods. “I can do that.”
Brogan is as good as his word, arriving about fifteen minutes later, and Noah retreats to the observation area since Rhonda already has a rapport with the kid.
Noah has seen Brogan work with suspects before, and for such a big, gruff guy, he’s gentle with Robbie, coaxing him to talk about the grow operation, and who they’d bought the plants from, and who they planned to sell it to.
The offer, when it comes, is for growing marijuana, a felony, but Robbie can participate in the deferred entry of judgment program.
“If you testify truthfully, and you complete the program, it will be like you never had a drug charge,” Brogan says persuasively. “You can go about your life.”
Robbie nods. “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. I never wanted anything like this.”
Noah lets out a sigh, and he can’t quite believe that he’s grateful this was just a normal crime, with normal criminals, who are going to go to prison.
But that’s just his life these days.
~~~~~
Stiles is whistling a bit to himself as he arrives home after krav maga. He’s not surprised to see Derek’s Camaro parked in front, since he’s usually off by now, but the spike of alarm he’d felt from Derek earlier in the day comes to mind.
His dad’s emotional landscape has remained steady throughout the day, though, so Stiles figured it was a call that got resolved.
Right now, though, he realizes that Derek feels a bit muted, and he says to Batman, “Let’s go check on Derek, okay?”
Batman whuffs, and Stiles heads inside and hears the television playing in the den. “Derek! You good?”
“In the den,” Derek replies. “Everything is fine.”
Stiles leaves Batman’s vest on, since he’s planning on going out for dinner before heading to the high school for senior scribe. “How come things don’t feel fine?”
“I got shot,” Derek says after a moment. He’s stretched out on the couch, a hand behind his head “Your dad took me to the hospital, because the bullet needed to be removed. I don’t know. It was weird.”
Stiles sits in the recliner closest to Derek’s head. “Because you got shot?”
“No, because your dad insisted that I take the rest of the day off,” Derek replies.
Stiles thinks he knows Derek pretty well at this point. “You mean there was a trip to the actual hospital with actual medical personnel—I’m assuming it was Mrs. McCall and Dr. Ellie,” Stiles says. When Derek nods, Stiles just replies, “I guess that’s a far cry from a vet’s office and demanding that I cut your arm off. No wolfsbane?”
“It was an illegal grow operation,” Derek says. “Just normal criminals, and nothing to indicate that it was a set up or anything like that.”
Stiles raises his eyebrows. “But you’re good.”
“I will be,” Derek says after moment’s consideration. “Sometimes, the differences just hit me in a weird way.”
“I get it,” Stiles says. “What a difference a couple of years make, huh?”
Derek’s smile is genuine. “Yeah, something like that. You guys doing senior scribe tonight?”
“That’s the plan,” Stiles says. He hesitates. “You never got to do it, did you?”
Derek snorts. “No. But it’s literally writing your initials on a bookshelf. I didn’t really see the big deal when I was in high school.”
“It’s tradition,” Stiles protests, although he can understand Derek’s point of view. “I figure every school has a silly tradition of some kind.”
“True,” Derek says. “Have fun.”
Stiles heads upstairs to get cleaned up and put on a pair of his nicer jeans and a t-shirt. They aren’t going anywhere fancy for dinner, just the taqueria, and Lydia, Malia and Cora are meeting him at the house.
He grabs a Coke from the fridge, and he hears the front door open. “Hey! Anybody home?” Cora calls.
“In the kitchen,” Stiles calls back.
Malia enters the kitchen, wearing a disgruntled expression, and Stiles sees that Cora has detoured to the den to check on Derek.
“What’s up with you?” Stiles asks.
Malia shrugs. “I don’t know. I just feel weird. Like my skin’s too tight.”
“You ever feel like that before?” Stiles queries, because he knows that Malia is a creature of instinct.
Malia shakes her head. “I don’t think so. If I have, I don’t remember.”
“Okay, well, pay attention to your instincts,” Stiles replies. “Do you want a soda?”
Malia shakes her head. “I prefer the ones they sell at the taqueria.”
“Fair enough,” Stiles replies. “As soon as Lydia gets here, we can go.”
Cora comes into the kitchen and loops her arm through Malia’s. “Cheer up. You’re going to be a senior, so just one more year of school to go!”
Malia cracks a smile at that. “Okay, that’s worth celebrating, for sure.”
“And if you keep doing as well on a motorcycle as you did yesterday, you could probably have your license pretty soon,” Stiles points out, wanting to cheer Malia up.
Malia grins. “It was fun.”
Lydia comes into the kitchen as impeccably dressed as usual. “We should get going if we’re going to eat before we go to the school.”
Stiles looks at the girls. “We good to go?”
“Yes, let’s go.” Malia sounds a little impatient, but that’s pretty much how she always sounds. “I don’t see what the big deal is anyway.”
“It’s tradition,” Stiles replies. “Senior scribe is, in fact, pretty much a sacred tradition.”
“I would think if you were going to do this, it would be at the end of senior year, not before it starts,” Malia objects as they all climb into Roscoe, with Batman sitting between Malia and Cora.
Stiles looks at Lydia, who’s in the front passenger seat. “Do you want to explain it?”
“What’s to explain?” Lydia asks. “I don’t know why it takes place before the year starts. It’s just the way things have always been.”
Cora shrugs. “I think it makes sense. If you do it before senior year, people will still remember that you were here even if you die before the year’s out.”
Stiles blinks. “Oookay. Morbid.”
“It is Beacon Hills,” Lydia points out. “It’s better now than it was, but werewolves and hunters are still a thing.”
“And banshees and were-coyotes, and hellhounds, oh, my,” Stiles jokes.
“Not to mention witches,” Cora adds.
“Where is Moira, by the way?” Malia asks. “I feel like she hasn’t been around much this summer.”
Stiles hesitates. “She’s been traveling a lot. If we’re going to create a sanctuary, we need more fire power, but those she’s spoken to have been kind of reluctant.”
“How come?” Cora asks. “I would have thought they’d jump at the chance.”
“It hasn’t been done in decades,” Stiles admits. “And a lot of people think that it can’t be done. They want to see proof before they’ll join us.”
“That’s a catch-22,” Lydia objects.
“Oh, we’re all aware,” Stiles says, knowing that he sounds sour. “That’s why Moira’s been traveling. To try to convince people to give it a shot. I think she’ll be back tomorrow, and she promised that she would be sticking around for a while.”
“Good,” Malia mutters. “Everything feels better when she’s here.”
Stiles can’t disagree. He likes having Moira around, although he’s been happy to pick up some of the slack for order fulfillment; his checking account is very much in the black now. Another few jobs, and he could probably rebuild Roscoe from the ground up if the need arises.
That said, he’d still rather have Moira around.
“I would agree,” Stiles says. “But we’ll have her back soon.”
He really hopes so, because he hasn’t seen Moira in a couple of weeks, and he misses her. He also misses her cooking.
Stiles parks as close to the taqueria as he can get, and they walk the two blocks to the small restaurant. Scott and Kira are already there, waiting outside, Scott’s arm around her shoulders.
“Hey, Stiles,” Scott says, grabbing Stiles with his free arm and giving him a quick side-hug. “You excited?”
“I guess so,” Stiles replies. “Senior year, right?”
“It’s hard to believe it’s our last year,” Kira says with a smile.
Lydia sniffs. “I, for one, am ready for college.”
“I’m just ready to be done with school,” Malia mutters.
“Hey, guys!” Erica calls as she approaches with Boyd and Isaac in tow. “We didn’t keep you waiting, did we?”
Stiles shakes his head. “We just got here.”
Danny is the last to arrive, giving Stiles and Lydia quick hugs. “Thanks for inviting me,” he says.
“Yeah, of course,” Stiles says easily.
A few years ago, the situation would have been unthinkable—Stiles with a big group of friends, grabbing dinner together before taking part in Senior Scribe. They order their tacos and eat outside standing up, chatting idly about the classes they plan on taking. Scott has signed up for AP Biology, and is worried about doing well.
“Come on, Scotty, we’ll get you through it,” Stiles says. “Plus, you want to do well, and that’s half the battle.”
“I agree with Stiles,” Kira adds, licking salsa off her fingers. “Lydia and I are both taking that class.”
“What about you, Stiles?” Danny asks. “Any classes you’re worried about?”
Stiles shakes his head, feeding Batman a bit of steak out of his taco. “No, I decided to take AP calculus, English, history, and psychology, but I’ll stick with regular bio.”
Right now, Stiles is leaning towards a degree in psychology, or maybe pre-law. Between his junior and senior years, Stiles should have more than a semester’s worth of college credits.
He might not be sure what he’s going to do with his life anymore, but he knows that he wants to give back to his community in some way.
Once they finish their tacos, they all caravan to the high school. There are already a lot of cars in the lot, and kids streaming from the parking lot inside. They join the crowd, following the path to the library, where students are passing around a Sharpie.
Eventually, it’s their turn to write their initials on the metal shelf that has been cleared of books for the purpose. There are already dozens of initials, and Stiles finds an empty spot for his, opting for M.S., rather than using his nickname with a (B), because he decides that Batman needs his own memorial. Lydia inscribes her initials next to his, and Stiles figures that in this way, they’ll always be linked, no matter what happens.
When they’re done, they walk out of the school together and stand around the parking lot. School starts the next day, so they probably should go home, but instead Stiles asks, “Who wants to come back to the house?”
There’s a general consensus, and Stiles gets behind the wheel, Lydia in the passenger seat again, and Cora and Malia in the back seat.
“Do you need to call Noah?” Cora asks.
“Nah, it’ll be fine,” Stiles says easily. “Dad never minds if people come over, as long as we keep it down if he asks.”
“What about Derek?” Cora asks.
Stiles doesn’t think Derek will mind, but he says, “Good point. Text him, will you?” He’s mindful of the fact that he’s driving, and that he has passengers to worry about.
“Sure,” Cora replies, pulling her phone out of shooting off a text.
When they get to the house, Stiles sees Parrish’s truck parked out front, and he decides to lead everyone around to the back of the house where the fire pit is. There’s no reason to bother Derek and Parrish if Derek wants privacy.
When they round the corner, though, Derek is kindling a fire, and Parrish is out of uniform with a beer in hand.
“We’re not bothering you, are we?” Stiles calls.
Derek glances up. “I got Cora’s text. I thought you guys might like to sit out here.”
“Derek probably shouldn’t be alone with his thoughts,” Parrish comments. “So, I brought Chinese, and we’re hanging out.”
“What happened?” Scott asks, sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs, Kira snuggling in next to him.
“Derek was a big damn hero and saved Deputy Rossi’s life,” Parrish replies. “But he got shot, and your mom helped remove the bullet.”
Scott frowns. “It wasn’t a wolfsbane bullet?”
Derek sighs audibly. “No, just a normal one, from very normal criminals, who were growing marijuana.”
Scott relaxes back in his seat. “Glad it wasn’t hunters. I’m also glad you’re okay.”
Derek looks up at that, and his smile is wide and genuine. “Thanks, Scott.”
“What does everyone want to drink?” Stiles asks.
Danny and Boyd are the ones to help him bring out bottles of water and cans of soda, and they all find seats around the fire pit.
It’s a fun couple of hours, and then people start to leave around ten. Danny is the first, and Lydia announces that she needs to get home. Boyd, Isaac, and Erica head out, with Isaac promising to drop Erica at home, and Scott and Kira follow soon after. Then Parrish announces that he needs sleep before their shift the next day.
That leaves just the people currently living at the house, but Stiles doesn’t feel any hurry to get to bed. He needs sleep, but this evening feels momentous. Maybe it’s stupid, but he feels like once their senior year starts, Stiles will be staring down the barrel of his future.
His dad steps out onto the back porch and asks, “What are you still doing up?”
“We’re just enjoying the nice evening,” Stiles protests.
His dad has a bottle of beer, and he sits down near Derek. “Okay there, Derek?”
Derek’s smile reaches his eyes. “Tonight was just what I needed.”
“Good,” Noah replies. “I’m glad the pack could help even you out.”
“Parrish helped,” Derek admits.
“That’s why I sent him over, even though he offered to work overtime,” Noah says. “Any trouble tonight, Stiles?”
Stiles shakes his head, his hand drifting to Batman’s soft ears. “You know the school doesn’t mind Senior Scribe as long as people behave themselves, and everyone did. We came back here and just chilled. Did things pop off this evening?”
“There’s a lot of paperwork involved when people shoot at a couple of my deputies, and I wanted to get it taken care of,” Noah replies.
“Sorry?” Derek offers.
Noah snorts. “Not your fault. I was the one who sent you and Mark to investigate, and you caught the operators. I wish you hadn’t been shot, but other than that, it’s a decent outcome.”
“You’re going to get a reputation as a drug dog,” Stiles jokes. “Didn’t you find a bunch of drugs your first day on the job?”
Derek flushes slightly and shrugs. “I guess.”
“He found several bricks, so yes,” Noah confirms.
“It was a traffic stop and an anonymous tip,” Derek claims. “Nothing crazy.”
Cora snorts. “Don’t be modest, Derek. You did good.” She stands up. “I should get to bed.”
Malia also stands. “Same. Tonight was fun, Stiles. I’m glad you said we should all go together.”
Stiles stays where he is, not quite ready to turn in, and when it’s just the three of them, his dad asks, “What’s up, Stiles?”
“I don’t know,” Stiles admits. “I just—am feeling unsettled.”
“Because I got shot?” Derek asks, after taking a drink from his water bottle.
Stiles shakes his head. “No. Sorry, Der, but you’re in one piece, and there was no concern about limb removal. It’s something else.”
His dad hums. “Well, the last time you felt like this, the nogitsune was on the loose, so I’d say pay attention to your instincts. Moira is back tomorrow, right?”
Stiles nods. “As far as I know, yes.”
Noah sighs. “It will be good to have her back.”
Stiles isn’t the only person who’s missing Moira, and he appreciates that, if only because it tells him that Moira is more than just his teacher. She’s become an integral part of the family.
“Go to bed, son,” his dad adds. “First day of senior year is tomorrow.”
Stiles sighs. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
His dad stands and pulls Stiles into hug. “Love you, kiddo.”
“I love you, too,” Stiles says. And then he stops to pull Derek into a hug. “Glad you didn’t have to lose a limb.”
That makes Derek laugh, which is what Stiles had been hoping for, and he kind of hopes the rest of his senior year continues just like this—nights with friends and feeling rooted, so they can all spread their wings and fly next year.
Too bad that’s not what happens.
