Chapter Text
Stiles was going insane. As he sat at his desk in the bullpen, twirling a pen around his fingers and staring off into space, his mind turned over and over. Something was happening. Derek had left three days ago after a mysterious call from Lydia in the middle of the night. Both Derek and Stiles had already been awake because there had been such a strong tug of fear and disgust over the pack bond that they’d been violently jerked out of their REM cycles. He still remembered the way Derek had gone completely still because of whatever Lydia said to him. Derek’s eyes had flickered over to him, before he growled into the phone “I’ll be there by morning,” and hung up on her.
“What? What’s wrong?” Stiles had demanded.
“Nothing. I just have to head back home. I’ll be back as soon as I can and—”
“You wouldn’t be leaving like this if nothing was wrong!” Stiles protested.
“Stiles it’s fine. They just need my help with something.”
“Then I’ll go with you. You know I have an insane amount of sick days.” Stiles got up and retrieved his and Derek’s duffle bags from the closet.
“No Stiles. Stay. I’ll call you if we need you.”
Derek had taken his duffle bag and then tossed Stiles’ back into the closet.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” Stiles demanded.
“They don’t know yet.” Derek had stopped throwing random items of clothing into the bag for long enough to take Stiles’ hands, rubbing his thumbs over the backs in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture but only made Stiles more nervous. “I promise that I will call you when I land, and when we figure out whatever it is we need to figure out, and if we need your help.”
“You know figuring things out is literally my job right?”
“I know. But I don’t want to drag you away for what’s probably nothing.” It was definitely not nothing if the persistent tugging on the pack bond both from the others and from Derek had anything to do with it, but having been married to Derek for five years, Stiles could recognize when he was going to be a stubborn ass.
“Call me and keep me updated on everything ,” he ordered.
Derek nodded seriously. He leaned in for a short kiss then went back to packing.
***
Derek had called when he landed in California, but other than that Stiles had only received a few texts. After twenty-four hours of only ‘still figuring it out’ texts, Stiles was forced to call Derek, where he got the exact same answer, only verbally, and then Derek was saying that he ‘had to go’. Stiles had then called Scott, who hadn’t even picked up. Lydia had given the same responses as Derek. Liam had sounded guilty as hell when he told Stiles that he couldn’t talk just then. So yeah, on day three Stiles was going a little bit insane. Was he a horrible person for hoping that JJ would show up with a gruesome case for him to distract himself with?
“You’re here early,” Morgan remarked, collapsing at his desk across from Stiles.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Stiles replied distractedly, eyes fixated on the movement of the pencil twirling between his fingers.
Morgan eyed the complete lack of files on Stiles’ desk. “How long have you been here?”
Stiles shrugged. “What time is it?”
“Nine am.”
“Six hours.”
“Kid,” Morgan sighed.
“You look like shit,” Emily remarked cheerfully on her way in, ruffling Stiles’ hair as she passed.
“Probably because he didn’t sleep.” Stiles sent a glare at Morgan for throwing him under the bus. “What, you said it yourself.”
“I told you that in confidence,” Stiles complained.
“Anything going on that we can help with?” Emily asked.
“I don’t know, that’s the problem.” Stiles set his pencil down and rubbed at his eyes. “Derek got a call from home and left right away, and nobody is telling me shit !” he ground out in frustration. “They’re all either ignoring my calls or giving bullshit answers! Even my dad is being cagey. I have half a mind to fly there myself and wring the answers from them in person.”
“You’ve got vacation days,” Emily said. “I say go for it.”
“Go for what?” JJ came down from her office with a file in hand, a grim look on her face that meant they had a particularly rough case coming their way.
“Home,” Morgan answered.
“I wouldn’t say you’re in luck,” JJ said, “but at least you’ll be flying in style.”
Stiles frowned as she held up the case file. Nothing was written on the front, but Stiles knew what that had to mean. “I’m gonna kill them myself,” he said. “There’s a case there and they didn’t tell me. I work for the FBI! I literally solve murders. For a living! Wait. I work for the FBI. Who called us in?” There was no way in hell anyone high up in law enforcement asked for help from the FBI. His dad was retired, but Parrish was sheriff, and he definitely knew better than to purposefully bring outsiders to town.
“Some newer officer went over the sheriff’s head,” JJ said apologetically.
“That’s gonna go over well,” Stiles sighed.
“Sheriff not a fan of outside help?” Morgan asked.
“Small town things,” Stiles replied, and held his hand up for a high-five, which JJ stepped forward to complete.
“Anyway, Reid’s on his way, and Hotch, Rossi and Garcia are waiting,” JJ said. Stiles, Morgan, and Emily followed her up the steps and into the round table room. Moments after they had sat down, Reid rushed in.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“You look like you slept as well as I did,” Stiles said, noting the dark circles under Reid’s eyes and the even messier than usual quality of his hair.
“I went to a midnight screening of Les Diaboliques in the original french. It’s this really great 1955 horror movie done by—”
“We should get started,” Hotch interrupted before Reid could really pick up speed.
“Alright crime fighters,” Garcia said, shuffling up to the projector. “Beacon Hills, California needs our help. But for this one, we need to go back in time. Thirteen years ago, there was a massacre in Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital.”
Stiles sat up straighter. What on earth could that have to do with anything? He remembered the way Derek’s eyes had flickered over to him when Lydia called, before darting away. The fear and disgust that had tugged so forcefully at the pack bond to wake him up. It couldn’t be.
“The unsubs in question were never caught. It was reportedly perpetrated by three people, two of them wearing full samurai gear, swords included as they were the murder weapons, and a third, who was a maskless young man who appeared to be the one in charge. Nobody could give a proper account of what the leader looked like, other than that he was young, caucasian, and had either blond or brown hair. In addition to the currently unsolved hospital massacre, and taking place afterwards, there were the murders of two students at the local high school done by supposedly the same trio. Aiden Steiner first, and then only a few days later, Allison Argent. Now I did some digging,” Garcia continued, clicking her remote as a picture that Stiles recognized was put up on screen. He recognized it because he and Derek had a copy of it framed in their house. “I know the stereotype of everyone in small towns knowing each other, but Ms. Argent and Mr. Steiner were apparently close friends.”
“Were those the only two murders other than the hospital massacre?” Reid asked.
“Yes, and after Ms. Argent’s death, the unsub apparently disappeared. Now—”
“That’s Stiles,” Emily said, squinting at the picture that Garcia had put up to demonstrate Allison and Aiden’s closeness.
“I was getting to that,” Garcia said, glancing at Stiles sympathetically and then refocusing on the board. Stiles hardly noticed. This was the nogitsune. This was him . The young man in the hospital had been Stiles, and he had ordered the deaths of his friends. And now they were talking about it here, and Derek had rushed off back home without telling him anything, and now Stiles wished that he didn’t know why. The nogitsune was supposed to be gone. They had buried that motherfucker in the Hale vault in a jar in fly form. But the FBI wouldn’t have been called in just for a cold case.
“From left to right in the image we have Scott McCall. The girl whose head is in his lap is Kira Yukimura. Sitting on the table is Malia Tate, with our very own Stiles between her legs. Lydia Martin is beside Stiles. Then Allison Argent, with Isaac Lahey behind her and standing to the side are Aiden and Ethan Steiner. This picture is out of the 2012 yearbook. Allison and Aiden would die mere weeks after this was taken.”
Reid glanced uncomfortably at Stiles, but spoke up anyway. “Ethan and Aiden are clearly the outsiders of the group. They’re the only ones not actually at the table, and Allison looks uncomfortable with her place. She’s sitting drawn into herself. Scott’s not looking at the camera, but he’s not looking at anyone else either. And—“
“I look like I haven’t slept in a week,” Stiles interrupted. In the photo he was smiling, his head leaning against Malia’s knee, but there were visible circles under his eyes and the grin was strained.
“Scott’s mom, Allison’s dad and my dad had all been kidnapped a couple weeks before this. We were all still a little messed up from it. Allison had also been dealing with a lot of deaths in her family, and she and Scott had broken up. He’d just started seeing Kira, and she didn’t know how to feel about Isaac. The twins were newer additions to the group, and none of us were super sure about them. They’d been dicks to all of us and then randomly had a change of heart.”
“Ah the ups and downs of high school,” Rossi said. He had no idea.
“Not quite living up to the yearbook caption then,” JJ remarked, and Stiles couldn’t help but smile, reading the small text declaring them ‘most likely to stay in touch.’
“You’d be surprised. Scott, Lydia, Malia and I are still close. Isaac, Ethan and Kira all check in every once and a while. Isaac and Ethan are in Europe and Kira moves around a lot, but we make it work.”
“That’s rare. I don’t keep in touch with half of my high school friend group.”
“It’s not a small town thing when you’re the person who got out,” JJ agreed.
“We were just us. Everything that went down that year messed us up for a while but we found our way back to each other.” He looked to Garcia, then at Hotch. “He’s back isn’t he.” Hotch didn’t have to ask who he meant. He just nodded to Garcia.
“After Allison Argent’s death, the killing stopped.”
“It’s possible she was the intended target,” Morgan said.
“Then why go after a hospital?” Emily posited.
Because it was there and it wanted to send a message , Stiles thought but didn’t say. Chaos, strife, and pain. It went to the place where pain was the most common, and caused some chaos.
“So if he wasn’t after Allison, the next most likely thing is that he got arrested for something else,” JJ said. “We should look at recent releases from nearby prisons.”
“In the past week, three students at Beacon Hills high school have been killed. The first, Carina Daniels was found in the forest, arms and legs stretched out on a large stump.” A picture of the crime scene came up on screen, and Stiles took a deep breath. Carina had dirty blonde hair, and was wearing an outfit that suggested she’d been at a party. It was stained with blood from the wound in her chest. Stiles had a pretty good guess for what the murder weapon was. “The second was Arthur Coin. He was found outside of an abandoned warehouse. The same warehouse where Allison Argent was killed all those years ago. And third, was Dylan Thomas, in the high school, stuffed into the AP Chemistry closet.”
“Alright everyone,” Hotch stated. “Keep in mind that we are not wanted in this investigation, so tread lightly with the Sheriff. Wheels up in thirty.” Stiles remained seated while everyone else filed out. Morgan gripped his shoulder briefly, and Emily offered a lopsided smile. Garcia sent him a look like he was a lost puppy, finally leaving him alone with Hotch.
“Stilinski, if you—”
“If you say something about a conflict of interest, don’t bother. I have one. But that’s also not going to keep me from doing my job,” Stiles said firmly. “If you try and leave me behind I will take sick days and follow you there anyway. And trust me, you’ll want me there to mediate between the team and the townspeople.”
“I was going to say,” Hotch said when he was sure Stiles was done with his little rant, “was that if you need anything while we’re working this case, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re all here for you, and I wanted to warn you…there might be some things during this case that have to do with some of your sealed files.”
“You mean Eichen House,” Stiles said. When Stiles was first recruited for the team, he and Hotch had had a very frank discussion about his sealed record and his dubious pass when it came to his psych evaluation. In the end, Hotch had taken a chance on him, and Stiles had done his best not to let him down, proving himself to be one of the best at getting into the minds of the worst kinds of killers, possibly due to his own mind being taken over by one. “I can keep Garcia from telling the team but—”
“No,” Stiles found himself saying. There was so much he was going to have to lie about during this case, and lies were always the most effective when there were kernels of truth embedded within. And he did trust the team…with this part anyway. “It’s fine. They were going to find out eventually.”
“They won’t hold against you,” Hotch reassured him.
“I know.” Each team member had had issues, and they were all there for each other when those issues came to light. It wouldn’t be any different for him. His pack may have been back in Beacon Hills, but he’d made his own sort of family at the FBI.
“Wheels up in twenty,” Stiles imitated Hotch’s gruff voice. The man did not smile with his mouth, but Stiles was sure there was at least a little bit of humor in his eyes. He gave a two-finger salute and left the office. He made his way straight to the bathroom. He could feel the eyes of the team on him as he rushed passed, but he just waved at them and kept going.
The moment he was sure that nobody was inside, he shut himself into the stall at the end farthest from the door, turning around and leaning against it. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly through his nose. He stayed like that for a few precious minutes, then fished his phone out of his inner suit-jacket pocket.
Derek picked up on the fifth ring. “Stiles I told you we’d—”
“If you lie to me again, I am going to put wolfsbane in your next meal,” Stiles snapped, and before Derek could protest, he kept going. “Want to know something crazy? The team got called in for a case. Want to guess where?” The silence was deafening. “No? Fine, I’ll tell you. Beacon Hills. Apparently, the same person that committed the famous hospital massacre is back and better than ever, which, I have to say, was a very interesting thing to find out at work , and not from my own husband!”
Derek didn’t say anything for a moment, and in the silence, Stiles thought he heard Lydia in the background, and it sounded like her ‘I told you so’ voice. Derek sighed. “Give me a minute.” Stiles heard some shuffling and then a door slamming. “Stiles, listen,” Derek implored.
“Choose your next words very carefully ,” Stiles warned.
“We didn’t want to worry you until we knew for sure.”
“Who is we?” Stiles demanded. “Actually, never mind. This has Scott written all over it. I swear to god, alpha or not, I am going to kick his ass.”
“It was a group decision,” Derek said.
“Why don’t you enlighten me as to what the thinking was behind this group decision?”
“I already told you. We needed to be sure before we told you that…it was back. We just didn’t want to worry you for nothing.”
“First of all, three murders, regardless of the culprit, are not nothing. Second of all, you did worry me! I have been losing my mind these past few days because I knew all of you were hiding something from me!”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Derek defended.
“Derek, how could you not tell me this?” Stiles wasn’t shouting anymore. He couldn’t bring himself to. He closed his eyes again, willing the stinging behind them to go away.
“I’m sorry. You’ve just…” Derek sighed. “You’ve been doing so well. This year? It’s been your best yet, and I couldn’t ruin that for you.”
“So you lied to me?”
“It was the wrong move, and if it makes you feel any better, your call interrupted the pack’s brainstorming session about how to tell you.” So he had heard Lydia in the background then.
“Well there’s no need for that now.” Stiles couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone. He could practically see Derek wince at it, and part of him was glad. “I’ll be there tonight. The whole team is flying out so tell the idiots not to be their usual level of stupid and to fly under the radar.”
“They’re not very good at that,” Derek said.
“Well if they don’t then they’re gonna find themselves suspects in a serial killer investigation, which nobody has time for. And tell Scott that I will be having words with him about this.”
“Oh he knows. You should have seen his face when you started yelling at me over the phone. Pretty sure all the alpha drained out of him.”
“Good,” Stiles muttered. He banged his head gently on the stall door. “I gotta go. And for the record Scott is not the only one I’ll be having words with.”
“I know,” Derek replied. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah yeah. Love you, bye.” He hung up before Derek could reply. He didn’t think he could handle Derek saying that he loved Stiles right after lying to him for days. Scott though. Stiles wished he could say that he was surprised by Scott’s behavior. Unfortunately though, this was exactly the type of shit he expected out of him and his stupid holier (and stronger)-than-thou attitude. Stiles and Scott had never been the same after Donovan. To be honest they hadn’t been the same since Allison. Scott always said that he never blamed Stiles for what had happened, but Stiles knew deep down that not even Scott could be that forgiving. It only became crystal clear when he believed that Stiles had killed Donovan in cold blood off the word of a kid that he’d known in preschool for like a year who showed up out of the blue as a werewolf—because that wasn’t suspicious at all.
The worst part was, the bad things Scott did were always for what he thought were good reasons. Scott was a good alpha, because above all else he always wanted to protect his pack. He was just sometimes really bad at doing that in a way that wasn’t infuriating. At least it seemed like Lydia had been on Stiles’ side. Scary ex-girlfriends for the win.
Stiles started, banging his head against the door when someone knocked on it. He hissed in pain, rubbing the spot.
“Hey kid, we’re heading to the airfield,” Morgan said. Stiles cleared his throat and opened the door. He almost couldn’t bear the worried look on Morgan’s face.
“Are you gonna be okay? I mean this case man…”
“It was a long time ago.”
“It never feels like that though.”
“No. It doesn’t.”