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Stiles is ten when the Hale family’s house goes up in flames.
He’s sitting in the cruiser with his dad after school, talking a mile a minute about the awesome science experiment he’d gotten to do with the cornstarch and water quicksand. His dad is smiling and nodding along as Stiles describes the weird feeling of sinking his hands into something liquid and soft only to have his hands get stuck when he tried to yank them out again quickly.
He’s in the middle of trying to convince his dad to let him fill up the crappy old plastic kiddie pool in the backyard with the stuff when the police radio suddenly crackles to life. The dispatch officer sounds harried and overwhelmed as she barks out an address and a string of police jargon that Stiles doesn’t entirely understand.
Stiles watches the smile drop from his dad’s face, replaced by the sort of serious expression that always promises long hours away from home. Stiles no-so-secretly hates that look, because it’s the look that reminds him that his dad’s job isn’t always an adventure. It’s the look that reminds him that sometimes his dad comes home after working overtime, drops down into his chair at the table, and just looks tired.
“On my way,” his dad tells the dispatch officer as he starts the cruiser and pulls out of the school parking lot.
“What is it?” Stiles asks. He knows some of the police codes but hasn’t learned all of them yet. This is one he’s never heard of before, but going by his dad’s face, it’s a bad one.
“Fire,” his dad says tightly, not looking at Stiles, his eyes sharp on the road.
They hit the main road and the sheriff turns the lights and the siren on. Stiles leans back in his seat and watches the cars pull over to let them go speeding by, heading for the road leading out of town and towards the woods.
“I’m coming with you?”
Stiles doesn’t usually get to come along when his dad’s on duty; he says it’s too dangerous for someone so young.
“Sorry, kiddo,” his dad says with a tight sort-of smile. “No time to drop you at the house. I’ll have your mom come get you if I can’t drop you off myself later, okay?”
“That’s okay,” he says because he understands. His dad’s job is to help people, and Stiles doesn’t want to think about bad things happening to someone if the sheriff has to waste time taking him home. So Stiles just settles back, looks out the window and hopes that they make it in time.
---
He can smell the fire long before he sees it, smoke making his nose twitch and laying heavy on the back of his tongue. Another turn of the road and he can see it, grey plumes twisting between the trees, blown down the hill by the wind. It gets thicker the further they go, and by the time they reach the end of the road the smoke has curled dark and heavy across the sky.
As they pull up behind the firetruck at the end of the gravel drive, Stiles can see flames still licking at the walls on the first floor. The fire has nearly been put out, leaving the house blackened and streaked with soot and smoke. The front is still standing, but the back half of the house has been reduced to little more than charred rubble.
“What happened?” Stiles hears himself ask, staring out the window.
Next to him his dad sighs heavily, tightening his hands on the steering wheel before letting go to unbuckle his seat belt. “That’s what I have to find out,” he says, opening the door and stepping out of the car. “Stay here,” he orders, leaning back in and fixing Stiles with a stern look. “Don’t even think about coming out here to take a look.”
“I won’t,” Stiles says seriously, shaking his head. “I promise.”
His dad nods absently for a moment before closing the door again and walking away. Stiles watches through the windshield as he approaches a deputy. The man is shaking his head, throwing out an arm to gesture at the house, and Stiles can clearly read what he’s saying to the sheriff: We don’t know.
The wind picks up, carrying the heavy and bitter smell of the smoke towards him. Stiles is glad he’s in the car, away from the gritty ash he can see swirling around. There’s something else in the air, too, a smell that reminds him more of the old barbeque in the backyard than burning wood and paint.
He sees lights in the rearview mirror and twists in his seat to look behind him. An ambulance rolls up, followed by a coroner’s van, and, oh, Stiles thinks. He looks away. Out of the corner of his eye he can still see the paramedics unloading stretchers piled with black body bags.
Stiles turns away and breathes heavily through his mouth, trying to block out the smell of burned flesh mixed with charred wood.
---
Stiles is huddled in a tight little ball in the front seat, pointedly not looking outside of the car, and trying his best to focus on the book he’s supposed to be reading for class. But Tom Sawyer is boring and silly, and it’s hard to focus on Tom’s chipper attitude towards fence-painting when there’s a house outside that’s been burned to the ground.
He’s still trying to force himself to focus on the book when he hears the sound of a car tearing up the road. Stiles peers out the back window just as a bland, dark blue car comes to an abrupt halt about three feet away. A moment later the driver’s side door swings open violently and a girl comes flying out, running towards the house and stumbling over her own feet as she goes.
The passenger side door opens much more slowly and a boy climbs out awkwardly, limbs looking like maybe he can’t quite make them move right. He stands next to the still-open car door, staring at the house with wide eyes. His mouth moves slightly, like he’s talking to himself. Stiles can’t hear him through the window but he’s almost certain the boy is just repeating the same word over and over: no, no, no.
The boy jerks suddenly, whipping his head around. Stiles follows his line of sight towards the girl who’s standing by the sheriff and the deputy. The sheriff is bent down slightly, speaking to her. Her face is pressed into her hands and she looks like she’s only standing because the deputy has an arm wrapped around her shoulders.
Stiles turns back to watch the boy as he moves forward, motions jerky, taking one half-aborted step like he wants to go closer but can’t make himself do it. His jaw is clenched so tightly that Stiles can see the muscle flickering from where he’s sitting.
The girl has turned away and is headed back to where the boy stands next to the car. Stiles can see her face now, the same distinct lines of cheekbone and brow as the boy. Her hair is lighter, medium brown to his black, but they have the same pale skin and it looks like they might have the same eyes. Stiles realises, perhaps belatedly, that they must be siblings.
The girl reaches out as she nears her brother and snags him into a hug so tight Stiles wonders for a moment if she’ll ever be able to let him go. His arms come around her and he buries his face in her shoulder. Stiles can see her talking, whispering words in his ear, and he watches as the boy starts shaking with full-body tremors that threaten to topple him over. His sister just grabs him tighter and leads him away from the car until she can push him down gently, encouraging him to sit on the back of the ambulance.
He thinks the girl might be Laurie or Laura, remembers seeing her in the library when he went to visit his mom. He has no idea about the boy. There are other kids in the Hale family, Stiles knows. They’re a big family, aunts and uncles and grandparents all living together, but no one knows much about them. Their children are home-schooled until high school, so Stiles has never met any of them.
And he never will, he thinks suddenly. Because the coroner’s van has left. There’s no one in the ambulance, no one who needs medical attention. There’s just two Hales, sitting close, clutching themselves together with white-knuckled hands.
---
It’s another half-hour before Stiles’ dad comes back over to the car, looking tired and sad, when he bends down to talk to Stiles through the open window.
“I’m not going to be done here for a long time, kiddo,” his dad says, and Stiles nods, because he’d expected that. “Your mom’s not off work for another hour,” he continues, “but I could call her. I’m sure she’d be able to leave early if you wanted to get back home sooner.”
Stiles thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I can stay here until she’s done.”
His mom’s been working at the library for ages, and she loves her job. The last thing she does every day is hold the story circle in the kids’ section. It’s the best part of the job, she always says. And while Stiles knows she’d come pick him up from a crime scene if she needed to, he doesn’t want to bother her. Not if he’s not scared and not in danger.
“You’re sure?” His dad raises an eyebrow and looks at him seriously. Stiles nods.
Because he’s okay, he thinks, looking out at the house. It’s horrible, and sad, and he’s trying not to think about it, but he decides he really shouldn’t complain about having to stick around. Not when other people have so much else to worry about.
He looks over at the ambulance again. The Hale siblings are sitting in the back, the sister clutching tight to her brother like she’s afraid to let him go. The brother is staring into the distance, face blank and pale like a statue.
“Are they gonna be okay?” he asks quietly. His dad turns his head to follow Stiles’ gaze and sighs heavily.
“I don’t know, kiddo,” he says, just as quiet. “I don’t know.”
They’re silent for a moment longer as they watch the two kids. Finally his dad sighs and straightens.
“Time to go be the sheriff,” he says and reaches out to ruffle Stiles’ hair before he turns and walks away, back to the ambulance.
Stiles watches as the sheriff pulls out a notebook and starts asking the girl questions. She turns to her brother a few times, but he doesn’t move or answer. Stiles sees her shake her head, hard, brown hair whipping around her shoulders and hitting her brother; he doesn’t seem to notice. She’s crying, gesturing in small, jerky movements and wiping a hand over her eyes. The sheriff glances at the boy, frowning, then reaches out and puts a hand on the girl’s shoulder for a moment before gesturing to another officer.
Stiles watches them for another moment. The sheriff has moved off, talking with the fire chief. The girl stands a few feet away, talking to the officer while her brother sits unmoving where she left him; she glances over at him every few seconds, like she’s afraid to take her eyes off him.
Stiles debates with himself for a moment before moving, opening the car door and sliding out. He makes his way over to the ambulance, careful not to get in anyone’s way, and stops just a step or two away from the boy.
Up close the boy’s skin is nearly grey, except where it’s gone red and blotchy from crying. His green eyes are distant under his heavy brows. His hands are shaking where they’re clasped together in his lap and his shoulders are twitching slightly. He looks like he’s just trying to hold himself together. He doesn’t even seem to notice Stiles standing a few feet away.
“Hey,” Stiles says softly. “Hey, are you okay?” And, okay, that’s a stupid question because clearly he isn’t, but Stiles can’t think of anything else to say. It doesn’t matter, though, because the boy doesn’t react, doesn’t move, doesn’t seem to have even heard Stiles at all. He just keeps staring at that spot on the ground.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?” Stiles asks, because his mom always tells him be polite. The boy doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t say no, either, and that’s good enough for Stiles. He steps closer and jumps up to sit on the back of the ambulance, swinging his feet slightly.
Stiles looks over at the boy, taking in the way his lips have gone pale and bloodless, how sweat is starting to bead at his temples and the back of his neck. There are tear tracks drying on his cheeks.
Stiles holds out a hand, waving it slightly in front of the boy’s face. He still hasn’t acknowledged Stiles’ presence at all, so Stiles lets his hand close the last inch or two and rests the back of his hand carefully against the boy’s cheek. The boy’s skin is chilly and Stiles can feel him shaking slightly. Stiles frowns, pulls his hand back slowly, then lets it drop back into his lap.
“You’re all cold,” he tells the boy, even though it’s clear he isn’t listening. “I could get you a blanket,” Stiles offers, twisting to look back over his shoulder into the rest of the ambulance. There’s a bright orange blanket stuffed onto a tiny shelf on the other side, just over the boy’s shoulder. Stiles pushes himself up, leans across the boy, and grabs it. He unfolds the blanket and then drapes it across the boy’s shoulders.
The boy doesn’t react but Stiles sees a paramedic nearby watching him with a tiny smile on her face, so Stiles figures he must have done something right.
“Dad says sometimes when bad things happen, people get sick,” Stiles says quietly, sitting down next to the boy again. He’s never been good at staying quiet so he might as well say something, especially if the boy isn’t listening and can’t get mad at him or tell him to shut up.
“He says they get so overwhelmed that their body can’t handle it. I think that’s what’s happening to you,” Stiles says, turning to look at the boy. “I don’t blame you. I think I’d be doing the same. Only with more crying, probably, because I can’t keep quiet. And I could never sit as still as you are, not even when I’m hurting and sad.”
The boy blinks, but otherwise doesn’t move. Stiles sighs, frowning. “I don’t know if you’re sick or if you’re just so sad you can’t move. I had a grandpa who was like that. He was so sad all the time and never left his room. So maybe that’s just what’s happening to you. Or maybe you are sick, like dad says. Maybe you’re in shock. You probably are.”
Stiles blinks and turns away, surprised by the sudden lump in his throat and the way his eyes feel scratchy like he might cry.
“My mom gets sick sometimes,” he confides quietly. He’s glad the boy isn’t listening right now because Stiles doesn’t really talk about this with anyone. “She gets sick and pale and sort of looks like you do right now. But she makes me come sit and talk with her, or she has me read to her. She says it makes her feel better.”
Stiles takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a minute before opening them again and looking over at the boy. Stiles smiles at him, even though the boy can’t see it because he’s still staring at the ground.
“I know you’re not sick like my mom gets,” Stiles tells the boy, “but you look like you need help and if talking to her helps, them I’m going to talk to you, too. Because you don’t look okay, and I don’t like it when people aren’t okay.”
He smiles, and continues, “Mom says she thinks I’ll be a doctor when I’m older because I’m always trying to help fix people, but I just don’t like it when things are wrong. So I’m gonna sit here and talk to you until you move, or say something, or poke me because I’m being annoying.”
And he does; he talks about school, about the cornstarch quicksand, about the report he’d done on Abraham Lincoln, and the gold star he’d gotten on his last vocabulary test because he’d known all of the extra-credit words. He talks about the video games he’s been playing and how he can beat his new friend, Scott, on the rainbow bridge level of Mario Kart, and how Scott’s mom makes the best green chili Stiles has ever had. He talks about the K-9 dogs and how he gets to help his dad housetrain the new puppies before they go off to police-dog obedience school. He talks about his mom and her garden, the tomatoes and zucchini she grows, and her homemade relish that she gives to people for Christmas every year.
He’s talking about the awesome pillow fort he and Scott had made over spring break when he notices someone standing on the boy’s other side. Stiles looks up and finds the sister looking at him, with her mouth turned up just a tiny bit at the corners, shaky like she’d like to smile but can’t quite manage it. Stiles smiles wide at her in return.
“Hi,” he says, holding out a hand. “I’m Stiles. Sorry if I’m bugging your brother.”
“Laura,” she says, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s okay. Doesn’t look like Derek minds much,” she says. Laura looks at her brother with a sort of sad, pinched expression on her face. Stiles feels his grin fading.
“I don’t think he’s actually listening to me at all.” Stiles frowns. “He hasn’t moved since I sat down, but maybe you’ll have better luck ‘cos you’re his sister and I’m just some random kid.”
“I think it helped a bit,” Laura says. She rests a hand on her brother’s shoulder and the other across his own. They’ve stopped shaking, Stiles realises. At some point during Stiles’ babbling, Derek had calmed enough to stop his trembling. Now that he’s looking, Stiles thinks maybe doesn’t look quite as pale as he did before, although it’s hard to tell.
“He looks a bit better,” Stiles offers.
The corners Laura’s mouth twitch upward a little higher. She shifts so that she’s standing right in front of her brother with her hands on his shoulders as she bends down to look him in the eye.
“Derek,” she says softly, and then when he doesn’t respond, a little louder, “Derek.”
There’s something firm and solid in her tone that makes Stiles sit up a little straighter even though she’s not talking to him. It’s the same tone his dad sometimes uses on the phone or at a crime scene when he’s telling people what he needs them to do.
“Come on, Derek,” Laura says. “Come on, bro, I need you to look at me.”
Derek blinks slowly, head tilting up just a tiny bit. Stiles can see the way his eyes focus on his sister’s face. It looks like it takes a lot of effort.
“Hey there,” Laura says, sounding relieved.
Stiles takes a deep breath, feeling rather relieved himself. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he came over and started talking to Derek, or how long Laura had been standing there. She must have been freaked, Stiles realises, seeing her brother so silent and unmoving.
“You’re okay, Derek,” she says, leaning forward to press her forehead against his for a moment.
Derek blinks and opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything, just lets out a high, choked-sounding whine. He opens his hands slowly, fingers moving stiffly as the circulation returns. Laura sighs and wraps her arms around her brother in a tight hug. She squeezes him even tighter when his arms come up to wind around her waist. He ducks his head, burying his face in her shoulder.
The paramedic who’d smiled at Stiles earlier has clearly noticed Derek’s return to attention and comes forward. Laura releases her brother and gives the paramedic room to crouch down in front of them. The paramedic checks over Derek’s hands and asks him questions in a low, soothing voice, shining a tiny flashlight in his face to look at his eyes. Stiles hops down and tries to get out of everyone’s way, now that Derek is finally letting himself get looked at. Laura stays by Derek’s side, holding his hand tightly in hers.
Stiles looks around and watches as two deputies walk along the line of yellow police tape that’s been wound through the trees with their notebooks out and their eyes on the ground, the trees, the house. Back by the firetruck the sheriff stands with the fire chief and another firefighter, talking. His dad looks up after a moment, gaze catching on Stiles. He smiles slightly.
Two more police cars have driven up while he was busy talking to Derek. He can see Detective Marbanks up near the house, his bright red hair looking a lot like a tiny bit of fire still burning against the blackened front of the house. Stiles is watching Marbanks peer at a section of wall down near the corner of the house when there’s a flash of movement off in the woods.
Stiles takes a few steps forward, leaning sideways to try and see past the trees. There’s a woman standing in the trees beyond the house. She doesn’t look familiar, blonde hair curling around her shoulders and a twist to her mouth that looks like it might be a grimace or a smirk, but it’s hard to tell. She doesn’t seem to be looking at the house; instead, her gaze seems to be pointed toward the ambulance where Derek and Laura are still sitting. Stiles turns his head to glance back at them for a long moment, then off toward his dad.
When he looks back towards the woods, the woman is gone.
He frowns, staring at the place where she’d been standing, but the he hears the crunch of someone stepping towards him. He turns, expecting to see his dad standing next to him. Instead, it’s Laura, smiling faintly at him from a few feet away.
“Derek’s okay,” she tells him. “The paramedics said there wasn’t anything they could do while he was refusing to talk, but I guess you helped pull him back.” She smiles again, more genuine this time, and Stiles can see the relief on her face.
“I just wanted to help,” he tells her, sort of helplessly, because that’s just how he is. He sees someone hurting and he wants to help, even if they’re a stranger. “I don’t think I really did anything, but at least he’s okay now, so.” He shrugs, giving Laura a crooked sort of smile.
“Thanks,” Laura says quietly. “For trying anyway. It means a lot to me, even if my brother wasn’t listening.”
“You’re welcome,” Stiles says. He gives her another smile, and they stand quietly for a moment, looking off towards the road, studiously ignoring the house still smouldering behind them.
“What are you gonna do now?” Stiles asks finally, voice low as he looks down at his shoes. Laura is older than him, but Stiles doesn’t think she looks old enough to be out in the world on her own like an adult, and neither does her brother.
Laura sighs, closing her eyes. “I’m not sure,” she admits. “I’m nearly eighteen, so I should be able to work something out. Derek’s only sixteen, though, so the sheriff said he’d make sure I could be Derek’s legal guardian. Not like he could split us up anyway,” she says, looking over at her brother with a fierce expression on her face. For a moment her eyes look almost red but then Stiles blinks and it’s gone, just a trick of the afternoon light.
“My dad wouldn’t do that to you,” Stiles tells her. “He knows you don’t split up family.”
Laura’s looking at him with something strangely like gratitude in her expression. “He’s a good guy,” she tells him. “I trust him to help us out.”
Stiles smiles proudly. He knows his dad is awesome, and all the people who matter know it too, like his mom and Scott, but it’s nice to hear it from other people.
“Where are you gonna go, though?” he asks, because everyone knows the Hales all lived together. There’s no one else left here for Laura and Derek to stay with. The thought makes something in Stiles chest feel all tight and strange and he can’t imagine what it would be like to have nowhere to go home to. Laura’s expression tightens, and Stiles almost regrets asking.
“We’ve got family in New York,” she says slowly like she’s thinking out loud. “They’re not really close, but it’s better than having no one, I guess.” She doesn’t sound too enthused with the idea.
Stiles nods, but his brain is whirring. “Maybe,” he says, “I could talk to my dad, and you guys could stay with us? We’ve got a guest room downstairs, you could sleep there until you figure something out. You wouldn’t have to leave town.”
Laura smiles at him and laughs, just a small, choked-sounding thing, and leans over to hug him. Stiles is startled for a split second before he’s hugging her back.
“You’re a good kid, Stiles,” she tells him. Stiles smiles back at her, arms still wrapped around her waist, because she looks like she needs it. They stay standing there for a minute longer. The paramedic finishes talking to Derek and stands, walking over.
“You guys are free to head out now,” she tells Laura. “Your brother’s fine, he’s just recovering from the shock.”
Stiles steps back as the paramedic gives Laura instructions about keeping Derek hydrated and fed and trying to get him to talk. Over by the ambulance Derek is finally standing, talking to the sheriff. Stiles watches as they finish up. The sheriff reaches out to place a hand on Derek’s shoulder for a moment before turning away and letting Derek sag back against the side of the ambulance. Laura walks over to lean next to him as his eyes slip closed and he sighs, looking exhausted.
Stiles’ dad heads his way, looking more tired than Stiles can ever remember seeing him. Stiles takes a few steps forward to meet him, hugging his dad around the middle as soon as he reaches him. His dad just hugs him back briefly before letting him go, steering them both back toward the car. Stiles pauses at the door to look back at the Hale siblings. Laura looks up a moment later and Stiles waves at her; she smiles and waves back.
Getting into the car and closing the door, Stiles turns to his dad. “They’re gonna be okay, right?” he asks, buckling his seatbelt.
His dad sighs, turning the key and throwing the car into reverse. “I hope so,” he says, glancing over at Stiles. He turns the car around and they head back down the road in silence.
They’re nearly to the main road back into town before his dad speaks again.
“That was a good thing you did,” he comments. “Talking to the brother. The paramedics were getting worried about him. They weren’t sure if they could get him to respond, and his sister was getting scared until you came over. Guess it helped him to have something else to focus on.”
Stiles smiles. “That’s what Laura said.”
“You’re a good kid.” His dad reaches over to ruffle Stiles’ hair. “And I’m glad you’re my kid.”
Stiles grins and ducks his head, blushes, and doesn’t say anything.
---
The funeral is a week later. The police, fire department, and local donations help pay for the eight granite headstones placed in two long rows facing each other. The funeral is quiet, just Laura and Derek and three cousins who fly in from New York.
Stiles isn’t allowed to go because he isn’t family, but he does see them for a moment. He’s standing back down the path at the cemetery with his parents, waiting to pay their respects. Laura looks smaller in black. She stands looking down at the single headstone that Stiles knows must bear her parents’ names. Next to her, Derek looks tired and impossibly young, his dark hair and pale skin and black suit making him look tall and thin and washed out against the green of the grass and the dull overcast sky. They stand next to each other for long minutes without a word. They leave without looking back.
Stiles’ dad tells him later that evening that Laura and Derek and their cousins are staying in a motel for now. Their uncle had been found in the woods, horribly burned and apparently comatose, but still alive. They’re staying in town, the sheriff says, until they’ve worked out plans to care for him.
The cause of the fire is ruled inconclusive, but the best explanation they can find is an electrical malfunction. The paper runs a story about it and everyone says how sad it is, but after that it largely gets forgotten.
Two weeks after the fire the Hale siblings are gone, on an early plane to New York. Stiles tries not to be sad that he didn’t get to say goodbye, didn’t get to hug Laura and ask Derek if he’s okay, but he’s consoled when his dad tells him that Laura said to say thank you again, and to pass on a hug. Stiles misses them both for weeks, but he tries not to ask his dad to find out how they’re doing. Instead he leaves flowers at their family’s graves whenever he can, and settles for hoping that they’re okay.
---
(Six years later Stiles stands in the woods with Scott, looking for Scott’s inhaler and the body that should be there but isn’t, when there’s a dark flash of movement in the corner of his eye. Stiles looks up, swatting Scott’s arm to get his attention as he does.
The man in front of them looks familiar, for all that he just appeared out of nowhere. There’s something about his face, the angles of his cheekbones and the angry slant of his brows, that tugs at Stiles’ memory. His voice, when he asks them what the hell they’re doing there, is accusing and vaguely angry. Scott’s answer is strangely hesitant, but Stiles ignores it. His brain is too busy working as he tries to figure out what it is about this guy that’s so familiar.
“This is private property,” the guy says, and that’s when Stiles realises where they are. They’re on the edge of the Hale property, and that’s where he’s seen this guy before.
“Sorry, man, we didn’t know,” he says, while Scott mumbles something about his inhaler.
Derek looks the same, really, now that Stiles is truly looking at him. He’s older, obviously, but his face hasn’t changed, pale skin and green eyes and troubled frown. He keeps his attention on Scott as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the inhaler. He tosses it over. When he glances momentarily at Stiles, there’s nothing like recognition in his eyes.
And why should there be, Stiles thinks. He remembers Derek’s shock, remembers him staring blankly from the back of the ambulance. Stiles is the one staring now, but it’s mostly in surprise. Because he hasn’t thought about Derek or Laura Hale in years, not since the weeks after they left turned to months and it became clear they weren’t coming back.
Except that Derek is back, standing in front of them with a scowl wrapped in black leather and black denim that reminds Stiles of the black of his funeral suit. Derek turns without another word and walks away, leaving Stiles to gape after him while Scott stands at his side looking confused.
And Stiles isn’t one to believe in fate or omens, but it’s strange, somehow, that Derek is back now. The day after a body was found in the woods his family owned, a body which has now gone missing, and that Scott found by accident, right before something huge and mysterious bit him.
And while Stiles is mostly joking about the lycanthropy thing...there’s definitely something weird going on in Beacon Hills.)