Chapter Text
Stiles’ nail scratches the steel tabletop, making small white lines on the otherwise pristine table. There should have been more on here, considering where he’s sitting. Maybe they got it changed. But he doubts it since the rest of the furniture in here is worn and old. Some of the blue paint has come off, leaving behind uneven patches. He leans back, sharp metal edges dig in his back, his arm strains from the metal bar on the table, twitching to release the tension. He can’t see anything else behind the thick double glass mirror but he knows someone is watching him, analyzing him right now, thinking to themselves, why the fuck would he do that. Honestly, Stiles doesn’t know either.
He has been coming down the station since he was six, he is familiar with every inch of this place, just not this side of the room. The fluorescence light from above only reaches half of the wall here, leaving the other half an eerie shade of purple that sends chills down Stiles’ spine. Monsters lurk in the dark. Stiles knows that now.
Stiles wishes he has something to drink. He’s been sitting here for two hours, his head is going to explode soon. Stiles tries to calm himself, trying to pull himself out of this bubble of apprehension he’s been in, and goes through his usual routine of thinking about different things to occupy his mind, but not much can help. His thoughts get drawn to his hand, Stiles can feel the cuts on his palm sting, it’s still bleeding. The pain in his shoulder makes it difficult for him to lift his hand. He wants to get out of here.
Stiles trembles. He can still taste the sharp ozone on his tongue. His shirt is soaked under the warm blanket, wet cloth clings to his skin. This is the best they can do for now.
Stiles breathes. It’s practically his fault, anyway. It was the middle of the night and they caught him in the woods, face as white as a sheet. He remembered little after that. They dragged him back to the station, put him in this room, and left him here. No one has spoken to him since.
The sound of a door opening grabs Stiles’ attention and he flinches, waiting for someone to walk into the room. The fuzzy figure comes into view and then a sigh of relief escapes his lips. It’s his dad. Noah walks in, hand grips on the case file, his glare is empty. Stiles’ heart jumps into his throat. He’s not ready.
“Dad -” His voice sounds out of breath. He swallows and tries again. “Dad, I -” he pauses for a moment. “I don’t know what I was doing. I was checking…”
Stiles’ voice is wary, almost pleading, but the words fall away as soon as he sees his father’s face.
Noah stares at his son, his jaw tight, eyes narrowed. His gaze falls down to Stiles’ hand, nails tainted with dry blood. He is silent for a long time, then each word carefully spits out of his mouth, “The truth, son. Or help me God -”.
He breathes in, holds it until his lungs burn, and exhales slowly.
“The truth.” Noah slams his hand on the table, the noise is deafening like thunder.
The room seems to spin around Stiles, he shakes his head, tries to clear his vision, and cracks open his chapped lips. “I found Peter Hale’s body behind the Hale’s house -”
----------
5 weeks earlier.
Stiles is busy adding 4 additional shots of espresso in a Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato order. He isn’t kidding. His life’s a comedy in this shop. He’s still waiting for the punchline to appear or for someone to come in and tell him that this was a prank and the drink is a joke. Nope. The girl standing in front of him actually ordered it. He can’t figure out where she got the recipe. Are there groups or forums that publish these orders so that wannabe cool kids could use them as references? Stiles tries to google them but hasn’t been able to find any. He’s not sure why this matters, but he’s sure it does. Somehow.
Even with all the ridiculous orders, Stiles actually likes this job, sure the job may be repetitive, but the customers never are, and interacting with them is the most exciting thing that happens in Stiles’ life in this small town. Well, that and the recent...
His thought is cut off when Scott runs in, pushing the door open with his foot, giving no regard to the poor door that has been here in the building since the 1800s, making the other customers turn to look.
Stiles’ hand is frozen in mid-air, his wrist fully extended as the sludge in the cup of coffee he’s offering to a customer swirls, threatening to spill on the floor. Stiles eyes him, immediately stops what he’s currently doing. Scott is usually only this excited these days about one thing.
“Yo, Scott! You got something to tell me?”
Scott sweats like he just ran a whole marathon across town with frizzled hair all over the place. He stares at Stiles, his eyes wet and ruby red. Scott shakes his head, mouth slightly open, eyes darting around the shop before he begins to speak in a lower voice.
“Another murder! They found the body in the preserve again, shredded like the other.” Scott bends over and gasps for air. Stiles can’t help himself anymore, he jumps up and grabs Scott’s shirt. “What? When?”
Scott nods. He drops his head down and presses his forehead against the cool counter. “They found him a couple of hours ago. Some runner guys saw it.” Scott pauses, breathing in more shallow breaths.
“Fuck! At this rate, Beacon Hills is going to beat every other town and win this year’s US Killer Capitol.” Stiles exclaims, then quickly shuts up when the customer he’s serving gave him a weird look. Shit. “Sorry!”
You couldn’t blame him for saying it out loud. Everyone thinks that. Beacon Hills isn’t doing so well these days with bodies popping out of nowhere. People are on edge because of it. The police tried to pass it off as an animal accident but rumors spread, a serial killer, they said.
The girl takes her drink and leaves, “Thanks for the tip, by the way!” He shouts after her, but she either doesn’t hear or pretends not to. “And please don’t leave a bad review!” He attempts one last time as he dries his hands on a towel.
“I really don’t want to deal with Kevin after last week’s accident!” He finishes with a sigh.
“Oops. Sorry!” Scott scratches his head. “Bad time?”
He looks at his watch. “Nah.” Stiles removes his apron and hangs it on the rack behind the door. “It’s about time for my break, anyway. And everyone should have double the break time after serving that shit!”
Scott chuckles at that. Stiles shrugs and grabs Scott’s elbow.
“C’mon. Let’s get somewhere quiet.”
Scott nods, and the two make their way into the backroom. No one comes in here except for employees, and hell, Stiles seems like the only one who has ever stepped foot in here. He tucks himself and Scott in the small place between the freezer and the shelves full of coffee bags. Deeming that it’s safe from prying ears, Stiles hushes. “Three bodies in the last five weeks! That’s crazy!”
Scott nods, and whispers back, “Do you think they will cancel prom?”
“No way!” Stiles replies, “Prom will still happen. I will barge into the station if they cancel it.”
Scott shakes his head. “Should we even go?”
Stiles looks up at the ceiling and thinks for a second. “I don’t know. There is no way I’m not going.” He answers with a shrug. “I need to get laid, man.”
Scott grins, and Stiles nudges him playfully. “What does your father’s squad think about it?”
“They still said it was an animal attack so the adults aren’t worried.” Stiles scratches his nose while glancing around at the neatly displayed packs of coffee beans.
Wild animal attacks are actually pretty common around here, it’s definitely not the first time someone has been found dead before because of it, but multiple cases like this. But there’s still something that keeps itching behind Stiles’ brain, though. This is wrong, the bodies are all wrong, no animal could leave behind a mark like that.
“What do you think about the rumor?”
“The serial killer one? Nah, unlikely!” Stiles says. “That’s pretty far-fetched. Besides, the bodies show up with animal marks, not human marks, that’s pretty self-explanatory.”
Scott nods, lost in his thoughts, probably still caught up in the serial killer theory, he has always been a fan of slashers.
“Aw, don’t worry Scott, I’ll protect you if that killer visits your house,” Stiles says with a wink.
“If protecting me means shrieking and jumping on me, refusing to climb down like the last time we watched Scream, then no thanks,” Scott says.
“That didn’t scare me. It’s -” Stiles pouts, “It surprised me. I’m just surprised, okay!”
He kinda missed those times with Scott, the two had been really close with their bickering and playful antics. Now, ever since Allison transferred to their school, Scott spent more time trailing after her than he spent with Stiles. Considering how close they were, he didn’t understand the shift in their friendship, it felt so sudden as if he couldn’t relate to Scott that much anymore. Stiles can’t help but feel left out of it all. He misses those days when the two of them were inseparable. He and Scott used to spend every night sleeping over and playing games until the morning, or loitering together in front of the mall, drinking Soda Pops. They’re still best friends, of course, but not that close anymore.
Stiles spends more time alone now, spending his nights playing games, burying himself at the library, or occasionally strolling the woods at night, which now that he thinks of it, Stiles should not do this at all, not with all these accidents that keep happening.
The click of the door opens and Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin, Kevin, his manager, pops in, “Stilinski! Are you slacking off again!”
Stiles frowns, “I’m not slacking off! And that was one time! I’m still on my break!” Stiles holds up one finger to Kevin’s face, not that finger, but he wishes it was until he retreats out.
“What is he doing in here? This is a restricted area for staff.” Kevin glares at Scott.
“Then what are you doing here?” Stiles laughs unapologetically. “You can’t be a staff if you don’t work here for a day in your life.”
Scott grins and high five Stiles then squeezes his shoulder affectionately.
“Stiles!” Kevin barks, mutters something under his breath, probably cursing them, his face reddens, he snatches himself away from the door to leave them there. Stiles is sure that Kevin has a special notebook somewhere, keeping tabs of all the times they had crossed him, and one day he will snap and finally hunt Stiles down and stab him with the same amount of it.
Still shaking from the joke, Stiles turns back to Scott. “So, are you going with Allison to the prom?”
Scott blushes, Stiles rolls his eyes at that. “Stop flustering like a virgin there, everyone knows you guys are together.”
Scott opens his mouth and closes it again, then with the last-ditch effort of changing the subject, he says. “Who are you going with?”
“I asked Alina to be my date at the prom. I told her about the time we won the lacrosse championship and she was so impressed. We rocked that night.”
“Alina? I thought you were going to ask Lydia. And we weren’t playing that night.”
“Okay, I may have exaggerated the details a bit, but I’m still on the team and our team won, didn’t we? I offer important emotional support.” Stiles knows that lacrosse is one of Scott’s biggest dreams, but Stiles is more or less in it for the extra-curricular. Stiles still dreams about being on the front line someday, but the fact that they both suck at it definitely doesn’t help. At least he can still brag about being on a winning sports team.
Scott’s face screws up.
Ignoring his gaze, Stiles pops out to check the front of the shop, good, no new customer. “Also my crush for Lydia is long gone now.”
“So you like Alina then?”
“Nah, she’s cute, but not my type. We partnered in Spanish class, and her boyfriend just broke up with her so I don’t want her to go alone.”
After weeks of listening to her and Marcus, as she put it, a tragic modern Romeo and Juliet story, even he started to miss that guy. So thank god or whoever had listened to him when they finally broke up. But then, feeling bad because of it, he asked her out for prom.
“Then, what’s your type?”
The clanging sound of the front doorbell cut them off from talking. Save by the bell indeed. He doesn’t want to proceed further in this conversation with Scott. Lydia, maybe, she and Stiles have grown closer after that god-awful awkward period of time when Stiles thought he had a crush on her and asked her out just for her to refuse him. They’re better at being friends anyway, Stiles feels much better talking to her about stuff in his life. Scott is very supportive, but Stiles doesn’t think he will be anymore if Stiles opens up about everything in his mind.
“Got to go now, break time over,” Stiles pushes Scott out and waves him goodbye. “I’ve got a customer to tend to. See you again, Scott! I’ll call you when I’m done, okay?”
“You better do it!” Scott says as he leaves through the backdoor.
Stiles takes his time to fix his uniform, grinning his mouth a bit to practice his customer service smile, then pushes the door and steps back out in the coffee shop to greet his new customer. Stiles’ mouth drops. Standing in front of him is a Greek god, the “I would totally let you pin me to the wall and rail me” god. Donning a typical leather jacket, underneath it, his muscle strain against the tight black shirt. His jawline is so strong, with stubble that Stiles wants to rasp his face against.
“Can I have a Cold Brew, please?” The guy’s voice comes through with a deep and warm tone. They catch eyes with each other, something sparks there, Stiles can see surprise lit up inside the stranger’s eyes.
Stiles’ mouth opens, trying to find the words for a minute, then he realizes he’s still gawking at him.
“Of course,” Stiles mumbles incoherently and walks to the back counter to get the chilled coffee bottle in the fridge. Head clearing out a bit and kicking back in his usual rambling gear, Stiles couldn’t help but think that’s such a boring drink for a seemingly not boring guy, he better off chewing the beans, who order just Cold Brew, anyway.
“Me.” He lifts his brow. Stiles sighs, and yes, he rambles out loud again.
“Ah shit, did I say it out loud?” He nods and Stiles’ face is so red he’s sure he’s a tomato. “Sorry, no brain-to-mouth filter.”
“Yeah, I can see.” Greek god titled his head to the side, observing Stiles, taking in something, then he taps his nail against the counter. Even his hands are hot. Look at those veins that lead to the thickest biceps he’s ever seen. Bet he can easily lift Stiles up on the counter and…
“Hello?”
“Oh! Am I out of it again? I’m sorry, I’m not usually this distractive.”
“It’s fine.” His eyes are the prettiest color Stiles has ever seen. The hazy emerald color reminds him of how light glints through the leaves in the wood.
“I’ve never seen you around here” Stiles opens the bottle and pours it into the label cup then scoops up some ice and adds it in. The drink is that easy, maybe not in other places. But here, it’s so diluted that it tastes like water, anyway. So no one ever ordered it.
“I’ve recently moved back, haven’t been in Beacon Hills for so long now.” He toys with the brochures on the counter, his eyes raking Stiles up and down, taking in his name tag.
“Stiles, right?” He hesitates a bit, then says. “The name’s Derek, by the way.”
So the Greek god has a name now. Great, definitely won’t be moaning that in his next wank time. Stiles has an embarrassing amount of magazines filled with images that could scare a poor religious grandma to death if she glimpses at those, and even that couldn’t come anywhere near to Derek’s level.
Stiles hands him the finished drink. “There you go, but you’re gonna want to wash that down with something.” He doesn’t miss how when they touch, electricity runs through him.
Derek raises his eyebrows at that and looks suspiciously down to his drinks. “Is it that bad?”
“Why don’t you try and see it for yourself.” Stiles grins and wiggles his finger.
Derek keeps his eyes on Stiles while taking a sip. Then he scrunches his face, mouth curls up.
“Told you!”
“Blahh! What is this? Dishwasher water?” Derek wipes his sleeve over his mouth, attempting to get rid of the aftertaste.
“Probably.” Stiles leans over the counter. “Anyway, you come back at a bad time, dude! A serial killer is on the loose. Not exactly the welcoming party I would want when returning to my hometown.”
“Killer, you said?” Derek’s eyes glint strangely for a flash that Stiles would totally miss if he hadn’t been shamelessly staring into them.
“Yeah. Real sicko.” Stiles points at the newsstand next to the nearby sofa. “You won’t believe it. They kept finding bodies in the woods.”
“I’m not worried about that. But I can guess why you’re worrying.”
“Excuse me! Are you calling me weak!?” Stiles scoffs, “I know how to swing things to save myself. I could easily smash your head if I want.”
That’s actually the truth, by the way, Stiles has signed up for self-defense classes after the incident with bullies that he and Scott have in freshman year. He knows several taekwondo and wrestling tricks, and he still comes to practice every often now, so he’s not worried about that. Stiles thinks he can fare up pretty well if any serial killer decides to jump on him out of nowhere.
“You’ll smash my head with what? Your fist?” Derek plays the coffee lid, deciding not to risk destroying any more of his taste bud, gesturing to his skinny arm.
Stiles huffs out and pouts, but he couldn’t help but blush.
They stand there way longer than usual, refusing to break eye contact. Stiles’ heart pounds faster and faster. How can it be this difficult when they just met. Someone behind Derek clears their throat.
“Are you guys having a staring contest?” Derek chuckles, turning around and looking at the newcomer. “Right, sorry.” He mutters lightly behind him, then tosses his cup into the near trash can, a perfect 3-point throw, and looks back at Stiles. “I’ve got to go now. Don’t be a stranger, Stiles.”
And like that, he slides out the front door, leaving Stiles with his wide eyes staring at the spot where Derek has been. Until the man in front of him so impatiently clears his throat again, that Stiles eventually snaps out of it. He hurriedly apologizes to the guy and goes on to make the order.
Stiles jumps when his pocket vibrates. Frowning, he digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
He scrolls up the screen, reading Scott’s new message.
From Scott: What was that???!!!
Stiles lifts his head up to see that Scott has pressed himself into the front windowpane, a shit-eating grin on his face.
From Stiles: A gift that was sent by God to me, an angel named Derek
From Scott: Wait. I know him, he’s Derek Hale????
From Stiles: Fuck! He’s a Hale?
From Scott: You’re drooling
From Stiles: I do not. And isn’t his uncle still missing? Peter Hale?
Stiles bites his lip, finger tapping uncoordinated on the counter. Derek Hale. The infamous prodigal son. The Hale family, an odd bunch that they are, you can’t deny their influence on the town. But tragedy struck years ago, a fire burned their whole house down, along with many of its members. The remaining Hale, the twin, Derek and Laura, had been shipped off to New York for a boarding school, away from here. The only one left is Peter Hale, their aloof uncle. Stiles occasionally saw him in town meetings, their family’s in charge of the preserve, after all. But then Peter went missing and bodies started to appear on his ground. People couldn’t help but wonder.
“Stilinski! Is that a phone I see? Are you texting during the work hour?”
He shoves the phone down in his jeans and smiles at a furious Kevin. “My neighbor, a very nice old lady, Mrs. Cain is sick, and I want to check up on her.”
“You don’t have a neighbor called Cain.”
“How could you possibly check that? You’re not stalking me, are you? Because I would report that.”
“No, because I have spent the entire last year hearing you making up names for your non-existent neighbors to get out of trouble. Now get back to work!”
Stiles remembers all the troubles he got in when working here. There’s never a dull day if you’re working with Stiles Stilinski. And the best thing is, Kevin can’t fire him, cause then who else is going to do all the works around here. The employee of the month title Stiles earned isn’t just for show.
He spends the rest of the morning dreaming about Derek, messing up orders, and spilling drinks onto Kevin’s shirt. The last one is intentional.