Hero (Sterek)

Chapter 13

An odd thing happened at the police station. Although odd might have been putting it mildly. There wasn't a police vehicle in sight. There were the usual impounded cars in the in the back lot, but no police cars.

Derek slowed down as he saw the empty parking lot. He turned in, picked a space, and killed his engine. "Uhm, I don't know I might be blind, but it doesn't seem like there's anyone here."

Stiles barely heard him; he was twisting around in his seat, double and triple checking that there wasn't some sign of life. "...Okay. This...is not weird. Not weird at all." Stiles chewed his lip and then flung the car door open.

"Stiles!" But he was already out and jogging to the station doors. Derek grumbled something probably profane and followed. "Stiles! Don't go in—dammit. Never listens." Derek rushed after him and skidded to a stop as soon as he was through the door—nearly crashing into Stiles.

The blinds were shut on the walls. The reception was empty. Behind the glass, where all the desks rested with papers and files stacked to the ceiling, not a soul stirred in the main room. Stiles' hand reached back and gripped Derek by the arm. It was a steadying gesture, but not for him—for Derek. He turned and put a finger to his lips. Don't move, he mouthed to Derek. Since when did Stiles take lead on these things? Since when did Stiles try to protect Derek—of all people?

Stiles snuck around the counter and through the door that led to the main room. Derek would have gone after him, but his senses told him there really wasn't anyone there. He didn't know why Stiles was insistent on being silent. With a frown, he glanced to the right where a stretched out and turned left. The lights were out but he could clearly see the dim, glowing green EXIT sign above the door on the end. There was also a little flickering red light on the wall next to it, and Derek, nostrils flaring, could smell the faint musky scent of a draft.

Stiles came out just before Derek was about to go and check out the door. He had a file in his hand and worried look on his face. He grabbed Derek by the arm and tried to tug him back out the station.

"What?" he whispered when Derek didn't move.

Derek glanced at him. "Why are we whispering? There's no one here."

"I know that, dumbass—but there's literally a camera on every goddamn wall—with mics. Why do you think I said not to move? You're still a person of interest—and now they wanna nail you for those murders outside your property. You can't be seen walking in there."

Oh.

"But I asked you a question."

Derek blinked and nodded to the door at the end of the hallway. "I think the door is open."

Stiles followed his gaze and narrowed his eyes. With a tight frown, he tugged on Derek's arm again. This time he followed. When they were safe outside, Stiles started walking around the building—not back to the car, but to the other side where the entrance to the impound lot was behind the wall of the station. Sure enough, even in the dim lamplight above the fence, the pair could see that the door was open just slightly.

The metal fence created a large box around the side of the building and about three-fourths of the way down was the gate and a small station for a residing officer. Except here there wasn't an officer and the gate, which rolled to open, had a giant hole in the center.

Stiles gaped at the sight, a wiped a hand over his face in frustration. "Shit. Stay here." He walked across the pavement and stopped at the little outpost. Glancing inside the window, he saw that everything inside was fried—the desk, the control panel, the lock boxes, everything—and the door had been blasted open. "Shit." Narrowing his eyes he saw something in addition to the blackened surfaces—a light sheen of some sort of blue filmy substance. "Shit." He looked at the gate. Same deal.