Inside Sheriff Stilinski's office, Noah's gaze fixed on the two wolves who had accompanied Stiles. Jackson took a deep breath, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. "Everything's okay, well, not okay. But we're all alive. I think you should hear it from Stiles when he's ready, sir," Jackson explained, attempting to soften the blow of the impending revelation.
Derek and Noah got along great, amazing even. They would watch baseball games together with a cold beer in hand. They would tease Stiles endlessly, Noah telling very embarrassing stories of Stiles as a child.
Noah saw Derek as a son, as family, just as he did the whole pack, so when he finds out, well, let's just say Derek may or may not be shot with wolfsbane bullets.
Noah nodded, appreciating Jackson's concern but couldn't help but roll his eyes with a faint smile. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Noah?" he remarked, turning his head to acknowledge Cora. "Cora, I presume? It's good to see you alive."
"Likewise, Sheriff," Cora responded respectfully.
Before the conversation could progress further, Deputy Parrish rushed to the door, a sense of urgency in his voice. "Sheriff, I hate to interrupt, but we got a call."
"I'll be right there, Parrish," Noah replied, then turned his attention back to Stiles, who was still wrapped around him. "Hey, you okay, kiddo?"
Stiles nodded, inhaling his father's scent before letting go. "I'm fine," he reassured, offering a watery smile.
Concern lingered in Noah's gaze as he addressed Stiles. "If you need me, I'll send out another deputy—"
Stiles cut his dad off, asserting his independence. "No, it's okay. I'm okay. I'll see you back at the house tonight."
"If you're absolutely sure."
"I am. Be safe out there."
"Love you, kid."
"Love you, Dad."
Jackson, attuned to the situation, stepped in with a supportive gesture. "I sent a text to Boyd, and he's going to be dropping off your jeep at your dad's."
"Thanks, Jax," Stiles expressed his gratitude.
The bonds within the pack proved to be a source of strength, a lifeline that Stiles clung to as he navigated the complexities of his emotions and the unfolding events.
***
In the solitude of his room, Stiles paced back and forth, frustration emanating from every stride. He had sent Jackson and Cora back to the pack house, needing a moment alone to grapple with the uproar of emotions consuming him. Tugging at his hair, he couldn't escape the anger simmering within.
He was furious, not just at Derek but at himself for allowing Derek to burrow into his heart so deeply. It wasn't just the chiseled features or the handsome face that had drawn Stiles in; it was the layers beneath the tough exterior that had captured his affection. Derek, despite his gruff demeanor, was a big, soft teddy bear underneath. His dry sense of humor resonated perfectly with Stiles' sarcasm, and the way he cared for his pack, praised them, and showed pride in their achievements had only deepened Stiles' admiration.
Stiles fell in love because Derek, for all his initial stoicism, was a goofball once you broke down the walls he had constructed for good reason. Each new layer Stiles discovered made him love the grump even more, cliché but undeniably true. And now, in the wake of the recent revelation, Stiles found himself infuriated because he never fathomed that Derek could inflict such pain upon him. The betrayal cut deep, leaving Stiles grappling with a whirlwind of emotions that he hadn't anticipated.
Determined to seek answers, Stiles pulled on his trusty red hoodie and grabbed his keys. The rain outside added a dramatic touch to the night, matching the intensity of his emotions. As he hopped into the driver's seat, the jeep roared to life with a single try, sparing him any additional frustration.
However, his plans were immediately disrupted when he turned on the headlights, revealing Scott and Cora standing there, expressions unreadable in the downpour. Stiles couldn't help but feel the rapid thumping of his heart,
"ohmygod! What the hell are you two doing?"
Without a word, both wolves moved around and slid into the jeep. Cora settled into the back, and Scott claimed the passenger seat.
"Dudes!" Stiles whined, glancing at Cora's unimpressed face in the rearview mirror. "You're getting Roscoe all wet."
"You named your jeep Roscoe?" Cora remarked with a raised eyebrow.
Rolling his eyes at her lack of enthusiasm, Stiles turned his attention to Scott, who cut straight to the point. "Where are you going?"
"To confront Derek, to get answers, obviously. So if you don't mind—"
"You're not going alone," Scott shut down that idea immediately. "I don't trust Jenifer or Derek right now."
"I second that. We're coming with you," Cora added, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"I don't need babysitters!"
"We'll stay in the jeep, but we are coming with you," Scott asserted, buckling in and making it clear that either they all went or no one did.
Stiles huffed but complied, starting the jeep and navigating through the pouring rain. The unease and lack of trust he felt towards Derek were emotions he hadn't experienced in years, reigniting a sense of vulnerability and uncertainty that he thought he had left behind.
**
"How did you know he'd be here?" Scott wondered as they parked beside Derek's black Camaro in the old lofts parking lot.
"If Jax searched the entire town, where else could he be?" Stiles replied, shrugging off the question. He shut off the engine, took a deep breath, and nodded, mostly to reassure himself. "I can do this. Just walk in, demand answers, and not get my throat ripped out. Sounds easy enough."
Sensing the nerves emanating from Stiles, Scott turned to his friend, his own eyes lit up with determination. "I can come with you, Sti. You don't have to do this alone." The offer conveyed a sense of solidarity, a reminder that the pack was there to support each other through thick and thin.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do." Stiles affirmed with a final nod before stepping out of the safety of his jeep and heading towards the loft. There was no need for a knock; if Derek could be a dick, he could be a bigger one. He slid the metal door open, revealing Derek standing inside.
"Why are you here?" Derek questioned, sounding bored as he observed raindrops sliding down the glass one by one.
"Well, hello to you too, babe," Stiles quipped, unable to resist his signature sarcasm. Nervousness and fear clung to him, the anticipation of potentially losing the man he was helplessly in love with.
Derek's shoulders tensed at the endearment "babe." He repeated his question, "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I don't know, Derek," Stiles spat his name with a hint of venom, making it clear he wasn't playing around. Derek's shoulders tightened further at the harshness in Stiles' voice. "Maybe because you went home with another woman and never came back or even explained yourself. Then," he seethed, "then I see you at school with her, not once but twice. You then proceeded to break up with me over text! Text! You didn't waste any time moving on with the bitch." Stiles' words cut through the tension, expressing the pain and betrayal he felt.
Derek's attention was fully captured by Stiles' words. He spun around, finally facing Stiles with a murderous look. Breathing heavily, the tension visible in the rise and fall of his chest, Derek clenched a glass of whiskey – a drink Stiles knew he didn't even like.
"Get. Out," Derek growled low in his throat. But Stiles, never one to back down, insisted, "not without an explanation."
Derek, however, remained silent, his face devoid of any emotion except for anger – a predictable reaction. Stiles, grappling with the situation, mumbled, "You didn't – you couldn't have meant it."
"I did," Derek affirmed coldly.
Desperation filled Stiles as he pleaded, tears glistening in his eyes, "Why are you doing this? Why are you throwing away everything we've worked so hard for?"
"Because I love her!" Derek nearly shouted.
"What?" escaped from Stiles' lips, the brokenness evident.
"Get out," Derek pointed to the loft door, spilling whiskey onto the table in the process.
"Der–"
"Out!" Derek roared, his eyes blazing red.
Stiles didn't need to be told a third time. With one final look, he turned and ran. His heart shattered as he stumbled down the four flights of stairs, jumped into his beloved jeep, and drove away, tires squealing on the wet pavement, tears streaming down his pale cheeks.
The pain is raw and palpable in Stiles' words as he questions how Derek could seemingly discard everything they've built together. The disbelief and frustration are evident as he rants about the sudden shift in Derek's affections. "It just doesn't make any sense!"
Scott remains silent, understanding that sometimes words can't soothe the wounds. Stiles is venting, trying to make sense of a situation that seems unexplainable. There's no logical answer to the cosmic joke life has played on him.
Cora, fueled by a protective instinct toward the pack that welcomed her so warmly, is seething with rage. Despite being a newcomer, she recognizes the depth of Stiles' love for her brother and feels the betrayal on his behalf. The new Derek appears to be a stranger, acting in ways the old Derek never would, the Derek she followed around and looked up to as a kid.
"It's like he's under some kind of spell," Cora mumbles, searching for any explanation that could make sense of Derek's bewildering behavior. The pack, once a source of strength and unity, now struggles with uncertainty and heartache.
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