Stiles Winchester

2

Motel California

It was turning into mid morning, Saturday, when Stiles walked out of his house with two gigantic suitcases, filled with his stuff. He walked out and nodded at Derek who was waiting by the Jeep; signalling it was time to go, and the two of them climbed into the blue Jeep with Derek driving.

Stiles didn't say anything but he wasn't crying anymore, oh no. He had stopped crying the minute he walked into his home, preparing for a fight with the Sheriff, when he found the man passed out and sprawled across the table with a bottle of Whiskey in his hand. Usually Stiles would have felt a huge twinge of pain strike across his body, knowing that his father was drinking away his sorrows, but he didn't feel like that now. He just felt determined to stay away from the man whom he had believed was his father. He wasn't sad anymore, he was just angry that the Sheriff hadn't told him about the adoption, hadn't really been his father at all.

"Stiles?" Derek's deep voice tore through Stiles' thoughts and brought him back into the real world, "You okay?"

"Oh my God, the Sourwolf has feelings!" Stiles tried to joke and be sarcastic about the situation but it failed miserably - Derek's werewolf senses could tell exactly how Stiles was feeling, he just wanted the skinny defenceless boy to feel like he had someone to talk to in all of this.

"I take that as a no." Derek replied politely and decided not to talk until they reached Derek's loft; Peter - Derek's problematic and scheming uncle - wouldn't be exactly happy that they were accommodating a place for Stiles but hey, Derek thought that Stiles would had refused too, those two hated each other.

When Stiles and Derek arrived at the loft, they found Peter and Scott hunched over the main table, gibbering away at something that seemed rather important. However, as soon as they heard Derek's loud footsteps the two of them stopped immediately, spinning around to face him and Stiles. At first, Stiles could have sworn Peter had given him a look of sympathy, but that couldn't be right; that man was the devil in a v-neck.

"So..." Stiles spoke first and, without saying a word, Scott walked over to his best friend and pulled him into a hug. Hugs like this were only shared between the two of them when things got bad, really bad, so Stiles knew straight away that Scott could sense pain and anger radiating off him because of his father.

"How heart warming. Now if you don't mind, Scott and I need to go back to work." Peter said, sounding totally uninterested by this situation, and Scott pulled away from Stiles.

""Scott and I"? Scott, since when have you trusted Peter?" Stiles asked his best friend, confused by this sudden turn of events.

"I don't Stiles, believe me, but Peter might know a thing or two. Um, I think you and Derek might want to see this." Scott replied and walked back to the table with Peter. Unbeknownst to Scott and Peter, Stiles glanced at Derek wearily and Derek nodded, signalling that the two of them were on the same wavelength: Peter couldn't be trusted but Scott could be.

Derek put both of Stiles' suitcases by the couch and walked over to the table in which his uncle and friend were stood over. Stiles joined soon after, curiosity making him give in, and the four of them were all stood around the table, staring at a map of Beacon Hills.

"So what're you doing? Planning an orienteering event?" Stiles scoffed, trying to lighten the mysterious we-must-not-talk mood.

"No, idiot. We've tracked down the guy who shot you, Derek." Peter directed the reply at his nephew, then glared at Stiles in annoyance.

"Yeah, I followed him and his car all the way to Motel California." Scott interrupted, pointing at a place circled with red marker on the map.

The four of them didn't say anything, they all knew how weird Motel California was. A lot of suicides had happened there, hell, the motel managers even kept a record of how many people had died there, no one in their right mind would ever stay at Motel California.