Title: Better Off Bread
Author: Sibyl Moon
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Genre: Humor, Romance
Relationship: Stiles/Derek
Beta: Grammarly
Warnings: Murder, Canon-level-Violence, Discussion-Hate Crimes/Speech in relation to Hunters and Supernatural Beings, Discussion-Poisoning, Discussion-Torture, 
Word Count: 25k
Summary: Stiles has been taking care of the less than savory side of the supernatural world since his dad fell to a rogue hunter a decade ago. Opening up his own bakery and utilizing his spark made things easy as pie – or cake – depending on preferences. He’s remained undetected all this time, but now he’s got Derek Hale coming around asking questions. Worse than that, the werewolf is Stiles’ unforgettable one-night stand from just the other night.
Artist: Lalaith

Author’s Note: This fic was a labour of equal parts love and agony. All the lovely art was created by the wonderful Lalaith just for the fic, including the chapter markers. The only piece that I did was the banner on the first chapter–a holdover from when I first began to write this fic.

Whistling as he rolled out another batch of shortbread dough to go with the three he’d already mixed, chilled, and baked. Stiles felt his lips curve into a smile, causing his whistling to stop. With efficient movements, Stiles put the batch into the oven and began to clean the counters. 

“What has you so cheerful at four in the morning on a Monday,” Isaac grumbled, eyes half-lidded, his nose practically buried in a mug of coffee.

“I’m always cheerful in the morning,” Stiles said brightly, finishing at the counter with a little shimmy. He tossed the towels into the linen bins and headed to the pantry to gather ingredients for one of the bakery’s signature morning muffins. “I wouldn’t be able to run a successful bakery if I hated early mornings Isaac.”

“You’re practically dancing around the kitchen and shooting out glittery hearts from your ass,” Isaac said sardonically before gulping down his coffee, which was still too hot by the way he grimaced. He turned to refill the mug, dumping in enough sugar to make Stiles wince.

“That isn’t a cheap franchise or a gas station coffee, Isaac. You should be tasting it, not drowning the flavor in sugar crystals,” He said as he mixed the sugar, buttermilk, eggs, and vanilla together. 

“I hate coffee.”

“Then why do you drink it?” Stiles poured in the espresso he’d made earlier and set it aside to cool. He glanced over at Isaac, wondering if he’d get a different answer to his question than he had the last dozen times they’d had this conversation.

“It wakes me up.” Isaac shrugged, wincing through another mouthful. “And your coffee is at least palatable with sugar, better than the crap I have at home.”

“Then why do you buy it.” Stiles shook his head, laughing as he streamed in the melted butter that had cooled while he’d rolled and cut the last batch of shortbread.

“Sometimes I can’t make it to the bakery and I need to wake up,” Isaac huffed and finished his coffee, moving to the sink to rinse his mug and slip it into the dishwasher. “You’ve known me since I was 8 years old Stiles, I don’t know why any of this is a surprise to you.”

“Exactly!” Stiles exclaimed as he tossed dirty bowls into the sink. He washed his hands, quickly toweling them dry before returning to the large mixing bowl to add the prepared dry ingredients to the rest, stirring by hand to avoid overmixing. “You’ve been around me for the last twenty years; you should have developed a taste for coffee by proximity by now.” Stiles frowned, twisting around. “Hand me those chocolate chips, would you?”

“Proximity?” Isaac laughed, grabbing the bowl of mixed dark and milk chocolate chips. “If that were the case you’d be a lot more straight.”

“Huh.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at Isaac. “You say that like I don’t know about the thing you have going on with that couple over in Sweetwater, brother dear.”

“Well,” Isaac said, turning around and leaning back against the sink. “I can honestly say that has nothing to do with my proximity to you. And maybe I should have said, if proximity were a thing you’d be at least a bit interested in women.”

“Oh, I can’t dispute that,” Stiles said, waving Isaac over to help lay out the muffin tins. “I’ve seen that gorgeous man and his wife in the club. I’d have trouble saying no to an invitation from them and you know I don’t go for that kind of thing and I’m not just talking about pussy.” Stiles wrinkled his nose as he thought about the one time he’d tried it—the threesome, that is.

“Not everyone is Danny and Ethan,” Isaac said, rolling his eyes. He pressed the craft papers into the tins quickly. “Diane and Colin are amazing, plus I’m not looking to get involved into a permanent thing with them.” 

“No?”

“Nah.” Isaac finished and headed towards the sink as Stiles filled the tins. He began to wash up. “I’m not looking to settle down. I want what Dad had with Mom. I don’t think I could settle for anything else.” He shrugged when Stiles looked at him.

“Maybe.” Stiles finished with the tins and moved to the ovens just as the timers began to go off. He removed the shortbread two trays at a time, the muscles on his arms barely straining as he turned, setting the trays on the cooling racks. He reset the temperature on the ovens and turned back to Isaac. “What do you think? Fruit tarts?”

“Do you have any special orders today?” Isaac walked towards the cold storage.

“Just one,” Stiles said, sighing. He set the muffin tins into the ovens as they came up to temperature and set the timers. Then he headed to the sink and washed out the mixing bowl, his voice echoing slightly as he leaned into it. “He’s one of the paranoid ones, so he doesn’t keep a set schedule. I don’t know when he’ll be in.”

“Is he a supe or?” Isaac called from inside the walk-in. 

“Hunter,” Stiles said, his lip curling into a snarl before he could stop it. “He took out a family of werecats up in Amity. It’s a small enough town and far enough away that he probably thinks that no one in the know around here will know anything about it.”

“How did you find out?”

“Danny,” Stiles said, setting the bowl to dry and then turning to wipe down the counter again. “Apparently Jackson knew them. He was godfather or something to one of the kids.”

“Does that mean Danny finally knows?” Isaac came out, arms full of ingredients, tumbling them onto the newly cleaned countertops. He stared at Stiles with concern etched on his face.

“No!” Stiles shook his head emphatically, mouth quirking at Isaac’s sigh. “We were just catching up a couple of weeks ago and it came up. He asked if I could look into it, see if the car accident was really accidental because Jackson wasn’t taking it well. Apparently, he’s obsessing over it. Danny thought if I could reassure Jackson then he’d let it go. He knows I still have connections with the sheriff’s department.”

“Danny still hasn’t realized that Jackson is a werewolf?” Isaac rolled his eyes. “That man is too smart to be this stupid and Jackson is not exactly subtle.”

“No,” Stiles said, sorting out the new set of ingredients. “He never realized that Ethan was one. I’m not sure how much of that is down to Ethan and Jackson’s ability to hide their nature and how much of it is to denial on Danny’s part. Accepting that the supernatural exists isn’t an easy thing, you know that.”

“We didn’t really get a choice about denial,” Isaac said, flashing golden eyes at Stiles. “I still have money on Danny knowing and not saying anything. Remember that when it comes out.”

“We didn’t have a choice, but we did well enough and you aren’t the only one with that bet,” Stiles replied. He pointed behind Isaac. “Grab those tart shells I made up last night.”

“We did better than some of the others,” Isaac agreed, turning to do as Stiles instructed. “Did you already make the bread?”

“Isaac, you know I’ve already finished the first round of bread,” Stiles admonished, laughing. “Bread is the first thing I start; the first loaves have already baked. I have some proofing in the pans and trays over on the shelves. I’ll start them when we open so you can have your fresh-from-the-oven slice then. If you’d come in half an hour earlier—”

“Fuck no!”

Stiles laughed, throwing his head back, gripping the counter, his body shaking with it.

“How can you be sure this guy is going to be in today?” Isaac changed the subject. “You’ve never been clear on that.”

“Just a hunch,” Stiles said, finally getting his laughter under control. He turned to pull out the muffins as the timers went off, setting them on their cooling racks. He went to the sink to wash his hands before putting the tarts together. “I’m not really sure how to put it into words. It’s not like I’ve ever been able to train my abilities, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Isaac had washed his hands and was spooning lemon curd into tart shells on the other side of the counter. “So it’s like our instincts then?”

“Similar,” Stiles said, wiggling his hand back and forth in the air. “I concentrate on what I’m looking for. It helps when I have a specific event or even a name like I do this time. I don’t want to end up giving an innocent bystander the wrong cupcake, ya know?”

“Yeah.” Isaac nodded. He moved the finished tarts to another set of trays and then onto racks. “We haven’t yet.”

“It’s why I insist on the research,” Stiles said, looking pointedly at Isaac.

“Yeah, yeah.” Isaac stuck out his tongue, waving Stiles off. “The fact I’m running checks and doing research is why I’m not here at the asscrack of the day.”

“I’m sure that’s why.” Stiles finished the last of the berry tarts and got them onto the trays. He left them for Isaac to get onto the trays. “You’ve been out of town, so I’ve got his picture in the office. Take a look at it, then shred it. If you’re manning the counter when he comes in-”

“I know the routine Stiles,” Isaac said, rolling his eyes. “What are you going to do if you can’t get him today?”

“I came in earlier than usual and set the runes,” Stiles replied, switching out his dirty apron for a clean one. “That should leave him open to suggestion and make sure that he eats what we give him here in the shop.”

“Are you delaying the effects until tonight or longer?”

Stiles wiggled his hand side to side, “I’m using a new mixture of belladonna and arsenic, I tossed in a touch of foxglove just for a little poetry. Adding my magic into the mix should delay his death until tomorrow morning, but because I haven’t had time to really see it in action, it could surprise us.”

“I’ll make sure that Boyd knows to be aware while he’s on duty,” Isaac said, pulling out his phone and sending the text. “Should I let Erica know to expect a surprise in the morgue?”

“Maybe?” Stiles closed his eyes and leaned back against the counter next to the coffee pot while he waited for a new pot to brew. “Depends on where he falls at and the circumstances. I’d hold off on using this mix, but it feels – right.” He opened his eyes to look at Isaac, at a loss for how to explain any further.

“I get it,” Isaac said, shooting off another text. “I’ll send Erica a text, better to have her aware. Last time we dropped a corpse on her she made us pay for weeks.”

Stiles chuckled, turned to pull a mug off the hooks over the coffee machine, and poured a cup. “I still can’t believe that you all just go along with this.”

“We were there in the beginning, and we’ve been here through all the discoveries,” Isaac said, his shoes squeaking on the floor as he walked towards Stiles. He tucked his phone away and leaned next to Stiles. “We know that no human justice system is equipped to deal with them. Not the hunters breaking their so-called codes. Codes that their own councils refuse to enforce. We saw that firsthand when dad was shot. The human justice system sure as hell isn’t equipped to handle the darker side of the supernatural world either. A feral werewolf, a wendigo who had made the turn, black magic users, and the others things that we’ve seen. Someone has to do something about it, and we can’t do everything, but we can take care of our corner of the world and keep Beacon Hills safe. We can keep our pack and people protected.”

Stiles sipped his coffee, looking at Isaac from over his cup. “Been practicing that speech?”

“You’re an ass.”

“Takes one to know one,” Stiles shot back, grinning. He sighed, growing serious. “I agree. Erica and Boyd have been an invaluable help. I know that they have their reasons and that they’re pack—or as close to one as we have, but—”

“Fuck Scott,” Isaac bit out, shoving off the counter and pacing in front of Stiles. “He was an absolute self-righteous asshole. We’re all better off without him, him leaving town was the best thing that happened to us as a pack. Thank fuck he never knew about all of this.” Isaac gestured around them. “Or your abilities.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. It had been nine years since Scott had left, and Stiles hadn’t heard from him once in all that time. 

When the others had been attacked by a rogue werewolf their senior year of high school, Scott had been home recovering from an asthma attack. They’d tried to include him in their newly formed pack, but Scott had been jealous of the strength and healing the others now had, especially Erica. He hadn’t been happy when they discovered they couldn’t pass it to Scott. Scott had wandered the preserve at all hours after that, hoping the alpha would attack him and cure his asthma. 

“Like we were just going to let that crazy alpha run around attacking more innocent people just so he could get his asthma cured and become some sort of lacrosse star. Or whatever the fuck his plan was,” Isaac snapped, coming to a stop, crossing his arms, and glaring at Stiles. “The fact he wanted to pull some ‘thou shalt not kill’ bullshit on you and then try and guilt you into finding an alpha to bite him.”

Stiles sighed, drinking more of his coffee. He let Isaac go on without interrupting. This wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before.

“What I don’t understand is why you let that dickwad hang around with us for so long,” Isaac said, sneering. “He manipulated and gaslighted you so much it was disgusting.”

“I haven’t even talked to him for nine years Isaac,” Stiles said, raising his brows at his brother. “Besides he was my only friend until the attack.”

“Hey!”

“You were my brother,” Stiles said, waving him off. He turned and poured a second cup of coffee. It was almost time to fill the front cases and open the doors. “You had your own circle of friends. They tolerated me, but they weren’t my friends then, and you know it.”

“Maybe,” Isaac said, unwilling to concede the point. “But just because he was your only friend doesn’t mean you should have had to put up with that crap. He tried to turn us in for murder!”

“He didn’t get very far,” Stiles said, his mouth twisting a little as he thought back.

“Only because of your quick thinking,” Isaac grinned. “Mountain lion attack. That was awesome – gross to set up – but awesome.”

“I’m glad the three of you thought so,” Stiles said, his mouth twisting downwards. Shaking away the memory, he lifted his cup and, ignoring the temperature swallowed half his coffee before setting it aside. “Let’s carry some of these out and start filling the cases.” 

“Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we’d told Dad,” Isaac said quietly. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was supposed to have heard it.

“Yeah, so do I.” Stiles picked up a tray of lavender-flecked shortbread and headed toward the front of the cafe. “That hunter’s bullet would have probably still hit him, but we wouldn’t have had to spend that last year lying to him.”

“Yeah,” Isaac replied, following behind with his own tray. “Sorry.”

Stiles nodded, turning to back through the swinging door. “Come on, we open soon.”

“So are you going to tell me why you were in such a good mood this morning?”

“Hmm?”

“I told you earlier,” Isaac said, setting his tray down and sliding open the doors on the case. “You were practically shooting glittery hearts out of your ass.”

“That’s a visual,” Stiles said, pulling a face. He began to transfer the shortbread to the display plates in the case. “Maybe I just slept well last night.”

“No, that wasn’t it,” Isaac said, standing with an empty tray beside Stiles. “You only get that happy – oh – oh fuck.”

“What?” Stiles huffed, glaring at his brother before stalking back into the kitchen to get more pastries.

“You got laid.”

“So what. That isn’t a crime; if I’m not mistaken, you’re getting laid regularly, too.” He picked up a mix of trays and set them on a trolly before heading back up front.

“No, no,” Isaac agreed, following behind practically on Stiles’ heels. “Getting laid isn’t a crime, but this isn’t your normal laid-back casual fucked look.”

“I should be more concerned that you’ve categorized me to this extent, shouldn’t I?”

“Nah,” Isaac disagreed, bumping Stiles’ shoulder before grabbing some of the tarts to add to another section of the case. “So want to talk about it?”

“It was just your run of the mill one night stand Isaac,” Stiles huffed, laughing as he positioned muffins into their baskets. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex was fantastic ten out of ten, would totally fuck again. But it was just a guy I met at the club Saturday night.” Stiles shivered and lost focus for a minute as he remembered Derek’s hands and lips on his body. “Definitely would fuck again, but it’s not like I expect to see him again. He said he was just passing through the area. Derek’s from out of town.”

“You’re attached,” Isaac said, horror leeching into his voice. His fingers were frozen over a tart. “How do you manage to get attached in one night. One night of what I imagine was very little conversation and a lot of sex?”

“It was really great sex,” Stiles said, not denying Isaac’s claim about his attachment to Derek. “We talked a little, had to do something between rounds. I mean, he had very little downtime, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his brows, laughing as Isaac scrunched his nose. “But we had time for some conversation. His name is Derek and he’s from southern California. He has a large family and works for his uncle.” Stiles paused, tapping a finger to his lips and glancing to the side at Isaac. “He’s also a werewolf.”

“What!” Isaac whipped around from where he’d begun stocking the case again. “Stiles – He told you he was a werewolf? What the fuck?”

“Well, he didn’t tell me,” Stiles said, raising his hands in an attempt to placate Isaac. “But his eyes got a little flashy, and then when I did that thing with my tongue that Erica taught me-”

“I didn’t want details for fuck’s sake,” Isaac said, thumping his head on the case once before glaring at Stiles.

“Anyway,” Stiles said, raising his voice over Isaac’s complaints. “His teeth and sideburns made the briefest appearance. He has exceptional control, I think, and if I didn’t already know what to look for, I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Did you know he was a werewolf before you went home with him?”

“Stop judging me,” Stiles said, pointing at Isaac. “Considering that he flashed his eyes while we were checking our compatibility next to my car-”

“You’re an idiot.” Isaac sighed, turning back to continue filling the case. “You could have been attacked or bit.”

“He wasn’t an alpha and, I promise, I was only attacked and bitten in ways I consented to.” Stiles’ lips curved. “There was so much consent going on that my neighbors could testify to it if you want witnesses.”

Isaac sighed, shaking his head, “Are you going to see him again?”

“I just told you he wasn’t from around here.” Rolling his eyes, Stiles emptied the last tray and shoved it to the side to start setting up the coffee machine. “Pull down the tea and beans, will you?”

“So he’s already gone?” Isaac lifted the menu board, pushing it towards the ceiling. He reached into the cubbies hidden behind and began to pull out the containers of coffee beans and loose tea. “You need more of the Dante’s Circle,” He said over his shoulder, shaking one of the bags of coffee beans.

“Anything else?” 

“I’ll go to the back and get it after you answer my question,” Isaac said, lining up the tea and coffee on the counter to prepare for the morning crowd.

Stiles sighed, turning to fully face his brother, “Yes, as far as I know he’s left town. We didn’t exactly exchange last names or numbers. We had some really fantastic sex, and while I’d love to revisit that, I don’t really have time between the cafe and bakery, not to mention our other activities.” He gestured at the section below the glass case. “We even managed some decent breakfast conversation in the morning before he left.” 

“Sorry,” Isaac said, scrubbing a hand through his curls. “I just worry. You get attached and these idiots – they take advantage of that.”

“I’m not some fainting damsel,” Stiles said, amused, as he directed Isaac through setting out the last of the morning setup; no matter how often he did it, Isaac always screwed it up if Stiles didn’t coach him. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and facing the consequences of my own choices.”

“I know that, but it seems like…” He trailed off, shrugging as they moved around the counter and began to flip the chairs from the tables onto the floor. “You just have to worst taste in men usually.”

“Hey!” Stiles shoved Isaac when he walked by. “I had a perfectly good relationship with Lucas a couple years back.”

“Lucas was boring as fuck,” Isaac said, setting the last chair on the floor. He looked at Stiles, his expression dry. “You also said his fucking was boring.”

“Well, that’s not – inaccurate,” Stiles conceded. Shrugging, he pushed the trolley to the back. “You’re here until noon, right?”

“Yeah, I have to take care of a few things this afternoon but I’ll be back at closing.”

“I don’t know why you say that like we’re open late.”

“When I have to be here at four in the morning, closing at four in the afternoon is late.”

“Big baby,” Stiles said, shaking his head at Isaac’s antics. “I need to think about hiring someone else if I want to stay open later than that or be open more than four days a week, but—”

“They’d have to be pack and able to be in on our secrets,” Isaac nodded. “How we became some sort of madcap modern version of Arsenic and Old Lace, I’ll never know.”

“I wish our set up was as innocent as that movie, but—” Stiles said, shrugging and splaying his hands. “What can you do?”

“At least we don’t keep bodies in window seats?”

“Nobody would believe me if I told them you were a classic movie nerd.”

“Go unlock the door. It’s time to open.” Isaac shoved Stiles towards the swinging doors.

Stiles went laughing. He unlocked the door, flipped the open sign over, and cut on the rest of the lights.

“I’m going to head into the office and get a look at that photo,” Isaac said from behind him. “You decide how you’re going to dose him?”

“His drink would be easiest, but I’ve got a couple of cookies and a muffin in reserve just in case he doesn’t order anything to drink.”

“Do you already have them in the special orders section under the case?”

“No, I’ll do that now,” Stiles said. He felt like smacking himself. He’d gotten so distracted by his conversation with Isaac he’d forgotten to prepare for their guest today. He hurried into the back and grabbed the pastry box he’d set to the side before he’d begun preparing his regular wares this morning. Heading back to the front of the bakery, he set the box on a plate under the case, out of sight. He’d made black forest cupcakes for this order and a couple of lavender shortbreads. It’d felt right.

“Okay, I’m going to head back now, I’ll go over the numbers while I’m there until you need me.”

“I have everything in the program except last week; the papers and receipts are on the desk,” Stiles said, waving him off as the door chimed and the first customer of the day walked in. “I’ll be back in a minute to put the bread in, but I’ll need you to pull it out if we get busy.”

“I know.” Isaac disappeared through the swing doors.

“Welcome to Better Off Bread.” Stiles smiled. “What can I get you this morning?”

Derek sighed and immediately regretted it as the scent of the recent death filled his nose, and the taste of it coated his tongue. Grimacing, he stepped back into the crowd gathered in the movie theater’s parking lot. Pulling his phone from his jacket, Derek made the call he had been hoping to avoid.

“Hello nephew,” Peter answered smoothly. “I hope you have some good news this lovely Monday evening. Especially since I expected to hear from you yesterday.”

“Well,” Derek said, keeping his voice down so it didn’t carry to anyone nearby. “I have news.”

“That doesn’t sound encouraging. Were you able to get any information out of Williams before he died?” Peter groaned; the sound of a door shutting came through the phone. “Please tell me I don’t have to cover up another botched death, Derek. We had this discussion last time. You know how to make a death look accidental, or for fuck’s sake, like an animal attack if nothing else.”

“I didn’t kill him!” Derek whispered harshly, scratching at his jaw and looking around, but no one was paying him any attention; all their focus was on the crime scene on the other side of the tape a two dozen feet away.

“Then he is dead,” Peter said blandly. 

“Yeah, I’m at the crime scene now.” Derek glanced up, taking in the flashing lights and listening to the chatter of the crowd and the cops with half an ear. “He was found by a couple outside the movie theatre. Right now the cops aren’t officially labeling it murder, but-”

“Unofficially it’s definitely foul play.” Peter finished darkly. “Did you get any sense of who did the job?”

“I haven’t been able to get close enough,” Derek admitted. “I called you as soon as he was identified and I confirmed that it was definitely Williams. I think it was supernatural though, I thought I caught the scent of something underneath everything before the smell of death overwhelmed it.”

“Find out,” Peter ordered. There was a bang, which Derek took to be Peter slamming his fist onto his desk as he often did to emphasize a point. “We need to know who has been going around killing all these hunters and supernatural criminals over the last few years.”

“Do we really?” Derek wondered aloud. “They could just be another left-hand couldn’t they?”

“I would know,” Peter replied. “Besides, the dead are too varied in their crimes to be targeted by one pack, coven or other group. This is definitely targeted, but no one knows by who.”

“This could just be another agency like the one you’ve built,” Derek suggested.

“Even more reason to find out who it is,” Peter said, voice lowering to a rumbled growl. “I am unique – One of a kind. I find it abhorrent that some upstart thinks they can try to imitate me and risk exposing us like this. No, this is clearly an amateur. I would know if another agency existed in this area.”

“I don’t know about that,” Derek disagreed. “You said they’d been working in this same area for almost a decade and they haven’t been caught or brought any mundane attention to the area right?”

“Not yet,” Peter said sulkily, “It’s only a matter of time though. Nevermind, just find them. What did you smell?”

“I’m not sure,” Derek said, letting the subject drop. As much fun as it was winding his uncle up, he did have a job to do. “It smelled reminiscent of ozone, the magical residue type—not weather related—with a touch of chocolate and cherries?” Derek left off the hint of rich coffee that seemed to cling to the edge of the magical signature because he wasn’t sure if that was coming from the detectives and other officers moving around the scene.

“Really?”

“You asked,” Derek said defensively.

“The scent of ozone is a good takeaway,” Peter replied; Derek heard him tapping his keyboard. “There aren’t many known magic users in town, which is odd for an area the size of Beacon Hills; there isn’t even an official pack in the area. I don’t like that place.”

“It’s a nice town,” Derek said before glancing back at the crime scene. “If you ignore the dead bodies and it seems most people do.”

“Beacon Hills doesn’t make any sense,” Peter said, still typing from the sound of it. “Keep looking and keep me updated. I might have to come up there myself if things go on like this.”

“Don’t come up here,” Derek said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want you to end up a victim here.”

“You think I would?” Peter sounded genuinely curious.

“I think you would manage to annoy whoever this is to try for you at the very least.”

“Huh.”

“Peter, seriously, don’t come up here and try to annoy them into revealing themselves.

“Speaking of acting as bait-”

“No one was talking about acting as bait.”

“Had the hots for anyone?”

“Peter,” Derek warned. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

“Just saying,” Peter said. “Kate, Jennifer, Marcus, Linda, Thomas, Ken, Tina,”

“Peter.”

“No,” He said. “There wasn’t any Peter in there. You have to admit nephew, that you have about a fifty percent chance of literally attracting the killer.”

“I’m hanging up now.” Derek pulled the phone away from his ear.

“Just think about it.”

Derek hit the end call button and closed his eyes, pressing the phone to his head. Sometimes, he really hated his uncle. Shaking his head, he pocketed his phone and checked inside his jacket for his badge before heading to the front of the crowd.

“Excuse me,” He called to one of the uniforms, watching the line.

“Please stay back sir,” She said tiredly, obviously having repeated the same line multiple times already. “A statement will be made to the press when something is ready to be released.”

“You misunderstand,” Derek pulled his badge out. “I’m a private investigator, Derek Hale. I believe that’s Jonah Williams. I was hired to find him for a client. I just wanted to confirm his identity.”

“I really can’t divulge that kind of information Mr. Hale,” She repeated, glancing over her shoulder as a large black man approached.

“I’ll take this Sarah,” He said, waving her down the line. “Go help Tay, she’s about to punch Matty.”

“Again?” Sarah walked away at a fast clip.

“Who are you?” The detective crossed arms the size of hams, straining his shirt across his chest.

Derek eyed the other man; usually, he wouldn’t be intimidated by such a blatant display, but there was something about this cop that set his instincts on edge.

“Derek Hale, private investigator,” Derek replied. He didn’t offer his hand. He had a feeling it wouldn’t have been taken anyway. 

“What are you doing at my crime scene Derek Hale?” 

“Boyd!” 

Derek turned at the sound of the voice behind him, arousal heating his blood instantly at the sight of Stiles striding through the crowd. His t-shirt and jeans were just as tight as the night before at the club, if slightly more casual. A shiver slid over his skin at the memory of the other man’s hands on his skin less than twenty-four hours ago, which had him mentally forcing himself back on track. He ignored the odd look he was getting from the detective, feeling his mouth curving upwards when Stiles stumbled briefly before righting himself without losing his armful of what looked like pastry boxes.

“Stiles,” The detective, Boyd apparently, sighed. “Why are you here?”

“You know how gossip travels,” Stiles said, his eyes widened briefly when he caught sight of Derek. He smiled at him tentatively before he turned back to Boyd. “I heard enough to figure you’d be here awhile. I brought leftovers.”

“You never have leftovers.” But Derek watched him reach for the pastry box that Stiles was carrying.

“Easy enough to throw a few things together and bring them out to you,” Stiles said, shrugging. “You want to keep complaining?”

Boyd rolled his eyes, “I hope you have something for Erica.”

“Isaac is taking something over to the van, he knows better than to bother her when she’s with the body.”

“Hmm.”

“Hello Derek.” Stiles turned to Derek, hands tucked in his pockets as he rocked on his feet. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“He’s a dick,” Boyd said dryly.

“Oh?” Stiles raised his brow.

“I’m a private investigator,” Derek said, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. He turned back to Boyd. “I was looking into Jonah Williams for a client.” He glanced over towards where the body was shielded by the coroner and cops. “I’m pretty sure that’s Jonah Williams – at least that’s his vehicle.”

“Come by the station tomorrow,” Boyd said, staring at Derek. “We’ll have questions for you.” He turned and went back towards the body and the rest of the forensic team.

“A private investigator,” Stiles said slowly, exchanging a look with Boyd. “That’s a cool job.”

“Doesn’t he want to make sure I’m going to stay in town?” Derek frowned. “Or where I’m staying.”

“Huh?” Stiles tilted his head. “Oh, he knows. Or if he doesn’t, he’ll know where you’re staying within the hour. Boyd’s good at his job. Also you obviously want information about this guy.” Stiles jerked a thumb towards the scene. “You weren’t planning on leaving were you?”

“No, just-” Derek eyed the scene before returning his attention to Stiles. “That was the strangest interaction I’ve ever had with a cop.”

“Well, we do things a little different in Beacon Hills, I guess.” Stiles smiled, rocking on his feet once more. “Though I have to ask if you have a lot of interactions with cops?”

“I’m a private investigator,” He reminded Stiles, stretching his arms over his head to work the kink in his shoulders out, enjoying how Stiles’ gaze slid over his body. “I have cases that bring me in contact with them occasionally. It can make things interesting sometimes.”

“I thought you worked with your uncle?”

“It’s his agency,” Derek said, wondering if he could get more information by sticking around tonight. “I’m just one of the licensed detectives that work for him.”

“A family business then.” Stiles grinned. “That’s cool.”

“Kind of I guess,” Derek replied, shrugging; deciding that the night was a wash on Williams and the mysterious assassin, he turned all his attention to Stiles. He wondered if the other man would be interested in another night together. “There are other people who work with us, but its a small agency. Just your basic detective stuff, nothing exciting.”

“Don’t ruin the mystery for me dude,” Stiles said, stepping into Derek’s space. “I’m imagining a little Miami Vice, Charlie’s Angel’s and a touch of Hawaii 5-0 in there.”

“I’m not sure how realistic that is,” Derek said, smiling as Stiles, his hands reaching out to settle on his hips.

“Hmm, maybe, but it’s really fucking sexy,” Stiles replied, biting his lip and grinning.

“Yeah?” Derek glanced around them before looking back at Stiles. “You realize we’re at a crime scene?”

He didn’t say anything, just rested his hands on Derek’s leather-covered biceps, raising a brow and tilting his head.

“You do know there’s a dead body only a few feet away?” Derek nodded in the direction of said body.

“Then maybe we should get out of here?” Stiles leaned in, brushing his lips over Derek’s before catching Derek’s bottom lip with his teeth in a gentle nip. “If you’re interested?”

“A repeat of Saturday then?” Derek grinned, his cock thickening in his jeans as the images of Stiles underneath him flashed through his mind.

“Oh, I’m sure we can improve on Saturday,” Stiles said, the corner of his mouth curved, eyes twinkling wickedly. “That was just a chance to get a taste of each other. Now, we can put what we learned to use. Don’t you think?” Sliding a hand down, he cupped Derek’s cock through his jeans and gave a squeezing caress. Slipping his hand away, he pressed his body closer and kissed Derek again, sliding his mouth along his cheek and grazing his teeth along his jaw. “My place or yours?”

“Yours, my place is a crappy hotel room,” Derek said, fighting to keep a growl out of his voice. “I’m going to ruin you, you know that right?”

“I’m counting on it,” Stiles said, eyes sparkling in the flashing lights of the cop cars.

“Stiles!”

“Ugh!” Stiles briefly thumped his head onto Derek’s chest before stepping back. He patted Derek’s chest. “Give me a minute, big guy. My brother needs to be reminded of things he shouldn’t interrupt.”

“Your brother?” Derek looked for Stiles to the tall, lanky man threading his way through the thinning crowd towards them.

“He’s adopted,” Stiles raised his voice towards his brother. “Isaac, what can I do for you?”

“Who is this?” Isaac crossed his arms, glaring at Derek, golden curls creating a halo enhanced by the crime scene lights.

“This is Derek,” Stiles said, returning Isaac’s glare. He stepped in front of Derek, looking up at his brother. “He’s going to be around town for a few days. Now what are you doing here, did you need something?”

“Stiles-”

“Isaac-”

“Fine, but don’t come to me when it all blows up on you,” Isaac snapped, throwing his arms up and waving his hands before crossing them over his chest. “Will you be in tomorrow?”

“Have I ever missed a day for anything less than an emergency?” Stiles folded his arms across his chest.

“No,” Isaac said, sighing. “I’m not happy about this.”

“You don’t have to be,” Stiles said, shrugging undisturbed by his brother’s displeasure. “But it’s also not your choice to make.”

Derek watched the conversation between the brothers with confused interest. He knew there was another conversation taking place under the surface of what he was hearing and that it had to do with him. He could guess that Isaac wasn’t happy that Stiles would be going home with him again. Derek scented the air and froze. Isaac was a wolf! 

“Well, that just ruins my night, thanks a lot Isaac.” Stiles sighed when Isaac flashed his eyes in response to Derek’s. 

“Were you going to tell me you were shifters?” Derek asked, confused. “Why would you hide that from me—how did you hide that from me?”

“I’m not a shifter,” Stiles said. “I wasn’t hiding it when we met, because there’s nothing to hide.”

“Huh.” Derek found himself trying to catch Stiles’ scent and realized the other man was correct. There wasn’t any hint of shifter on him. What Derek did catch was chocolate and cherry mixed with that elusive coffee scent, though. “You smell like chocolate, cherries, and good coffee.”

“Okay?” Stiles exchanged a glance with Isaac. “I own a bakery. “I didn’t realize my scent was an issue.”He shrugged, smirking at Derek, before turning it onto his brother. “Here that? Good coffee, you know nothing.”

“Shut up about your coffee,” Isaac sighed, rolling his eyes at what was obviously a longstanding argument.

Derek dragged his gaze over Stiles again, ignoring the byplay between the brothers, “It’s not, but I caught it earlier from the victim as well.”

“He might have stopped in.” He looked over to where the body was at. “I didn’t see who it was, but rumour has it that he wasn’t a local. It doesn’t really narrow it down though.”

Derek nodded, his eyes narrowing when Isaac stepped closer to Stiles and glared at Derek.

“Are you still going with him?”

“Isaac,” Stiles sighed, shoulders falling with the exhale. He turned and glared at his brother. “What the fuck crawled up your ass?”

“I didn’t know there was a pack here or I would have made myself known to the alpha,” Derek cut in before they could start arguing. 

Derek had a feeling that he knew where Isaac’s enmity sprang from, and there wasn’t anything Derek could do about it other than leave the area and Stiles alone. Derek didn’t plan on doing either. He needed to solve the case Peter had given him, and he wanted to see more of Stiles in better circumstances.

“There’s no alpha in Beacon Hills,” Stiles said, his shoulders going back as he stuck his hands in his back pockets. Stiles smiled, but Derek saw the warning in his gaze. “We don’t need an alpha here, and we don’t want one.”

“Alpha’s are nothing but trouble,” Isaac said, grimacing as he rubbed at his side. “Just bite and run, not even an exchange of names.”

Derek stared at the two of them. “Your alpha bit you and left?”

“The alpha who attacked me,” Isaac said, narrowing his eyes at Derek. “Is no longer an issue, but they were feral as near as we could tell.”

“So no alpha in Beacon Hills?”

“We don’t need an alpha,” Isaac said again, throwing his arm around Stiles’ shoulder. “We have Stiles, he keeps us in line.” Isaac grinned at Stiles when his brother shoved him off.

“If only I could make you do what I wanted,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. His gaze met Derek’s. He tilted his head and smiled. “So, your place or mine?”

Derek considered the question Stiles was asking and gave an internal shrug. They’d already been together once, and everything had been fine. Derek knew enough now to keep an eye out, so he didn’t have anything to worry about – especially since Stiles was human.

“I’m pretty sure we agreed that your place was the better choice,” Derek said, smirking. “I’d much rather enjoy our time together than have to filter out the scents in my motel room.”

“Perfect,” Stiles said, clapping his hands together. “Good-night Isaac.”

“Stiles.”

“I’ll see you at the bakery tomorrow to open,” Stiles said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a set of keys. “Bright and early. I’ll have your coffee waiting.”

“Fine,” Isaac said, huffing and pulling at his hair briefly before dropping his hands. “I still don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to,” Stiles replied. He stepped up to Derek, meeting his gaze. “Ready to go? You can follow me if you don’t remember the way.”

“Yeah,” Derek observed the byplay between the siblings but stayed out of it. “I was a little distracted the other night.” He smirked, leaning in and dragging his nose up Stiles’ neck.

“The next morning as well?” Isaac huffed again behind them.

Derek huffed a laugh into Stiles’ shoulder and raised his head to meet Isaac’s glare.

“Yes, I imagine he was distracted,” Stiles said before Derek could. “We had very friendly goodbye.”

“Hmm.” A slow smile curled Derek’s mouth as memories slip through his mind.

Isaac’s nose wrinkled and he took a step back, frowning harder, eyes pinching at the corners as he glared.

“I think we should go get reacquainted away from here though.” Stiles pulled back, ignoring his brother’s huff of disgust. “Where are you parked?”

“Just towards the back there.” Derek tilted his head in the direction of his car. “The camaro.”

“I’m just a couple of cars down from you.” He turned and waved to the still glowering Isaac before heading towards a blue jeep. 

Derek looked over his shoulder at Isaac. He shrugged off the glare he got and turned to follow Stiles.

Stiles shuffled up in his bed and leaned against the headboard as he watched Derek pull his jeans on. The other man had received a call not long after their second round – well, second round in the bed – and was currently trying to rush out of the apartment without seeming like he was running away.

“Should I be worried about that phone call?” Stiles didn’t bother pulling the blankets up from where they draped across his waist; after what they’d done last night, it was a little late for modesty. 

Besides, if Derek decided he was a threat and attempted something more than the glare he was sporting, even the sheets wouldn’t be much of a shield. Stiles smirked; he wasn’t precisely defenseless if it came to it—naked or not.

“It was just my uncle. Nothing to worry about. He just needs me to look at something,” Derek said as he dragged his jeans up his muscled thighs. He refused to meet Stiles’ gaze as he searched the room for the rest of his things.

“At-” Stiles twisted to grab his phone from the nightstand—where it had miraculously ended up at some point—the sheet slipping lower on his hips. “Three in the morning. This couldn’t wait until daylight, huh?”

“Peter says it can’t,” Derek replied, buttoning his jeans before looking over at Stiles. “I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to.”

“Family matters then?” Stiles rolled his shoulders in an approximation of a shrug and decided to let the matter go for now. He didn’t know the relationship between Derek and his uncle, but he sensed some tension. He guessed that having Peter as a boss didn’t always go smoothly. “I get it, I suppose. I can’t imagine dragging Isaac out of someone’s bed at two in the morning – no, that’s a lie, I’ve totally done that. Just not to send him to get stuff for work.” Stiles made a face. “Okay, that’s it. That’s the last I’m going to say about it.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Derek put a knee on the bed and leaned in to capture Stiles’ mouth, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the headboard. “I’m not exactly thrilled about this myself. I had plans—a lot of plans.”

“Well, you know how to leave a man wanting more Derek Hale,” Stiles said, reaching up to grab the man’s shoulder and drag him back down for another kiss. “I hope tonight wasn’t the end of it. Especially with the rude interruption. I had plans.”

“You have work in a couple of hours,” Derek reminded him. “Isaac would kill me if you didn’t show up. I don’t know him well, but he seems like the kind of wolf to follow through on unspoken threats.”

Stiles threw his head back and laughed. “Go and do whatever your uncle needs done. Come by BoB when you get a chance later, I’ll save you a muffin or something.”

“Bob?”

“Better off Bread. My shop is out on Sweeney Lane. There are a few other stores as well; it’s one of the smaller historic districts in Beacon Hills,” Stiles said, leaning back as Derek stood. “I mentioned it earlier.”

“I was a little distracted,” Derek admitted, slipping his phone into his jeans. “I’ll try to come by. If not, I could call you later now that I have your number.”

“Sure. I wouldn’t mind a repeat, one that isn’t interrupted.” Stiles grinned up at him. He’d insisted on exchanging numbers in case they’d become separated on the way back to his place last night – well, that and he’d wanted Derek’s number. 

“You’re not going to let this go are you?”

“I’ve totally let it go,” Stiles insisted. “I’m just saying that next time, we should turn our phones off if we want to be alone.” He laughed when Derek rolled his eyes. “Go on, hopefully I’ll see you later.”

“If I can manage it,” Derek agreed. He left the bedroom, and Stiles heard his front door shut a few moments later.

Stiles groaned and crawled out of bed with great reluctance. He grabbed a pair of sweats folded on top of his dresser and slipped into them before heading out into the hall, his phone in hand. He dialed Isaac.

“I told you he was suspicious,” Isaac said before Stiles could say anything.

“Somehow I don’t think he’s really going to care about what I’ve been up to the last few years Isaac,” Stiles replied, pulling out the coffee grounds and measuring them into the basket. “Considering what we know about his uncle and what gets up to in those under the cover investigations of his agency, I don’t think he’s going to have a moral quandary about it.”

“But his uncle might have a territorial issue about it,” Isaac muttered. “Peter Hale has been known to have one or two pissing contests. Someone usually ends up dead or maimed at the end of those.”

“Possibly,” Stiles agreed, leaning his hip against the counter as he waited for the coffee to get done. “It’s one of the reasons we’ve kept Beacon Hills free of pack influence – or alpha influence. We don’t need someone running us and we haven’t the means or the desire to take it beyond what we have.”

“You make us sound so sinister and everything. We aren’t the mob,” Isaac paused, and there was a crunch. Stiles grimaced at the sound of his brother quietly chewing in his ear. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but still. None of us have done well with authority we haven’t chosen, and none of us will show our neck to some strange alpha just because his eyes are a different color and some hierarchical instinct says we’re supposed to.”

“I’ve wondered about that,” Stiles said, pouring his coffee. “Do you feel like you need an alpha? I mean, when we’ve had the few pass through here—have you felt that instinct to submit?”

Isaac stopped crunching, and there was a heavy silence for a moment before he sighed.

“Not really, no,” He replied reluctantly.

“Huh, I wonder why.” Stiles frowned, chewing on his lip as he thought. “Everything we’ve come across says that you guys need an alpha to feel like a real pack and not to go feral. Maybe we should look into that after this business with the Hales has passed. Not to get an alpha, but to make sure whatever is going on doesn’t eventually come back and bit us in the ass.” He took a sip and winced at the burn. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about it earlier. This could have been dangerous for you guys.”

“We aren’t worried Stiles,” Isaac said, sighing again. “We have everything under control and we’re not going to go feral.”

“How do you know?”

“Instinct.”

“But—”

“Just trust me,” Isaac said, voice soft.

“Okay, but you’re going to explain this to me at some point.” Stiles ordered him. “You know I hate being kept out of these things. I just worry about you guys.”

“I know, I will—just not right now.”

They spoke for a few more minutes, agreeing to meet at the bakery later before hanging up. Stiles took his coffee into the bathroom to shower and start his day. He was already awake. He might as well head into the bakery early if he wasn’t going to be rolling around his bed with Derek. He shivered. He hoped he had another chance to get that man back in bed. Derek was extremely talented with his hands and his tongue. He was fun to talk to as well. Yes, Stiles definitely hoped to hear from Derek later.

***

Pulling into the parking lot of the local high school, Derek wondered what would make his contact want to meet here instead of in a well-lit diner—

“Or hell, during daylight hours. Because this isn’t shady at all,” He grumbled as he climbed out of the car, grimacing at the feel of the damp morning air seeping through his clothes. He flashed back to leaving Stiles flush and warm against the sheets. Derek shook the image off, but the regret lingered. “How do I get myself into these situations?” 

His phone chimed, looking down he saw that he had a text from Peter.

“Right, that’s why.” He hit Peter’s name and waited for the other man to pick up while he scanned the empty parking lot.

“I text so I don’t have to talk Derek,” Peter said as soon as they connected. “Shouldn’t you be in your meeting or do I have another dead body to deal with.”

“You didn’t have to deal with the last one,” Derek said, biting back a sigh. “Your contact isn’t here and it’s a little disturbing standing around a high school parking lot alone.”

“Try the lacrosse field, he probably got distracted,” Peter said, and Derek could almost see his uncle rubbing his temple in irritation. “Get the information from him. He might not seem like much, but he’s got the inside line on everything that goes down in Beacon Hills according to my sources. We just need to get him to work with us.”

“Right,” Derek replied without confidence. What kind of informant agreed to meet like this. Most of those he’d previously met preferred public meetings if they met in person at all. “He knows who you are?”

“He contacted us,” Peter said. “Now get off the phone and go find him. I need to know who is killing our targets and why.”

“You’re just jealous they got to them before you did.” Derek hung up on Peter’s denials.

Derek scanned the area and saw the signs directing him to the sports fields. Hoping that the lacrosse field was in that direction, he locked the car and began to walk. His footsteps echoed eerily in the dimly lit parking lot.

“So you’re the Hale boy. Looks like you could have played some lacrosse.” 

Derek spun around, gaze searching until he found a man around his uncle’s age leaning against the side of the school; a bright red sweatshirt and jeans were paired with hair that looked like it was defying gravity. This was not the man that Derek would have pegged as someone with his finger on the pulse of Beacon Hills.

“And you are?” Discreetly sniffing the man as he moved closer, Derek was surprised to find that he smelled of sage and incense. Derek wouldn’t have guessed he was a witch. He wondered if Peter knew about that fact.

“Coach Finstock, call me Coach,” He straightened up, sweeping his gaze over Derek. “So the Hales decided to poke around Beacon Hills as if they still owned the territory.”

“It’s technically still Hale territory,” Derek said, wondering what his uncle had gotten him into.

“Don’t kid yourself kid. This hasn’t been Hale territory since your great granddaddy ran away from it 65 years ago. The little drive-bys your family does every decade or so isn’t enough for the land or the people you abandoned and we have our own pack here now.” Coach Finstock grinned. “Peter says you aren’t here to take back the territory, but I wanted to make sure you carried the message back.”

“Sure, but I don’t have any authority over those decisions,” Derek said, shrugging, already accepting that this meeting would be a total loss for his investigation. Finstock seemed to have a mistaken impression about why he was in town. As far as Derek knew, no one in his family was interested in Beacon Hills. Nobody ever mentioned it unless someone wanted a full accounting of all their territorial holdings—which had happened precisely once in Derek’s memory. He only knew about Beacon Hills and the Hales connection because Peter constantly drilled these things into him.

“You’re the alpha’s son. I know you’ll get my words directly into her ear at least,” Finstock said, rolling his shoulders. “Now, for why you’ve come.”

“The deaths connected to the town and most recently to my investigation,” Derek informed him.

“Yeah, that.” Finstock clapped his hands and walked towards the brightly lit lacrosse field, waving Derek to follow. “I won’t tell you much, but I can tell you aren’t going to skedaddle without something.” He sounded disgruntled by the fact.

“What do you mean you can’t tell me much, Peter seemed sure that you know pretty much everything going on in Beacon Hills.” Derek stopped walking next to one of the benches.

“Oh, I can tell you a lot, but I won’t. Nobody ever listens to me, they always think Coach is full of shit. Let me tell you something kid, I see more of what’s going on in this town than the people doing the doing.” Finstock threw his hands around as he spoke.

“Doing the doing?” Derek frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“To you maybe, makes all the sense to me and that’s all that matters,” Finstock stared at Derek. “I’m not going to tell you who our guardian angel is. They’ve been protecting Beacon Hills and it’s people for over a decade now. We aren’t about to put them in danger just to satisfy your nosy uncle and your curiosity.”

“My curiosity—” Derek huffed. “People are dead.”

“Yeah, bad people that human law can’t do anything about, and you or your uncle, we’re just going to kill them anyway—or turn them over to be killed. Don’t act like you’re all righteous here, Stud Muffin.”

“I’m not doing this to satisfy my curiosity,” Derek protested again, choosing to ignore Finstock’s nickname.

“Sure you are, but remember the curious wolf loses his paw in the trap.” Finstock nodded sagely before grinning, all his teeth displayed.

“Just tell me what you can then,” Derek said, holding the urge to growl at the other man.

“Hmph, no sense of drama. Youth these days,” Finstock huffed before looking out over the field. “Have you noticed what your victims have in common?” The man used actual air quotes.

“Besides disappearing or turning up dead?” Derek shook his head. “We don’t get hired to find upstanding members of society, if that’s what you mean.”

“They aren’t just shady characters that made a few people uneasy or threatened someone. Take this hunter, for instance. He’s on a slab because he destroyed a pack in Oregon down to the babe in the womb. The one you were tracking before, she was a wendigo that had discovered human flesh—newly fallen, but voracious and deadly in her appetite.”

“Linda Layson came through Beacon Hills?” Derek did some quick calculations. “She disappeared near the Mexico border. We have witnesses who saw her.”

“Believe what you will, I’m telling you what I know.” Finstock shrugged, frowning at Derek. “Before that there was the hunter who liked to torture his victims before finally killing them or turning them over to his hunting council—he was a witch hunter though, so you probably didn’t know him.”

“That’s a lot of bodies already, how has no one noticed,” Derek said, going back over his past tracking investigations, trying to see if any of those that disappeared had come near Beacon Hills.

“Because our guardian is good and we protect them—doubt they know about the guardian bit, despite everything,” Finstock crossed his arms over his chest. “Always was a little slow about things like that. Now, you didn’t answer my question.”

“What?” Derek pulled himself out of his thoughts to stare at Finstock. 

“What do these assholes have in common? You’re as slow as some of my students. Pay attention or you’re going to lose something important. It’s how I ended up with this job.” Finstock shook his head.

Derek ignored most of what Finstock said. He realized it might be the only way to get through a conversation with the other man without either of them going off on a tangent.

“They were bad people,” Derek guessed, he frowned. “We already knew that—at least for most of my bounties. We don’t kill them if we can help it though.”

“No, as I said, you leave that for who hired you. Because let me tell you, your Studness, if you think any of the bounties you’ve run in are still alive long after you passed them over then you probably believe the clouds are really cotton candy. Idjit.” Finstock glared at Derek.

“That’s up to the pack who has the grievance,” Derek said, wincing when he realized he sounded more like his mother than he wanted to. She was a good alpha, but she preferred to keep her hands clean when it came to protecting the pack. To the point of pretending like the dark side of Peter and Derek’s job didn’t really exist.

“Doesn’t make your hands clean or your uncle’s,” Finstock replied as if he read Derek’s mind. “Mostly I called you here, because your bumbling around town is going to stir up the community and no one wants that. Your target is dead, your case is closed. You can go back to your cushy territory down south and leave Beacon Hills to protect its own.”

“Is that a threat,” Derek asked, startled by the turn of conversation. 

“Take it how you want Studly-Do-Right. Besides what are you going to do if you find out the truth? You can’t take them in, the only people who would have bounties on them are people your uncle wouldn’t spit on if they were on fire,” Finstock said.

“Beacon Hills could be in trouble if someone else traces what Peter has,” Derek said, even as he realized their conversation was over and he had nothing to return with to his uncle. “Your guardian definitely will be.”

“We protect our own—we haven’t done the best job in the past, but now that we have someone willing to do what needs to be done? Someone willing to be the guardian we needed despite the risks. We’ll follow their lead and we’ll protect this town and each other with all available resources.” Finstock’s eyes flared bright white, the air around him snapped and sizzled. The scent of ozone and fresh cut grass burned Derek’s nose. He forced himself not to take a step back.

“You’re a healer?” Derek tried to fit that fact to the man in front of him. He was aware of the damage a powerful healer could do if they put their mind to it, he’d been expecting Finstock to be a hedgewitch not someone with real power.

“Among other things. Go home, this is your only warning Hale. Take it to your uncle and get out of Beacon Hills. This isn’t Hale land—not anymore.” Finstock turned away and walked across the field without another word—taking the scent of decaying foliage and sharp lightning with him.

“Well, fuck.” Derek muttered. Beacon Hills was mired in too many secrets and mysteries.

Better Off Bread 2/3

Better Off Bread 3/3