Chapter Text
The graduation party that the Hale pack throws is one of the more impressive parties that Stiles has been to in his life. Of course, he muses, it would be. Talia doesn’t do anything halfway, and the fact that all of them had survived long enough to graduate high school is kind of a big deal. Cora was in charge of decorating and has brought her whimsical charm to everything. There’s a DJ with a bunch of old vinyl records. Talia even hired a caterer, saying that if Stiles had to do the cooking, he wouldn’t be able to do anything else for a week ahead of time, including study for his finals.
Stiles has to agree. There are almost a hundred people at the party. From the Hale Pack, Stiles, Scott, Cora, and Isaac had all graduated. They had invited the Reyes pack and the Boyd pack, since Erica and Boyd were both friends of Stiles and Cora. Beacon Hills’ public high school’s graduation was the same weekend, so Stiles invited Danny. From the other mundane high school in town came Allison and Stiles’ friend Heather. Once all their families were included, it was a huge number of people. Even he only has so much time on his hands.
So he’s happy not to do the cooking for once, and to stuff his face and laugh and dance even though he’s a terrible dancer. It’s okay because he knows that Derek thinks his horrible dancing is both adorable and sexy, though he’s not sure how. He’s seen videos of himself, and he’s fairly sure that he looks like a freak.
It’s going to be nice to have the summer together without a lot on his plate, since they’re going to be splitting up, if only temporarily, in the fall. It’s not that anyone’s going far away, and at least they now live in an era of cell phones and skype. But Scott is going to the University of California in Davis, which is the first time he and Stiles will ever be more than twenty minutes apart. Allison got into Berkeley, and her father is so proud of her that he’s actually smiling, even though there are werewolves nearby.
Cora’s going to the California Institute of the Arts because they’ve got a great theater program and she wants to go into costume design. Isaac didn’t want to separate from her, of course, so he’s going to the LA campus of the University of California. For a while he had tried to say he wouldn’t go to college at all. His grades came up a lot after the pack took him in, but his GPA isn’t exactly impressive, and he hated the idea of the pack spending money on him. Cora finally talked him into going because “someone’s going to need to run the theater company I’m going to open in Beacon Hills, right?”
As for Stiles, he’s decided to enroll at the UC Beacon Hills campus. Everyone encouraged him to go “wherever he wanted”, but he still has trouble with language and memory if he gets too stressed, and he’d prefer to take it easy. And he doesn’t want to leave Beacon Hills, not just because of Derek and the pack, but because of his father. He’s happier there.
Besides, he’s pretty sure that his choice of college doesn’t actually matter one whit in the long run. The previous year, he had been at the unveiling of the memorial for the babies that had been killed by the WLO. How much credit he actually deserves for solving that is a matter he still privately debates, but certainly nobody else seems to care. Three separate people had come up to him at that ceremony and offered him a job.
“I’m in high school,” he said. “I’m not even doing well in high school.”
The woman he said that to just gave him a smile and replied, “If we’re going to be honest, Stiles, the type of talent you have – the ability to look at puzzle pieces and fit them together – I don’t know if that’s something that can be taught.”
He told all of them that he wanted to go to college, that he wanted to take courses in criminology and psychology and really learn everything he might need to know. He didn’t know how long it might take him to get through college, but he really wanted to do it. And the one job he had really been interested in – the California legal system opening a cold case division – wasn’t going anywhere.
“It’ll take two years just to get it approved and funded anyway,” the man at the ceremony had told him. “Whenever you’re ready. That job will be waiting for you.”
So Stiles is going to college because he wants to, not because he really needs to, and he’s staying in Beacon Hills so he can take classes and sometimes get frustrated and then return to his safe place and make cookies and snuggle with his mate. His life is pretty good, and he has no complaints, and six months of therapy has taught him not to always be waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The party tapers off after sunset, and a lot of people leave because they want to go set off some fireworks and that’s something that the Hale pack is, understandably, not interested in. After about an hour, it’s just them, all sprawled out on picnic blankets under the stars. Stiles looks around at his pack, his family, with a warm feeling in his stomach. Cora is sprawled out in Isaac’s lap while he braids her hair. Allison and Scott are quietly canoodling while Melissa shakes her head and says that Scott’s grown another inch and shouldn’t he be done by now? Talia is sitting with her back against Aaron’s chest, his arm around her waist. Laura and Jonathan are fussing over their new baby while Tyler shows Sylvia how to blow the seeds off a dandelion. Peter is sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Stiles’ father, occasionally leaning into him and bumping his cheek against Tom’s temple or chin. Stiles watches them for a minute, trying, as always, to figure out exactly what’s going on there.
Then there’s Derek, of course, a warm, solid presence at Stiles’ back. Derek had been the most vocal advocate of Stiles going wherever he wants to school – and the first to accept Stiles’ decision that he really just wanted to stay in Beacon Hills. Derek had supported his decision to take classes over the summer between junior and senior year so he could graduate with the others, even if it meant he didn’t get a break. And Stiles supported Derek when he had decided to open up his own landscaping business so he could do more of the things he liked – design and artistry – rather than constantly being the one who got nominated to haul around bags of dirt.
“So,” Talia says, “since everybody’s here and still awake – I think – I’ve got an announcement to make.”
Stiles tenses up; he can’t help it. Derek’s hand rubs up and down his spine, and he lets out a breath.
“Aaron and I have been talking about starting design and construction of a new house,” Talia says.
That’s nowhere near as scary as it could be, and Stiles relaxes while the others start asking questions. They had actually just finished building a house about three months prior, a new place for Laura and Jonathan and their children. When Laura had become pregnant a third time, they had made the decision that they would need the space.
“Well,” Talia says, “we thought that you kids might enjoy having a place of your own during your breaks from college.”
“Whoa, for us?” Scott says, all sunshiney excitement.
“Primarily,” Aaron says, “for Derek and Stiles. Since they’ll be staying in Beacon Hills. But with room for the rest of you, too.”
Cora is beaming and Isaac is making that face like he’s afraid to say thank you, but Stiles frowns a little. “I can’t really . . . I mean, I appreciate it, but I’d just end up spending most of my time at the big house anyway, to do the cooking.”
“You wouldn’t have to,” Talia says. “In packs with multiple houses, meals are traditionally held at the denmaker’s house, not the alpha’s. It just makes more sense that way, wouldn’t you say? Anything that you put together for everyone else, you would bring over to the other houses, or we would come get it from you.” She smiles warmly at Stiles and says, “I thought you might enjoy the chance to design your own kitchen.”
“Well, yeah, I – wait, what?” Stiles sits up in excitement. “I can design it myself? Oh my God! Can – can I have a walk in pantry? Can I have one of those, those flat stoves that are super easy to clean? What about those baskets that hang on – ”
“Softly, softly,” Aaron says, laughing. “You can have anything you want. We’ve been talking to some of the contractors who built Laura and Jonathan’s place. You can sit down and talk to the people who did the kitchen.”
“What about the rest of the house?” Stiles is revved up now. “Can Derek have a greenhouse? He’s always wanted a greenhouse. What about a Jacuzzi? Or at least a bathtub big enough for two people? I need that because of, um, reasons,” he hastily finishes, glancing at his father, who just sighs.
“Let’s talk about that later,” Talia says, amused.
Cora leaves Isaac’s lap to snuggle against her mother’s shoulder. “Won’t you and Dad be lonely in the big house by yourselves?”
“Of course not,” Peter says. “They’ll have me.”
Talia snorts despite herself. Aaron just laughs quietly and says, “It’ll be nice to have some peace and quiet.”
“Boy, are you fresh out of luck,” Tom says, rolling his eyes. “There’s never much of that around here.”
“Truth,” Talia says, with a rueful smile. “Come on, let’s get inside before we all get eaten alive by mosquitoes. Who’s up for a movie?”
Laura and Jonathan decide to go back to their house to put the kids to bed, but everyone else troops back to the main house. There’s still plenty of food, and Stiles gets a pitcher of lemonade and one of iced tea so everyone has something to drink, while the others select the movie. Everyone’s taste is dramatically different, so everyone gets a turn picking something. Over time, they’d gotten themselves sorted out into groups to make things a little easier. Scott, Stiles, Isaac, and Cora all like action, superheroes, science-fiction. Talia and Derek are more Masterpiece Theater types: drama, period pieces, foreign language films. Allison and Laura like romances. Tom and Aaron both like classics. Peter does as well, but only to a certain extent. Peter is the wild card pick; his taste is very eclectic and he often chooses based on his mood, which is still capricious even on his best days.
This day is Peter’s turn to pick, and after several minutes perusing Netflix On Demand, he selects Fight Club. Stiles and Scott have it all set up to broadcast to the television, so they can make themselves comfortable on the sofas and cushions and bean bag chairs.
Stiles watches as the movie starts and Peter settles down next to Tom, leaning over and rubbing his cheek against Tom’s collarbone. Tom reaches up absently and rubs a hand down his spine, the exact same way that Derek does to Stiles. Stiles makes several mental notes to discuss this with Derek later. For now, it’s not anything he needs to worry about. Whatever’s going on, it’ll be a good thing. He’ll make sure of that.
~ ~ ~ ~
Stiles wakes up the next morning on his side with the heavy weight of Derek’s arm over his waist. They’re not snuggled too close together, or else Derek would lose circulation to his arm, but Derek is always touching him when they sleep, in some manner or other. Stiles yawns and rolls over, nestling a little closer. Derek’s mouth curls up a little, so if he isn’t awake, he’s close.
Stiles’ mind wanders, as it always does, and he thinks about what he’s going to do. He can cook, of course; there’s always denmaking to do. And he can read, or surf the internet. That will keep him occupied . . . for an hour. But the entire summer is stretching out before him. The entire enormous, empty summer.
“What’re you getting all freaked out about by?” Derek murmurs, hand reaching out so his fingers can delicately trace over Stiles’ breastbone.
“I’m going to be so bored,” Stiles says. “I mean, okay, I have denmaking to do and I can help design a new house and maybe I can talk my dad into giving me some cases and obviously I have to spend a lot of time having crazy sex with you but what am I going to do all summer?”
Derek gives a small snort of laughter at hearing Stiles describe his schedule thus. “You really aren’t happy if your head isn’t going in ten different directions at once,” he says.
“Hell, no. I need a case.” Stiles rolls over so he’s on top of Derek. He takes on a Humphrey Bogart accent and says, “It’s a tough job, but I’m a tough guy.”
“That’s the worst fake accent I’ve ever heard,” Derek says.
“Then you’ve never played Cranium with Scott,” Stiles says. His eyes light up. “I know! Let’s figure out what’s going on with my dad and Peter.”
“Let’s figure out – what?” Derek asks, his eyebrows going up to fully deploy Judgment.
“Come on. Don’t tell me that you haven’t noticed that something is up between them. I’m going to find out what.”
Derek still looks skeptical. “I was under the impression that they were friends.”
“They don’t act like friends.” Stiles gets distracted nibbling on Derek’s ear. Derek’s arms come up around him, fingers tracing the curve of his shoulder blades and down his spine. “They cuddle too much. And don’t tell me it’s a werewolf thing. Peter’s not like that with anyone else.” When Derek just makes a small rumbly noise, he says, “Come on, you know I’m right. Uncle P is the most dangerous person I’ve ever met, but put him in a room with my father and he turns into an overgrown feline, purring and rubbing himself against my dad’s legs.”
“Okay, so maybe he’s a little – wait. Literally?”
“Yes, literally,” Stiles says. “I have literally seen him lying on our sofa, rubbing his head against my father’s legs. Only while in his wolf form, but even so. That’s pretty fucking weird, even for Uncle P.”
“Well, Peter’s always been weird,” Derek says.
“Hell of an understatement.” Stiles lifts himself off Derek slightly, and Derek grumbles. “Okay. Let’s play a game. I’ll tell you something that they do, and you can tell me it’s weird by werewolf standards or not.”
“Yeah?” Derek reaches up and then rolls them over, going in for a deep, thorough kiss. “What do I get if I win?”
“That’s not going to be an issue,” Stiles says, and Derek growls in protest before kissing him again. “Okay, okay,” Stiles says, trying to catch his breath. “Peter scent marks my dad a lot. Weird or not weird?”
“Not weird,” Derek says. “Especially since your dad isn’t here as much. When Peter sees him, he’s going to want to add pack scent to him.”
“He also likes to lie with his head in my dad’s lap.”
“Weird,” Derek admits, “but that may just be Uncle Peter weirdness. I mean, werewolves crave physical contact, right?”
“Yeah,” Stiles says, panting a little as Derek leans down to suck a mark into the side of his neck. “It’s oxytocin dependency.”
Derek pulls away. “What?”
Stiles blinks up at him. “What, what? Werewolves require higher oxytocin levels than humans do. It’s a neuromodulator. It has a lot to do with . . . crap, uh . . . togetherness? Like . . . physically?”
“Intimacy?” Derek suggests. “Attachment?”
“Yeah, either of those will do,” Stiles says. “Well, go find a chemistry textbook if you really care. The point is, werewolves require more oxytocin than humans, and are most likely to produce it after physical connection or intimacy with another person that they’re close to. That’s part of why omega werewolves are often unstable, and why separation from your pack affects you mentally and emotionally. My point is just . . . Peter needs oxytocin as much as the next werewolf, but he’s always been kind of aloof, because, you know, the crazies. So, he might be making up for lost time where my father’s concerned.”
“Almost like he’s got a physical addiction now,” Derek muses. “Interesting. Okay. What else?” He leans in and sucks Stiles’ earlobe into his mouth, one hand tracing over his ribs and stomach.
Stiles wiggles contently. “He steals my dad’s . . . things that he wears. Clothes, that’s the word.”
At that, Derek sits up. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a mating thing.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Dude, I know.”
Derek considers this for a minute. “I mean, wanting your dad to carry his scent, that makes sense, that’s a pack thing. But wanting to have your dad’s scent available to him? That’s a little odd. I guess maybe, if your father is the one providing all this oxytocin, maybe having his scent helps keep Peter calm?”
“You make my dad sound like a back alley drug dealer.”
“Hey, it was your metaphor.”
“It wasn’t a metaphor; it was a statement of neurochemical fact,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “Now put your hand back where it was.”
Derek snorts and does as he’s told. “Okay. Keep going.”
“He’s really sensitive to my dad’s moods. Like, he always knows how he’s feeling.”
“Not weird,” Derek says. “That’s just scent. We get that ability for pretty much anyone we spend a lot of time with. I’m pretty good at reading your father’s mood, too. Anything else?”
“He brings my dad food,” Stiles says.
Derek shrugs. “Not that weird.”
“And watches him eat it.”
At this, Derek pauses again.
“Intensely.”
Derek hangs his head, pressing his forehead against Stiles’ collarbone. “Okay, you win, that’s weird,” he says. “That’s another mating behavior. You know that. I know you know that because I do it to you even though you’re the denmaker. Hell, everyone does it. Dad bringing those treats back whenever he travels, Isaac making Cora her favorite cookies . . .”
“Yep, it’s weird,” Stiles says. “Something is going on.” He leans up and mouths at Derek’s neck where it meets his shoulder. “I’m gonna find out what.”
“Look, you know it’s impossible for a werewolf to have a second mate,” Derek says. “It just doesn’t happen.”
“I know.” Stiles runs his hands through Derek’s hair and down his back. “Actually, I was thinking about that the other day. You know, everyone says that werewolves never recover from the loss of a mate. And God, I know that when I’ve been afraid I might lose you, it’s the scariest thing on earth. Dad told me that most werewolves who lose a mate just kill themselves.”
“Right,” Derek says, choosing not to get emotional about this because such a thing will never happen.
“Well, Peter didn’t,” Stiles says. “He might honestly be the longest-lived werewolf of his kind. A lot of them stick around long enough to get revenge, but Peter got . . . sidetracked. In a way, the way your mother convinced him that he was crazy might have done him a favor. Because of that, it took him six years to get his revenge, and by then . . . maybe only in a small way, but he was recovering. And he’s been getting even better since then. So maybe werewolves can recover from losing their mate, maybe not entirely, but at least a little. And we’ve just never known, because none of them have ever lived long enough.”
Derek thinks all this over. “I guess it’s not a terrible theory,” he allows.
Stiles pokes him in the ribs. “It’s an awesome theory, because all my theories are awesome,” he says. Then he huffs out a sigh. “Look, I know that my dad isn’t Peter’s mate, I know that he’s not going to be some magical panacea for all of Peter’s emotional problems. But just because he’ll never have another mate, does that mean he can never fall in love again?”
“I don’t know,” Derek admits.
“Me neither. Nobody does. So let’s find out.”
“What exactly do you suggest?” Derek asks, and then his head drops back down when Stiles’ hands travel lower. “That – that is distracting.”
“Uh huh,” Stiles says, keeping his hands moving over Derek’s ass and the backs of his thighs. “I was thinking that we should just, you know, observe. For now. Without them knowing. They’d get all weird if they knew we were watching.”
Derek groans. “You. Want to spy. On your dad. The cop. And my uncle. The Left Hand.” He grunts a little as Stiles squeezes. “That’s a great idea.”
“It’ll be good practice!” Stiles says. “Peter’s always telling me that I should work on that sort of thing. I’ll tell him I’m honing my Left Hand skills and he should tell me when he catches me but not interrupt me. He eats that sort of stuff out of my hand.”
“If anyone in the world can outsmart Uncle Peter, it’s you, but I really don’t think he’s going to fall for that. Can we have sex now?”
“In a minute,” Stiles says. “It’s worth a try at least. C’mon, I know you want to do this with me. We’re going to be partners. You can be the stuffy, by-the-book cop and I’ll be the dangerous loose cannon cop.”
“Uh huh. Would the by-the-book cop do this?” Derek asks, reaching down Stiles’ boxers to give him a firm squeeze.
“Oh, geez, I h-hope so,” Stiles says, closing his eyes. “A lot, preferably. All the time.”
“We could do something revolutionary like just ask them.” Derek closes his eyes and grinds his hips against Stiles’, thrusting restlessly against him.
“Are you kidding? My dad, I guarantee you, doesn’t have any clue at all. Even if he suspects that Peter’s got feelings for him, he’d never say anything in a hundred years, because he knows that Peter lost Olivia and there’s a one hundred percent chance that he would completely lose his shit if he realized he was falling in love with someone else. And if Peter had realized that, he would, so he obviously doesn’t know what’s going on either.”
“You know,” Derek says, “it sounds less like you want to figure out what’s going on and more like you want to tell them what’s going on.”
Stiles thinks about that. “Well. Yeah. That’s a fair assessment. But delicately. So Uncle P doesn’t lose his shit.”
“That . . . will certainly be a challenge.”
“Uh huh,” Stiles says. “So are we going to have sex or what?”
“Jesus, I thought you’d never ask.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Surprisingly, Stiles makes it an entire week into his summer vacation before he finally goes looking for something to do. He spends the time doing a lot of baking and cooking, playing video games with Scott and Isaac, going to the movies, and generally relaxing. It’s rather novel for him. Stress has been a constant in his life since long before the day Derek Hale chose him as a mate.
Still, Tom Stilinski isn’t surprised to see his son wander into the police station during the second week of his break. “Don’t you have important goofing off to do?” he asks, giving his son a nudge in the ribs.
“Not at the moment,” Stiles says, rocking back and forth on his heels. “So, what’s shaking? Have I missed anything exciting? Any good cases? Are there – ”
Tom lets him talk until he’s run out of steam, spending the time doing the paperwork for the latest case that was just closed, a standard DUI. When Stiles finally stops talking and gives him an appealing look, he folds his hands on his desk and says, “I wanted to talk to you about orientation.”
“Oh,” Stiles says, blinking, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt subject change. “Okay, sure. What about it?”
“You’ll be picking your classes there, won’t you?” Tom asks.
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I mean, I can’t take all the ones I want, a lot of them are closed to first-semester freshman, and of course all the stuff I really want to take has prerequisites that it might take me a year or so to get through, but – ”
“About that,” Tom says, “I think you should only sign up for three.”
“Three classes?” Stiles frowns. “Dad, that’s only nine credits, I can’t only take nine credits.”
“Yes, you can,” Tom says. He sees that Stiles is about to protest and says, “I’m not saying you have to take nine-credit semesters until you graduate. I’m saying that this is your first semester. It’s going to be an adjustment. You’re going to have to get used to the new work load, and I think it would be better if you eased into it. Especially because I don’t want you to pile work on yourself and then get upset if you can’t handle it.”
Stiles is still frowning. “I did full classes my entire senior year of high school and I was fine.”
“Yes,” Tom says, “but this isn’t high school, Stiles. It might be harder. It might be easier. I don’t know. I’m just saying that, until we know, I think you should make sure you take it easy on yourself. But,” he continues, “since I knew you’d hate the idea, I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”
“What sort of deal?” Stiles asks warily.
“If you agree to only sign up for three classes, then I will let you pick out a couple of cold cases to work on.”
Stiles practically springs out of his chair. “Oh my God! Really? Cases from Beacon Hills? Real, actual cold cases? With police support? Like, legally?”
“Against my better judgment,” Tom says dryly, “yes, with legal police support.” That’s what will make this different from the cases Stiles had worked on in the past. When we had been researching cases that they WLO had been involved in, they hadn’t been open cases. Sometimes they hadn’t been declared crimes at all. So he had had to be sneaky about getting information. Tom thinks it would be good experience for him to actually work with a police department.
“Does Beacon Hills even have a lot of cold cases?” Stiles asks.
“Well, that depends on what type of case you’re in the mood for,” Tom says. “Yes, there are plenty of cold cases, if you’re looking into petty theft, vandalism, et cetera. No, there aren’t a lot of major crimes that are left as cold cases, but there are a few. Some of them are even from this decade.”
“We-e-e-e-ell,” Stiles says. “I guess it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to do an easy first semester. You know, just to get a feel for it.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Tom says. “I will give you a summary of the cold cases and you can choose one.”
“Only one?” Stiles asks. “Dad, come on! You know I can’t work if I only have one thing to work on. Give me a handful!”
Tom sighs. He would argue, but Stiles has a valid point there. He does do better work when he can flip back and forth between cases, changing things up if he gets stuck or starts to get frustrated. “Fine. But no more than three. Actually,” he adds, “I think I might know one that would interest you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Stiles asks. “Let’s hear it.”
Tom reaches behind his desk and picks up a box filled with folders and video tapes. “From 2003,” he says. “The murder of Paige Krasikeva.”
~ ~ ~ ~