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Derek’s cell phone trilled. He wasn’t expecting anyone to call so that probably meant there was some sort of pack emergency. Non- emergency communications were usually handled via texts.
Ever since they’d won the initial battle against Monroe and her hunters, it had been one fight after another. Not that Derek would trade being a part of Scott’s pack for anything.
It seemed like he was finally making some sort of worthwhile contribution. He was still a little on the lonely side but usually someone in the pack needed something and that meant he kept occupied.
Grabbing his phone from the counter, Derek didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
Silence met his greeting.
“I’m going to hang up now.”
“Derek?” Oh, boy. Derek knew that voice. What he didn’t know was why the person wasn’t calling from his cell phone.
Derek’s heart rate kicked up a notch. “Stiles? What’s wrong?”
In the smallest voice Derek had ever heard out of the younger man, Stiles stumbled through his explanation. “I’m at the Red Oak Police Station. Do you think you could come get me? Please?” Stiles’s voice broke on the last word.
Why was Stiles calling him instead of Scott, or Lydia, or the Sheriff?
Derek looked at the pot of water on his stovetop, verging on a boil. So much for eating his spaghetti and making an early night of it.
“I should be there in thirty minutes.” Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he should ask more questions but he could hear the little catches in Stiles’s breath and he figured the best thing he could do at this point was get to Stiles’s location as soon as possible.
“Thanks, Derek.”
A loud voice barked in the background, demanding Stiles hang up.
With a quietly whispered, “Bye,” Stiles disconnected.
It had become the pack joke that Stiles was a trouble magnet but that wasn’t really accurate. Stiles’s best weapon—his clever brain—got him out of as many jams as it got him into. Of course being one of a handful of humans running with supernatural beings, Stiles had become a bit of a target for Monroe and Company.
Stiles had always come through for Derek, even when they’d been at odds when they’d first met. He still couldn’t believe Stiles had hijacked an FBI op to save Derek when the bureau had launched a manhunt to find him when Gerard Argent had been waging a war against all things supernatural. Derek hadn’t even been in contact with anyone from Beacon Hills at that point but Stiles had still charged in to rescue Derek even if his rescue attempt had failed culminating in the great toe incident.
Derek decided his course of action and texted the pack member least likely to make a bid deal out of this, Jordan, and told him he was swinging by Red Oak PD. Jordan texted back asking Derek to let him know if he needed assistance.
After turning the pot of water off, Derek grabbed his cell phone, keys and wallet. He skipped the elevator and took the stairs down three flights until he exited into the underground parking structure of his apartment building.
The new Camaro fired up with a growl and Derek patted its dashboard lovingly. There would be no peeling of tires or flying through the streets, not since Derek’s destination was a police station.
Red Oak was a few towns over and normally Derek would’ve turned some music on but he was too busy trying to figure out why Stiles was at a police station needing a ride.
And, more importantly, why he’d called Derek.
Derek was at a loss on both counts and heaved a sigh of relief when he pulled into the parking lot of Red Oak Police Station.
Entering the building with some trepidation, he approached the front desk. A youngish looking officer with a brunet crew cut greeted him with a tired smile.
Clearing his throat, Derek realized he wasn’t sure how to ask for Stiles. “I received a call from my friend. He asked if I could give him a ride?”
The tired smile dropped from the officer’s face. “You here for Missy-slaw?”
Derek was pretty certain his own features were frozen in surprise. “Um, I’m here for Stiles? Stiles Stilinski?”
The officer grabbed a clipboard. “Excellent. Right this way.” The officer led Derek through a set of doors that required a key. “I’ll need you to sign this form taking responsibility for him but then he’s free to leave. Maybe you can get him to see a doctor.”
If he’d left confused back about a mile or so Derek now considered himself completely mystified.
The officer used his key to let Derek into a room with the sign ‘Interview Room 2’ displayed on the door, propping it open. He handed Derek the clipboard and a pen. “Please fill this out and bring it to the front desk as you’re leaving. Just hit the buzzer and someone will let you out.” He shot the sole occupant of the room a concerned look. “Good luck.”
What. The. Hell.
The room’s occupant had one hand folded over his chest and the other covering his face but there was no mistaking the long legs sprawled in front of the younger man.
“Stiles, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Derek vacillated between concern and curiosity.
Stiles tipped his head up, removed his hand, and gave Derek a sheepish grin. “Thanks for picking me up.”
Some of Derek’s concern mellowed. Stiles was in one piece and although his grin was more grimace than anything else, he at least was speaking. “Yeah, of course. But what the hell is going on?”
Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, sitting up straight. “That’s kind of a long story.”
Derek rolled his eyes. “They’re asking me to take responsibility for you. I think I need to know why that is, Stiles.”
The grin-grimace turned into a scowl. “Fine. I had to see a specialist about my eyes, they dilated them and then I got pulled over for a broken taillight. Apparently between my eyes and my vial of Mountain Ash, the officer who pulled me over thought he had a case for OWI.”
Setting the clipboard on the table in the middle of the room, Derek approached Stiles. When Stiles refused to look up at him, Derek took his index finger and lifted the other man’s chin.
He couldn’t quite control his flinch. The blown pupils were reminiscent of the nogitsune possession.
Derek concentrated on all of his senses. He didn’t pick up any of that ozone scent this time. His tensed muscles relaxed. He hoped Stiles hadn’t noticed his reaction; the younger man carried enough guilt without being reminded of that episode in life. “Okay, I guess I can see how the officer made that mistake. But why won’t they let you leave without someone signing you out?”
Stiles’s face slowly suffused with color. “Yeah, about that. They didn’t believe me about the whole ophthalmologist dilating my eyes thing and when I refused to blow in the breathalyzer they insisted on taking a blood sample.”
Of course Stiles would refuse a breathalyzer. Taking the path of most resistance seemed to be his thing.
Derek realized his finger still held Stiles’s chin up. Having that point of contact felt right so he didn’t remove his hand. Then Stiles’s words registered.
Blood sample.
Needle.
Blood.
“You passed out.”
The smell of saline hit his nostrils before moisture dampened his finger. Stiles was shedding tears.
Crouching down until he was eye level, Derek finally withdrew his finger from beneath Stiles’s chin and instead settled his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just really, really humiliated.” That small, uncertain voice was back and Stiles hid behind his hands. “You know I don’t regret my choices, well at least not most of them, but I thought for sure I would end up on that side of the law. Instead I was arrested.”
Derek had to use great restraint to keep himself from gathering Stiles into his arms and hugging him. As much as comforting his friend would ease Derek’s distress he didn’t think it would help Stiles with feeling humiliated. Or keep him from feeling disappointed that his life hadn’t turned out the way he’d planned.
He definitely knew a thing or two about that and there wasn’t anything Derek could do to help Stiles except be there for him. Although Derek considered Stiles a friend—after everything they’d endured together he counted the other guy among his closest—they were more the one-armed bro-hug with a thump on the back then a comforting hug kind of friends.
Except Stiles had called Derek. Not Scott. Not Lydia. Not his father. It seemed like they’d turned some sort of corner although Derek wasn’t ready to examine things too closely.
With a squeeze to tight shoulders, Derek rose to his feet. “Let me fill this form out and then we can hit the road.”
The form was very simple and it only took Derek a few minutes to scrawl out his demographic information and sign his name. “Okay, we’re done here.”
Stiles had composed himself while Derek filled out the paper work and with a heavy sigh, he climbed to his feet. Derek kept a hand on the small of his back, steering him toward the exit.
The officer who had shown Derek back was unlocking the door when they approached. “Let me get your stuff and you’ll be all set.”
They followed the officer to the front desk where he reached below the counter and retrieved a clear bag. He took the clipboard from Derek and then set the bag down, motioning to Stiles. “Please sign the receipt and you’re free to go.”
Stiles scrawled his signature on a piece of paper, plucked his cell phone, wallet and keys out of the bag and pocketed them. He lifted the small vial of Mountain Ash he’d taken to carrying after the whole Anuk-Ite episode out of the bag last.
The officer cleared his throat. “So does that stuff really repel insects?”
“It works really well on some stuff, not so great with others.” Stiles murmured.
The officer raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I thought. Stuff in Beacon Hills, right? Are you going to be okay up there?”
Huh. Derek hadn’t taken the other guy for a believer. His muscles tensed again, wondering if he was affiliated with Monroe’s army.
No, the guy oozed concern and maybe also curiosity.
“I saw there are some open positions up your way. I was thinking of applying.” The officer, his nametag said Morales, scrutinized the both of them carefully but his hands were on the counter and he didn’t smell of fear.
“Talk to Sheriff Stilinski if you have any questions. For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a good addition to that team.” Stiles’s lips curved up into a subtle smile.
Officer Morales cleared his throat. “I appreciate that. And again, I’m sorry about the blood test. I hope you feel better.”
“Thanks. Maybe see you around.” Stiles tucked the Mountain Ash back into his pocket and pushed away from the counter.
Derek nodded his thanks at the officer and then they retreated.
“So humiliating.” Stiles mumbled beneath his breath.
“He was telling the truth—he was sorry. He’s also very interested in working for your dad. That was a bit surprising.” Derek didn’t know what all had happened leading up to the blood test but whatever had happened, at least Officer Morales’s scent was on the up-and-up.
“He was a decent enough guy and he treated me respectfully. I’m not sure he’s up for the level of excitement in Beacon County though.” Stiles shaded his eyes against the weak sunlight.
Derek laughed. “I’m not sure anyone is ready for that level of excitement.”
“True that. Hey, thanks for picking me up. I’m sorry I ruined your night.” Officer Morales’s scent might have been on the up-and-up but Stiles’s was definitely on the downer side. Although mixed in with his chagrin was the scent of…hunger?
That gave Derek an idea. “You didn’t ruin my night. In fact in a few days you’re going to find the humor in this and we’re going to laugh about it. Hard. I’m going to want details about the whole insect repellant thing not to mention the traffic stop. In the mean time, I’m starving. Want to stop at the In-N-Out Burger with me?”
Stiles’s head finally lifted from its perpetually hangdog position. “Do not even kid with me. I would kill for an In-N-Out Burger.”
“Homicide not necessary. My chariot awaits.” Derek opened the passenger side door with a flourish. “There should be a spare pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment.” Derek had noticed Stiles squinting despite the setting sun. Whatever the eye doctor had dilated Stiles’s eyes with, they sure were doing a number on his pupils. No wonder the officer had thought Stiles was on something.
By the time Derek climbed into the Camaro, Stiles had fished out the spare black-framed Vuarnet sunglasses and had perched them on his pert nose. Derek couldn’t decide if the look was adorable or sexy. Although they were just friends so why was Derek noticing Stiles’s looks?
Derek cleared his throat. “Buckle up, Hollywood. There’s a burger with your name on it just up ahead.”
Stiles chuckled. He sounded a bit congested but at least he wasn’t all slumped over, filled with self-reproach.
“Hey, Derek. Thanks again for bailing me out. I knew you were the perfect choice. You know that saying? Good friends give you an alibi, great friends help you hide the body? You’re the latter.”
Derek had to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. Before he’d been thinking just being a part of the pack was fulfilling but he realized Stiles was right—they were friends, the kind of friends who totally had each other’s back although he’d rather not test the whole hiding the body thing. Derek somehow thought Sheriff Stilinski might take umbrage at that.
“Same.” Something the officer said suddenly occurred to Derek. “Although I have to ask, friend, why did Officer Morales call you Missy-slaw?”
Stiles face-palmed with a groan. “There’s a reason I go by Stiles. Can we leave it at that?”
“I’ll leave it for now. But if I refer to you as Missy you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. And Officer Morales.” Derek flashed Stiles a smile as he accelerated down the road.
“For a great friend, you’re the worst.” Stiles’s voice lacked heat and he was smiling.
Derek counted it as a win.
As for being friends with Stiles, Derek thought he’d leave himself open to the possibility of something more.
Returning to Beacon Hills might’ve been a good decision after all.
Finis