Summary: Stiles is seduced by someone older, someone in a position of authority. Someone, who not only Beacon Hills, but the Sheriff himself, trusts. It's not a genuine love affair that no one will understand which, at the time, Stiles had thought it was, so he'd stayed quiet about the clandestine meetings, secret trysts, whispered promises and sweet murmurings. No, it turned out not to be genuine, at all. It turned out to be wrong. Like a Kate Argent and Derek Hale kind of wrong. If that's not enough, he's also outed in the most horrific of ways.

Characters: Stiles/OMC, Sheriff, Scott, Derek, ensemble

Rating: M, although nothing too explicit

Warnings: Adult themes, sexual and emotional manipulation, especially in future chapter, statutory rape.

A/N: So there's plenty of Stiles+older characters in healthy and consensual relationships. But I wanted Stiles being seduced by someone older in a more manipulative way. And I really wanted it so that Derek is actually someone, who having been through a rather toxic relationship with Kate, to help Stiles through it/or make him see sense. Also, Peter kind of helps. (neither of these are the main focus though). It's more of a group effort with emphasis on the sheriff, Scott and Derek. This is definitely a 2-parter. The second part wont go up straight away because I seriously need to update my suits fic (a PRIORITY) and Statistically Speaking. The first part is more of exposition really... and I'm not completely satisfied with how I've portrayed the omc in question, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Oh dear. Long A/N is long.)

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. The show and characters are not mine. Not for profit. No infringements intended.


'It's a thief in the night

To come and grab you

It can creep up inside you

And consume you

A disease of the mind

It can control you

It's too close for comfort'

(Disturbia, Rihanna)

n. di-sturb-i-a

The feeling of dread or shock that comes with the realisation that something that is normally considered normal and safe is, in fact, horribly dangerous or wrong.

Derived from 'suburbia' and 'disturb' meant to describe the dark side of good, suburban neighbourhoods

( urbandictionary .com)


It was not a genuine love affair that no one will understand with time which, at the time, Stiles had thought it was.

So he'd stayed quiet about the clandestine meetings, secret trysts, whispered promises and sweet murmurings.

No, it turned out not to be genuine, at all.

It turned out to be wrong.

Like a Kate Argent and Derek Hale kind of wrong.

It took a while for Stiles to get that. And by then he's left completely shattered. Destroyed. His trust completely broken. He's angry at himself too, angry at the world, angry at anything and everything, and alienated from those around him.

Oh... there was the tape too. They might not have been responsible for that, but the act itself – which his dad and Scott, and even Derek too, keep telling him was wrong, even when Stiles went red in the face and told them it wasn't – had far reaching consequences than any of them had considered.


Stiles starts it, which is ironic, considering how it ends.

They try to tell him it wasn't him. That he's a victim.

Scott tells him he has Stockholm Syndrome even though there's no actual Stockholm to his Syndrome.

His dad tells him what he really thinks.

"It's abuse, Stiles."

Derek just sits there and stares at him in a weirdly disconcerting way before telling him about Kate Argent.

It doesn't change anything though. Stiles still started it.

"This isn't happening, Stiles-" warm words press against sore lips.

Nothing happens at all, not for a while at least, and Stiles was left embarrassed with a stupidly confusing crush and his pride dented. He gets over it though, files it away in another Stiles Stilinski Romantic Misadventure.

"This isn't happening, Stiles-"

Because it was nothing and nothing happened, until it does, in a fear and adrenaline-filled frenzy. At first, Stiles had put it down as a one-time thing, something you do when you're scared or been scared and neither of you know what you're really doing. Only it's not. It keeps happening Until it actually is something and this isn't happening becomes this shouldn't be happening.


His name is Jeremy. He's twenty-eight. He's the new deputy.

Stiles learns all of this from Callie, the officer on front desk duty, as he offers her first pickings from the freshly baked, shop bought, donoughts from the box he was carrying. Donoughts wasn't his usual offering, but Callie was chatty and always an info giver, especially when sweet baked goods were involved. She was one of the few original officers Stiles knew.

Through one of the smaller windows, he sees a tall, blonde, officer. Stiles can't but help think, which is a surprise seeing as he's been in love with Lydia since... well, forever, that the guy actually smoulders as he moves around the desks.

"And he's hot too."

Stiles blinks in surprise and realises Callie is now talking to Regina, the stations secretary. Regina's managed to snag a donought from the box and they're murmuring suspiciously at each other. Stiles might not have werewolf hearing but he can just about make out 'gay' and Regina's disappointed 'Shame'.

Stiles gives them a double take at that because Regina might still pass as pretty but she was probably old enough to be the new guy's grandmother. Callie glances over her shoulder and snorts at his poor poker face.

"Sorry?" he offers Regina uncertainly.

She waves him off, taking another donought in retribution, and slinks back to her desk with a sour look on her face.

Callie grins at him and nods in the direction of his dad's office.

Stiles grins sheepishly back and walks off, probably too slow for anything other than surveillance. It's not like it wasn't warranted – not with the threat of an alpha pack still at large, who Stiles might add, they still didn't know who they truly were or what they looked like. And, well... if he was being honest with himself, random strangers turning up and taking deputy positions, was at least some of his fault. He just wanted to make sure his dad, and the rest of the station, were safe. So, he had a plan – show up brandishing donoughts (because, yeah, everyone loves someone who brings donoughts), somehow get the new guy's scent on him and then use a particular Sour Wolf Supper Sniffer to sniff out any danger.

He's staring at the new guy, now bent at a desk, filling in a form, and considering approaching with the donoughts when a voice from behind startles him. He practically jumps a mile in the air, tightening his grip on to his precious hold, praying the spongy balls survive.

"Stiles! What are you doing here?" his dad exclaims.

The new guy – Jeremy – is alerted to his presence and straightens up from his stooped position.

"Uh..." Stiles starts before shaking the box out in front of him. "I come bearing freshly baked goodness."

His dad takes one look at the box before raising suspicious eyebrows at him.

"Donoughts? Really?"

"Yep," Stiles says distractedly, glancing around. His eyes meet Jeremy's across the room and he gulps nervously. He isn't sure exactly if it's because he's scared that the guy is an alpha or the fact that he surprises himself by being momentarily stunned at how mesmerising his eyes are.

"Since when does my son bring sugar coated gifts to the station?"

"Oh, all the time actually. You just don't know about it," Stiles tells him, attention back to his father. He catches his dad's hand going for the flap of the box and slaps it away. "They're not for you, dad. You're home for dinner tonight, right? If you play your cards right, you'll get a corn on the cob."

There's a laugh near-by and Stiles moves a little towards his dad when he realises Jeremy has stepped closer.

"I wish he was kidding," his dad says, turning serious eyes towards his new deputy. "But he's not."

"They're for the new guy," Stiles says quickly, startled by Jeremy's close proximity. He shoves what's left of the box at him, making sure to brush sleeves (because that's all he could think of short of rolling all over him) as he did so. "Welcome new guy."

Jeremy grapples with the box to prevent any of the Donoughts escaping.

"Uh... Hi," Jeremy smiles effortlessly. "Son of the Sheriff."

Stiles has to bite his lip because that was kind of funny. Even if it was only a response to his awkwardness.

His dad rolls his eyes, ruffling Stiles' slightly grown out hair, and nods at Jeremy.

"The new guy has a name, Stiles. This is Jeremy. Jeremy, this is Stiles."

"Stiles," Jeremy says in a more official greeting, only it sounds more like he's testing the word out against his lips and Stiles gulps again before giving him a small wave and high-tailing it into his father's office.

"Stiles?" his dad asks warily, following him in. The door is closed behind them. "What was that about?"

"You have a new guy," Stiles points out stupidly.

"I thought we just went over that?" his dad says, giving him a questioning look and folding his arms across his chest. His dad has been doing this a lot around him lately. "Stiles...?"

"I just wanted to check that he was kosher. Okay?"

"Kosher?" his dad's looking at him with a vague look of concern.

"You don't think it's weird?" Stiles asks him, but his dad just looks at him blankly. "That some random guy turns up wanting the deputy position."

His dad licks his lip and looks away, as though he's suddenly realised why Stiles was dropping by unannounced with donoughts.

"He's not just a random guy," his dad sighs, rubbing a tired hand over his face and Stiles instantly feels guilty for bringing it all back. "We've been finding it hard to get recruits. A ex-colleague of mine from New York has been trying to help us out. Jeremy heard and offered to help out. It's only temporary. My friend vouched for him."

"It's... oh-" he finishes lamely, not entirely sure if his barely there theory had been proven invalid. He scuffs the floor with the heel of his shoe, avoiding eye contact. "Just, you know... after everything that happened... I just wanted to make sure you – and the rest of the guys, of course – were safe. It's stupid really."

It's stupid, but he kind of feels somewhat responsible for what happened, even if he hadn't shed any blood himself.

"It's not," his dad tells him, coming up and squeezing his shoulder. He looks up and blinks away the memories of the bloodied bodies strewn in front of him and the feel of a cold muzzle against his temple. "I get it, kid. I do. But Jeremy seems like one of the good ones. I promise."


Jeremy is polishing off a donought when Stiles passes through. He has the residue of sugar on the tip of his nose and Stiles thinks what type of alpha, if he was one at all, would be caught with powdered sugar on his face?

"Hmm," Stiles stalls, vaguely pointing in the direction of the sugar coating the tip of Jeremy's pixie-like nose. He wonders why he's so caught up on the fact that he's actually taking note of Jeremy's nose-shape then the fact there's something on it. "... you got some..."

"Oh," Jeremy says, wiping the back of his hand across his nose. He grins at him and Stiles can't help but shiver at the small, and very minute, fact that it's kind of cute. In a Isaac way, of course, not in any remotely other way. "Thanks for these. I needed a sugar boost. This should keep me going for the rest of the shift."

"You're... welcome?" Stiles says, instantly hating the way it ends in a question. For the most part Jeremy does sound genuine.

"I saved you one," Jeremy tells him, box pushed out to him and Stiles is suddenly unsure about what to do – of course, it is only a donought – but the significance seems a little different here, even if Stiles isn't entirely sure what that actually is.

And then the new guy is grinning at him – warm, open, inviting – and in hindsight Stiles should probably have taken heed from accepting candies from strangers, even if they were his in the first place.


"Smell me," Stiles announces with a dramatic flounce as he drops heavily onto the dusty remains of Derek's couch. Only Isaac and Scott were there. Since the whole Alpha pack thing, Scott had been spending more time with Derek's pack.

Derek was scowling at the uninvited trio from the door frame. Or, you know, maybe just at him.

"No," came the collective response.

"I'm serious," Stiles tells them with the most serious face he can muster. "Smell me. Is there anything odd?"

Scott gives him a funny look but he sees the flare of nostrils and then a shake of the head.

"Actually, I meant Derek-" Stiles offers him with a grateful smile, before turning a more pleading look in the Alpha's direction. "I need the supper sniffer."

Isaac attempts to stifle a giggle, coughing to hide it when Derek glares at him, while Scott looks mildly offended.

"I told you not to call it that," Derek growls at him before taking his own sniff of the air. "You smell fine."

"Seriously? You don't smell any other werewolves... " he pauses for dramatic effect. "...of the alpha variety?"

"Why?" Derek's growls have become a little louder, and suddenly he's up in Stiles' personal space, eyes flashing red. "Should I?"

"There's a new guy-" Stiles squeaks out in surprise. "The deputy-"

Derek doesn't let him finish, just plunges his face into the deep of his neck and takes a huge sniff, which is really a bit too handsy for him and bit too disturbing for his liking. Derek's hands fist into the sides of his hoody.

"Nothing," Derek declares, releasing his hold and stalking back to his original position as though he had never manhandled Stiles in the first place.

"Nothing?" Stiles repeats and he knows he sounds disappointed by this.

The others have seemed to have noticed too because Scott's giving him that funny look again, Isaac nudges him, and Derek is looking at him with a questionable frown.

"Just your usual – soap, cinnamon, your dad... sugar."

"Donoughts," Stiles offers in explanation.

"Donoughts?" Isaac perks up from beside him with a hopeful look on his face.

"Sorry..." Stiles says, although by the look on everyone's faces they know he isn't. "I ate it."

Isaac looks a little crestfallen.

They're joined a short while later by Erica and Boyd, who'd barely escaped the alpha pack several weeks earlier. By the lack of response both of them give to his presence (and he'd been sure that they would have picked up on it if it had been there) he sat gloomily, realising that Jeremy was just... Jeremy.

While the pack formed into an easy chatter, Stiles sat and pondered what this little fact actually meant. If Jeremy was just human and simply his dad's new deputy... well the alternative was just plain confusing. He ends up sitting there, sandwiched between Isaac and Erica, who took great delight in the fact that Stiles now smelt like Derek thanks to the previous manhandling, anxious and fidgeting as he thought what it actually meant. As soon as the thought was passed, processed and compartmentalised as being completely insane, it would start up again and cause him to fidget some more.

He ignored the questionable frown Derek was still staring with or the subtle kicks to his foot, from where Scott was sat, or the way his eyes were twitching at him in the secret code for 'what's going on, man?'

Stiles takes the opportunity to flee when Isaac and Boyd leave for a pizza-run (because Derek wouldn't let them order if it meant some delivery guy coming to the Hale house and seeing a bunch of teenagers hanging around) and feels Scott following behind.

"Stiles! Wait..." he hears Scott call from behind.

Stiles doesn't stop. In fact he doesn't stop at the Jeep either, just keeps going as the feeling in his chest expands and the panic rises.

"Stiles-" Scott says again, easily catching up with him, grabbing at him. He forces him to turn to face him. "What's going on, man?"

Stiles manages an eye roll because that's exactly what those twitchy eye movements meant.

"He couldn't smell any alpha's," Stiles says, voice hitching in panic. He breaks away from Scott's hold and paces in front of him, burying his face into his hands.

"I know," Scott reminds him, sounding confused. "We established that."

"My dad has a new deputy," he paces a little more.

"Also established."

"Who's not an alpha."

"I know," Scott says with a growl of frustration. "Stiles... what's-"

"I think he's cute," Stiles blurts out, dropping his hands and then shrugging. "Shit. Shit-"

Scott's face is a picture – his mouth drops open, his body stills – and Stile's mouth jabbers on at a mile a minute until Scott shakes out of his stupor and grabs him, dragging him further away from the remains of the house, probably out of wolfy-hearing range.

"Okay... okay..." Scott's insisting until they stumble to a stop.

"Shit... did they hear any of that?"

Scott listens and shakes his head but Stiles thinks he's probably lying.

"I don't get it, Scott," Stiles says, continuing his pacing, kicking up dirt as he does. "I'm Stiles Stilinski. I'm supposed to fancy Lydia Martin – and yes, that ship has truly sailed, but I still fancy her."

"Maybe you're not gay," Scott reminds him.

"Like bi?"

Scott shrugs.

"So I just wake one day and start liking guys?" Stiles asks incredulously, continuing to kick dust up. "I've never liked guys before – I mean out of all you, if I was going to like anyone, it would be Derek, right? What with the cheek-bones, the designer stubble and all that brooding," he flails his hand around in the air. "But, no. Nothing."

Scott looks a little sick at the thought.

"Maybe you haven't met anyone you've liked until now."

"Scott-" Stiles warns. "You're supposed to be talking me down from a crisis."

"You don't fancy every girl you meet. Do you?" and yes, it really is something when Scott McCall is the voice of reason.

"Oh god," Stiles declares miserably. He stops pacing the dusty ground and sinks to the floor. He feels Scott lower himself next to him, a warm arm resting around his shoulder.

"You're taking this surprisingly well," he tells Scott.

"You're my best friend," Scott tells him back, squeezing his arm. "I love you."

Despite the hysteria Stiles has worked himself into, he manages a surprised smile of his own, watery around the edges.

They sit like that in silence for nearly an hour, Stiles picking at small tufts of dried grass, rolling the dirt between his fingers.

"He's the deputy," Stiles breaks the silence of the night.

"And you're the sheriff's son," Scott says back to him with a nudge. "I don't know why you're freaking so much. It's not like anything would happen."

No, nothing would happen. Not at all.


Weeks pass and Stiles calms with it, thinking it was a fleeting thought. Routine replaces it – Harris gives him detentions, he catches a few z's through Econ and he manages a few side-eyes at Lydia and Jackson who seemed permently attached at the lips. Rinse and repeat.

It's during a lunch drop off to his dad that he finds himself in the company of Jeremy while his dad was finishing a meeting. He falls in to a litany (not unusual for him, but this was filled with too many highs and lows to be anything but awkward) and somehow ends up telling him about Lydia.


"So? I've liked her since 8th grade and I've spent all this time trying to woo her," he watches as Jeremy's eyebrows raise over the top of the computer monitor he was sat at. "And she ends up canoodling with Jackson Whittemore." It ends with a sneer.

"Wooing? Canoodling?" Jeremy snorts and shakes his head, continuing to type. "No wonder you're still single."

"What? They're things..." Stiles says defensively.

"From the 18th century," Jeremy smirks at him. "It's kinda cute though."

"I'm not really going for cute," he says miserably.

"Well, good luck with that," Jeremy winks at him. "Besides from what you've told me this Lydia Martin doesn't do wooing. She seems high maintenance. You're probably better off without her."

Besides the fact that Lydia has shunned him a million times over he's quick to her defence.

"She's not like that. Not really."

"She picks the douche over the good guy. Sounds like it."

Stiles laughs nervously before shaking his head.

"It doesn't matter anyway."

"It doesn't?"

"I'm Stiles," he says with a shrug. "I'm the one everyone laughs with... or at. I'm not exactly desirable. I don't have the looks. Not like Jackson. I'm a bit of a loser really."

"Stiles..." he hears a sigh from the other side of the desk and looks up.

Jeremy's pushed the monitor aside slightly so that he's looking directly at Stiles and for the life of him he can't avert his eyes.

"You're none of those things."

Stiles feels the blush almost instantly but is saved from further embarrassment when the door to his dad's office opens and he's waving him over.

"Gotta go," he tells him, still flushing and waving the salad box in the air. "Time to feed my dad."

He glances back just as he's stepping through the office doorway, ignoring the way his dad scowls at his choice of lunch, to see that Jeremy is still sat there watching him back.


It's about a week later when something happens. He files it as a non-thing though thanks to his own self-preservation and Jeremy's pretence that Stiles never did anything in the first place. Like molest him in the record room. Or the more realistic episode where a one Stiles Stilinski threw himself at the deputy, which is what happened.

But it's a non-thing, so it really didn't count. Right?

It's not like he sought Jeremy out. Because he didn't. He'd actually been waiting for his dad.

He's sat in his dad's office, spinning in the chair, while his dad finishes up paperwork. They were going to get dinner on the way home and have a rather rare Stilinski night together.

He's spinning and spinning, watching as the small ball-pen – including a particular deputy – appear and then disappear until he stops mid-spin. His dad is leant across the desk and has a hold of the arm of the chair

"Stiles!" his dad barks at him.

"Sorry," Stiles tells him, slumping lower in the chair and flipping his hood up. His voice lingers on whiny. "I'm bored."

His dad nods and waves at his door.

"I'm going to be at least another hour," he tells him apologetically. "Why don't you go home, kid. I'll bring something in."

Stiles rolls his eyes because he knows his dad's 'something' will probably be swimming in fat and grease.

"I can't dad," Stiles reminds him with another exaggerated eye-roll. He tries to slide his hand in the air between them in what he hoped looks vaguely smooth. "You wanted to cruise in the cruiser. Curly fries. Remember?"

"I think that was all you," his dad says with a grin, before waving him away again. "Go and distract yourself - "

"Okay," Stiles says jumping up.

"- Without annoying anyone," his dad finishes with a pointed look.

Stiles immediately drops back down with a sigh.

"Stiles-" his dad warns.


Stiles jumps in his seat, having to turn because of the hood, to see that Jeremy freakin' Shepton (yeah, in all the confusion, Stiles might have forgotten to introduce him formally) is standing there in the door-way.


"I have quite a few files that need to go to the record room," he says. He has a bundle of brown paper files in his arms. Stiles can see even more on his desk. "Can I borrow Stiles."

"Please do," his dad tells him and Stiles mutters under his breath before rising.

"You know getting your kid to work for food," Stiles says loudly, over his shoulder as he heads to where Jeremy is still holding the door open for him. "Could be considered child labor."

He hears his dad snort at him.

"Just don't let him read any of the files," his dad tells Jeremy from behind.

"Dad!" Stiles exclaims with mock shock, glancing back at him. "As if I would ever do that."

His dad just glares at him and Stiles chortles loudly.

"Yeah," Stiles tells Jeremy as he moves to pass him, still laughing. "I so would."


Stiles ends up talking Jeremy's ear off – nothing in particular – nonsense really. It's what Stiles does when he's nervous and taken too much Adderall.

They're three files away from finishing when it happens – Stiles, two steps away from the bottom of the ladder, trying to figure out how not to (and in some cases how to) brush arms or fingertips (so very adolescent of him) and talking shit when he stretches and over-balances, falling like a damsel in distress.

Jeremy, who really doesn't catch him in his arms, steadies him at the bottom.

"Nearly," Jeremy laughs and pats him on the shoulder.

Stiles laughs too, licking his lips nervously, because they're so freaking close and that's when he reacts. It's him. Not Jeremy. Because Stiles is suddenly throwing himself at him. They both stumble back into the shelves as Stiles smashes his lips against ones parted in surprise. It's hard and bruising and turns out to be very non-sexy.

"This isn't happening, Stiles-" warm words press against sore lips before gentle hands push at him.

Stiles jackknifes away, mortified, cheeks burning.

"Of course," Stiles mutters... stutters, backing away. It feels like the floor is falling away, like he's about to – or maybe hopes to – slip right through it. "That was... stupid."

"It's okay."

"No," Stiles insists feeling the horror of shame and embarrassment and rejection mingle with the building palpitations in his chest. He wont cry. He wont fucking cry. "Shit. I'm really freaking sorry."

"Stiles," Jeremy insists, inching forward as though he was a startled animal. "It's okay."

"No," Stiles repeats, turning away. He feels the sting of tears that he wont let come. There's even the tacky feel of a cold sweat breaking out across his back.

"Nothing happened, Stiles. We're still good."

"I should go," Stiles blurts out before practically fleeing back to his dad's office.

He garbles something about the record room being too hot and how he nearly fainted and his flushed face, clammy appearance and racing heart all help in backing him up. He must look like complete shit because his dad takes one look at him before he abandons the rest of his paperwork and ushers Stiles home with a cooling hand around his neck.

He never did get his god-damn curly fries.


Scott finds him out by the school field re-threading his lacrosse stick. He's not seen much of his friend over the last few weeks what with Scott loved up with Allison as well as spending more time with Isaac. Stiles got it. He really did. Isaac had a crappy dad, Scott had an absent one. It was only natural for them to be spending time together.

It still stung though, at least after their last heart to heart, and Stiles couldn't help feel like, although supportive of him, his friend had abandoned him to his own whirlwind adolescent crisis. He wasn't in the mood for another one if Scott was going to be a no show for the aftermath.

"What's happened?" Scott asks him, sitting on a bleacher near him and sniffing at the air. "You smell different."

"How about shame, embarrassment, one huge epic mistake?" Stiles mutters next to him. He instantly hates that he's already talking to him. Scott might be a dick for a lot of the time, but he was the only one he could trust to talk to and he, apparently, loved him in a bromance kind of way. "Any of that coming through?"

Scott stares at him with a worried frown and Stiles swears under his breath when one his threads go awry. He yanks it back angrily before shoving it through again.


"I kissed him."


"The deputy," Stiles says, stalling mid thread to look at Scott's reaction. "I kissed him."

Scott face morphs into shock, eyes flashing yellow as the worried look slips back into place. He instantly leaves the bench he's on to sit beside him. Stiles can feel the anger reverberating through him.

"Down boy," Stiles laughs drily at his friend and waves off his concern. "Nothing actually happened."

"He didn't..."

"No. He didn't," It's answered a little bitterly before a pained giggle erupts from him. "He pushed me away, told me he wasn't interested."

"Stiles," Scott attempts to comfort him, an awkward hand falling on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Stiles says, brushing him off. "It was mistake. He was pretty good about it actually, you know? Acted like I didn't even do anything."

They're silent for a few minutes, until Stiles levers himself up and offers a hand to Scott.

"Come on. I don't want to be late for Harris," Stiles tells him, heading back in the direction of the school. "I can't deal with detention today."

He feels, rather than hears, Scott following. A little too closely. A growl flutters up around them.

"Scott," Stiles whines in protest. "Seriously, I'm fine. It's not even a thing."

It's not. It's not anything. It's a non-thing.


When something does actually happen – well, Stiles files it as one-time thing and more as a result of the hysteria that he finds himself in and the fact that Jeremy had just had a brush with death. He figures that neither of them are responsible.

He'd stopped by the station on the way home from school – just as a drop in and a check-up with his dad – because he hadn't seen much of him that week. But once there the station was eerily quiet and no one on the front desk.

Instantly Stiles is on guard - the last time it had been like this, there'd been several dead bodies littered around

"Dad?" he calls out, voice shaky and unsteady. Probably not the best thing to do if there was some hostage situation brewing, but common sense flies out the window when panic sets in. "Anyone?"

He's slowly creeping about, actually looking, and expecting to find a dead body when he hears his name being called from behind.


"Oh my god," Stiles actually finds himself shrieking, stumbling against the counter before seeing someone standing a few feet in front of him. "Jeremy?"

Stiles spots the familiar red droplets and splatter across the older man's uniform.

"Is that... blood?" Stiles asks, before rushing forward. He tries to pat at him, checking for injuries. "Oh, god. Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine" he says, catching Stiles wrist mid-flail.

"What happened?" Stiles breathes out. Shock was dwindling out, fear and panic quickly rearing back up. "Where's everyone?"

"Search party," Jeremy answers gruffly, pushing past him and and heading for his desk. "I was sent back to clean up and man the front desk. Officer Shelby took my place."

"Someone's missing?" Stiles asks. He knows he sounds small and a lot freaked. Jeremy decides to strip there in front of him – causing Stiles to gawk, unable to tear his eyes away – changing his torn and bloodied shirt with a clean one that had been neatly folded in his draw.

"Mrs Rushton."

Stiles remembers her. She had a lot of cats. He, along with Scott, had renamed her Mrs Pickles because, at the time, they'd both been avid fans of 'Psych' despite the fact that her namesake was neither a person or even canon-real.

"Mrs Pickles?" Stiles asks. Stiles corrects himself at Jeremy's blank stare. "The cat lady."

"Oh, right. Yes, most probably. We found a lot of dead cats," Jeremy nods at him, finishing with his buttons. "Something attacked me. The others said it was probably a mountain lion. You get that a lot?"

Stiles shrugs. "I guess."

"I could have sworn it was a wolf..."

Stiles stills at that. Now suddenly he really is panicking. He should be calling Derek right now, but he fumbles over his phone, seeking out his dad instead.

"I can't get hold of my dad," Stiles tells Jeremy when he repeatedly gets voice-mail. "He's okay, right?"

"Stiles-" Jeremy starts with tone that's too cautious to be comforting. It was probably something that he should have lead the conversation with.

"What?" Stiles asks, biting at his lip, stabbing at his phone again.

"He was out looking," Jeremy's telling him. Stiles can see lips moving. Words come later. "We can't get him over the radio. We've got a search party. I'm sure he's okay."

Stiles stares and then nods numbly.

"I should go," he says quietly, wondering what he was going to do. Go to Derek? Wander aimlessly through the woods and hope for the best?

He turns to go, hears his name being called, and is only slightly aware that he's started to hyperventilate, tears on his face.

"Wait, Stiles-" he's being pulled back and he struggles against it until suddenly they're in the reverse to what they were in the file room, and he's being pushed back against the wall. A soft, warm, body presses against him. Jeremy's close... very close... and it really, genuinely, takes him by surprise when urgent lips press against his own. Despite the fear and adrenalin – or maybe because of it – Stiles responds eagerly, opening his mouth half in shock and half in desire.

Jeremy pulls away just as quickly, face flushed, lips pink.

"Shit..." he murmurs, a shaky hand running through dishevelled hair. "That shouldn't have happened."

He tries to push away, but Stiles snags his arm and lets out a frustrated groan.

"Don't go," Stiles pleads, a sob caught in his throat, a mixture of despair and lust trapped in his chest. He tugs at Jeremy and pulls him closer, parting his mouth again in an open invitation, twisting his hands into the uniform in front of him. "Please."

Jeremy tentatively lets Stiles pull him closer until there's hardly any space between them, hands bracing either side of him. He hesitates for a all of a second before his lips are upon him again, exploring the inside of his mouth, and then Stiles is baring his neck, letting Jeremy pepper it with unchaste kisses, and all the while there's the tell tell signs of tears on his face.



The second part will focus more on the manipulation and the aftermath and I love emotional whump – Seriously, Stiles will be a basket case when I'm finished with him.