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My Boyfriend's in the FBI

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Getting into the FBI was a dream Stiles didn’t even know he had. He always knew he wanted to be in law enforcement, but he always figured he be a cop like his dad. But the freaking FBI? How awesome was that? Scott’s dad had put in a good word for him, he had a lot to make up for with his son and Stiles too honestly; that whole trying to get his dad fired thing still didn’t sit well with him. 

He called everyone he could think of to tell them how utterly awesome it was to actually be at Quantico, training to become an FBI agent. His dad was the first one that he called, he talked to him for over an hour about every single detail he came across. Scott was next, which meant Lydia and Malia too; he even called Melissa in his excitement.

He laid on his bed, lights off, scrolling through his phone. He pulled up his contacts, clicking on the only one not labeled with the person’s actual name.

Unsurprisingly it went straight to voicemail, like it had the last 6 months.

This is Derek. Leave a message.

Stiles sighed at the tone that followed. “Hey, Derek. Just checking in. If you manage to get this, give me a call. Hope you’re good.”

Stiles hung up, plugging in his phone and setting it on the night stand. He laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes. He threw the covers off him and flipped on the light at his desk, sitting down and pulling out a notebook.

He wasn’t sure why he thought a letter would get to Derek, he didn’t know where to even send it, but he wanted to do something, wanted to make sure that when Derek got back from where ever he was he knew he was thought about and kept in the loop; even if he didn’t get the messages until after he got back.


Calling always just goes to voicemail, so your phone is either off or it’s just dead; I’m betting on dead. Where ever you are, I hope you’re staying as safe as you can manage; I’m not there to save your werewolf ass so.

I called you today, hoping you’d pick up, but you didn’t. That’s okay, I didn’t think you would but at least you’re not screening my call. I think. I hope, we’re past the point where you’re avoiding my calls. Well, avoiding ALL of my calls.

I wanted to tell you the news, but I didn’t want to just leave a message. I doubt you’ll get this, seeing how I’ll be sending it to the loft since I have no idea where else to mail it. Somehow a handwritten letter, which I hope you can make out with my shit handwriting, seems more personal than a voicemail.

I didn’t go to Berkeley, like I thought I would. That was always the plan; go to school in CA, stay near my dad, keep Beacon Hills safe. Well, I didn’t go to school in CA, or stay near my dad. I’m actually on the other side of the country.

In Virginia.

At Quantico.

At the FBI.

Derek I’m at the freaking FBI. How awesome is that? I mean, I never even thought about this as an option; I always thought I’d get my degree in criminal justice and work with my dad. But, man the FBI?

Scott’s dad put in a good word for me, I think he’s trying to make up for being a shitty father to Scott and for trying to get my dad fired. It’s a start; he’s trying. As far as I know he’s stuck around Beacon Hills to get some time in with Scott, though Scott hasn’t let him in much.

I don’t blame him. I don’t think Scott knows everything yet, pretty sure I still no more than him. How do you tell your best friend his dad used to be an angry abusive drunk? My dad was on the phone with Melissa constantly trying to calm her down; I saw him in a holding cell more than once going to the station.

That’s not the point of this letter. Sorry.

I just wanted to keep you in the loop, make sure you knew we haven’t forgotten about you.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Stay safe Sourwolf.


Stiles smiled at the letter and folding it up, he reached into his desk for an envelope. He’d have to skip out on lunch to get to the post office and mail it out, but he figured he’d grab something quick on the way back. With the letter written and envelope addressed, Stiles felt like he could get some sleep.

He felt mild disappointment after 3 weeks, not hearing anything back but it’s not as if he really expected anything; he just hope was all.

His phone rang on the table beside him, looking at the name on the screen he answered it with a smile.

“Scotty! How’s my. Favorite alpha today?”

Exactly how many alphas do you even know?

“Hey, I’ll have you know I met a local pack the other day. I never would have thought there was someone less cheery than Derek, but man this guy Rick? He make Derek look like Santa Clause.”

Scott laughed. “Speaking of Derek, I’m actually at his place right now.

Stiles heart speed up. “What, really? Did he come back? Is he there? Can I talk to him?”

What, no. He’s still gone. I just thought it’d be good to check up on the place. Plus if he smells me all over if he comes back he’ll be pissed and I’ll get a good laugh out of it.”

“Sort of evil. I’m into it, keep up the good work Scotty. So what? You’re dusting and picking up his mail?” Stiles asked casually.

More or less. No mail though.

“No mail? Not even like bills or junk or letter?”

Nothing. He might have a box somewhere and is getting stuff forwarded. Electric is still on so he’s paying bills.

“Phone is still on too.”


“Nothing.” Stiles said quickly.

You’ve called him?” Scot asks suspiciously.

“I called him once a couple weeks ago, yes. But it went right to voice mail, but the service isn’t off. I figure as long as that’s still active he’s paying it and that means he isn’t dead.” Stiles shrugs, walking over to his fridge. “It’s not much to go on but it’s the only way we can check on him.”

I didn’t think you’d care that much.

“What? To make sure he’s not dead?”

And send him something.

“What? No! I-”

You aren’t as subtle as you think.” Scott laughed again.

“I hate you.” Stiles groaned, banging his head against the fridge door.

Stiles, you basically had broken hearts floating around your head for weeks after he left. And you were very anti-romance.

“I was not.”

You threw popcorn at Kira and me and dumped soda on my head.

“You were being gross!”

Scott sighed, Stiles could picture his face with a small smile as he shook his head. “Okay, fine. You smelled like heartache. There? Is that better? And just so happen to ask about Derek’s mail, specially a letter? Who even writes letters?

“Hey, people write letters. They’re more personal.” Stiles hopped up on his counter, swinging his feet back and forth. “I didn’t want him to think we forgot him.”

You miss him.” Stiles made an affirmative noise. “I get it man. You never even got talk to him about whatever you’re feeling-”

“And I have not intention of doing that, I like my face Scott. I would like it to stay this way.”

“He wouldn’t do anything to you, trust me.”

Stiles pauses, trying not to smile. “Are you saying-”

“I’m not saying anything other than it’s complicated. Any other information you want you’ll have to get from Derek?”

“So cold, what kind of friend are you? We don’t even know where he is!”

“He’ll be around. I’m sure if he got your letter he’ll come around at some point.”

“Who said I sent a letter, I confirmed nothing!”

Scott scoffed, Stiles heard the squeal and thud of the heavy metal door to Derek’s loft closing. “Stiles, I know you sent a letter. Look, I gotta go. I’m meeting up with Kira and Mason and Corey. You know, people who won’t dumb soda on my head.”

“You were being gross and inconsiderate to your lonely single friend!”

“Bye Stiles.”


Stiles huffed, jumping off the counter and standing in the middle of his small kitchen. He looked around, spotting his new FBI mug still sitting on the counter. He went to his bedroom, rummaging around his closest for a small box he knew he had stashed to send some small trinkets to his dad. Technically the mug was for his dad, but he didn’t need to know that.

Stiles carefully wrapped it in paper towels and ripped up some old shirts to help pad the box. He taped it up and grabbed his keys off the counter. He took a quick ride into town to the Post Office.

“So, I think my friend has his mail being forwarded to him. If I send this out, will it go to where ever he’s getting his mail?”

The woman behind the counter gave him an annoyed look over he glasses. “Why don’t you just send it to his new address.”

“See, I would but I don’t actually have it.”

“Can’t you get it?”

“Not really.”

“Does your friend not have a phone?”

Stiles glared at the woman. “Yes. But it’s off.”

“Maybe he has it off for a reason.”

Stiles sighed. “Look. I get your job probably sucks most of the time, dealing with idiots like myself and their mail worries. But it is you job. All I did was ask a question, which you have yet to answer. I’m all for the hard working American and I leave a good tip and I’m always overly nice to any retail working, but you’re really testing me right now. So, let’s start again. My friend is currently on a trip, but I believe he is getting his mail. If I were to send this small package to his home address, would it also be forwarded to where ever he is receiving his mail? Keep in mind I still have the supervisor card I can pull.”

“Yes.” The woman said through clenched teeth. “It would most like be forwarded along with his other correspondence.”

“Thank you! Okay then; I would like to ship this package out please.”

Stiles walked out of the post office, still feeling a little annoyed with the less than helpful woman. He pulled out his phone, telling Scott to check Derek’s mail again in about a week and let him know if anything came.

This was the test, if the package didn’t arrive there in about 2 weeks, considering the Post Office was slow, then Derek was getting mail somewhere else. Was he actually getting his mail, Stiles didn’t know. But He felt better knowing it wasn’t making it to the loft. Scott text him after 2 weeks, nothing had arrived; when he went back a week later, there was still nothing. Scott told him not to get his hopes up, Derek might not even be picking up mail or he could have moved on and not have updated the address. They still didn’t know where he was, but Stiles didn’t care. He already had a list of things he was going to send; he’d get him out of hiding, if just to he him sneak into his apartment and yell at him to stop sending FBI merch.

Stiles was settling into his seat in class, thinking about what kind of things he could send next, though he didn’t think that customer made bumper sticker that said “Proud Parent of a future FBI Agent” could be topped, he could try though.

The instructor walked in and played them a clip of surveillance footage of fleeing suspect.

A man ran across the screen, shirtless, black jeans and a tattoo on the center of his back.

Stiles spit the mouth full of water out, spraying the poor girl in front of him. He coughed, putting up a hand in a silent apology to the girl. “I’m sorry,” He stared, coughing through the words. “What was he supposed to have done.”

“He’s suspected of murder.”

“Uh, what kind of murder?”

The instructor looked at him curiously. “Mass murder.”


Stiles pulled out of his phone, sending off a text to Scott.

I found Derek. Not good.


He wasn’t going to bother with a mail box service; all his bills were paid online or withdrew from his account automatically. He rarely even made the hour-long drive into town to check his box for mail, once maybe twice a month? Anything he ordered he had sent to the house he’d been renting. But having been in North Carolina for a few months, he figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing since he decided to keep his phone off and in the glove box of his car.

The letter from Stiles was worn and frayed by now, having reading more than once a day for over a month. He hadn’t expected to get anything other than bills, but since getting the letter he had checked his mail at least once a week; twice a week when he got small box from him.

He had taken a short trip to South America to visit with Cora. He sat with her one morning at her kitchen table, her boyfriend Leo sitting at the counter.

“So, are you like in the FBI? That’s kind of cool, being a werewolf.”

Derek gave him a look, taking a sip of coffee from his FBI mug. “No.”

“Oh. Sorry, you just. Well you’re kind of a billboard for them.”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

Cora rolled her eyes. “You’re literally wearing an FBI training sweatshirt and sweatpants.”

Derek shrugged. “They’re comfortable.”

Cora rolled her head back, looking back at Leo. “His boyfriend is in the FBI.”

Derek glared at her, kicking at her leg under the table. “Stiles and me aren’t together.”

“You brought your own coffee cup down here.”

“I like this mug.”

“Just so happens to be the one Stiles sent you. He’d sent him this beautiful ensemble you see now, plus a couple shirts which I’m sure are packed up, and I think there was a stationary set? And a ruler?”

Derek stands from the table, moving over to the sink to rinse out his cup and put it in the drying rack. “Stiles isn’t my boyfriend, he’s just excited about being in the FBI.”

“Have you even spoken to him?” Cora asks, turning in her seat.


“And he still sends you things, things relevant to his life?”

“I guess.”

“Dude, you’re totally dating!”

“Cora.” Derek groan.

“Leo, tell him.”

Derek glances at Leo who shrugs. “I mean, it’s definitely not a normal thing someone who’s a friend does, especially if they haven’t talked to them in almost a year.”

“Stiles isn’t normal.” Derek grumbled, walking out the door calling out that he was going for a run.

The rest of his trip went in similar fashion, if he happened to be sport something from the FBI. After the fourth time Cora saying his boyfriend was in the FBI, rather then explain the truth which he didn’t even understand Derek just agrees or grunted confirmation. By the time he got back to North Carolina, he was a little depressed that it wasn’t the actual truth. So he decided to plan a drive up to Virginia since he had Stiles’ address from all the packages.

But, things went to shit by the time he got back.

He came home to find that the local pack had been completely slaughtered and of course when he went to check things out, the police were there and saw him running from the scene of 10 or more bodies scattered around their meeting place in the woods.

He ran and was now, suspect number one.

The was hunkering down in an abandoned warehouse when a small group of hunters crept in, they were as stealthy as they thought because Derek had heard them a mile up the road but he was a wanted man and he would much rather hurt hunters than risk hurting people just doing their job; Stiles would be one of those people one day.

He climbed up into the rafters, sticking to the shadows as the 4 hunters entered with guns raised.

“I tracked him here. The fucker is just hiding.” One of them said.

“Of course he is, the entire state is looking for him after that massacre.” Another laughed.

“You know,” Derek spoke, his voice echoing through the building. “I’ve been framed for murder before, I didn’t care for it.”

“Where are you, you filthy mutt.

“Mutt? Really? Both my parents were werewolves, so technically I’m a purebred.”

“You’re a vile creature who shouldn’t be here.” The first had snarled.

Derek here the muted snapping of twigs outside, static from an earpiece or two and several more heartbeats. A tactical team was surrounding the building, they’d followed the hunters in. “Maybe, but I’m not the one who murdered a house of people who were gathering to celebrate a wedding anniversary.”

The large bay door on the other side of the warehouse flew open, beams of red light swept the floor. “Get down! Now!” Someone in black gear command. “This is the FBI, put your weapons down!”

Derek smirked. “Looks like you’ve got bigger problems.”

The hunters stupidly opened fire, the FBI team returning their shots hitting two of the men in the leg. Derek moved along the beam and jump through a high window, rolling down the roof and landing on the ground easily.

He started to move toward the woods, away from the fighting but he heard a yelp of pain and a string of curses following. “Stiles?”

He took off, back into the building without a second thought.

Stilinski! I knew we shouldn’t have brought in someone so green! Get him, get him out of there!” Someone yelled.

“Hey! I got you the right people! You should be thanking me! I save this whole department from a PR nightmare! You were about to take down an innocent man!”

Derek rolled his eyes, dropping to his stomach behind a stack of creates as bullets flew at his head. His eyes flashed blue, searching the area for Stiles.

He spotted the other man a few yards from him, flat on the ground with his face twisted in agony. “Moron.”

Derek glanced around before darting from his cover toward him, keeping as low as he could. He dropped down beside him, grabbing the front of his FBI jacket, that he was only a little jealous of, and yanking him back.

“Woah, hey!” Stiles flailed his arms, smacking at Derek until he thrust in a corner out of the fire fight going on around them. “Derek!?” Stiles’ eyes went huge, he grinned up at the man. He move forward toward him, arms out but stumbled forward. “Ow! Shit!”

“Where were you hit?” Derek asked, catching him before he hit the floor.

“What? No, it’s just a graze.”

Derek pushed him back, looking him over tugging at his jacket and vest, moving his legs and patting him down. “I don’t – wait.” Derek saw blood around the tip of his shoe. He reached for it, pulling it off and Stiles let out a scream.

“Ow! Fuck! What the fuck? Why? Why does that hurt?! Derek?”

Derek ignored him and inspected his injured foot, gingerly pulling off his sock. “You…” He tried to hold in his smile, not wanting to laugh at the pain Stiles was feeling but it was the sort of thing that would only happen to him. “Uh, you’ll be okay. You were shot-”


“In the foot-” Derek’s composure was starting to crack.

“The foot?

“And your toe is, uh…well, it’s missing?”

What? What do you mean it’s missing? Are you laughing?

“No, no. Cause this isn’t funny. At all. Getting shot isn’t funny.”

Stiles punched Derek’s arms, cursing and shaking his hand. “Asshole! They fucking shot off my toe and you’re laughing at me!”

Tear were streaming down Derek’s cheeks, he cough to clear his throat trying to get himself under control. “No, I’m not.” He wheezed. “Seriously.” He cleared his throat, wiping a hand down his face. “Okay, I’m not. See? No laughing.”

Stiles glared at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re an asshole. I should have never gotten involved. I should have let them come after your furry ass.”

“Think about my ass often?”

Stiles’ cheek flushed instantly. “N-no. Shut up. Help me out of here.”

Derek smirked, standing and holding one hand out to help Stiles up. The boy took his hand, careful to not put any weight on his injured foot. He sighed, leaning heavily on Derek, trying to keep his balance as they walked along the wall. He lost balance, tipping over and forcing himself to step down suddenly on his bad foot.

He cried out in pain, Derek grabbing him at the waist before he could fall and scooped him up to get him out of the building. Stiles clutched at him, eyes closed tight still reeling from the pain.

The got out of the building and Derek ran right over to the waiting ambulance and the EMT’s. He set Stiles on a gurney inside the truck and sat back as the medics worked to stop the bleeding and bandage up his foot. He sat beside Stiles, holding his hand and pulling some of the pain away; feeling his pain, he started to regret laughing at him because it really did hurt.

But Stiles got his toe shot off.

Derek snorted, Stiles squeezed his hand. He looked up into the glaring amber eyes and just smiled. “Sorry. But you have to admit, getting your toe shot off is funny.” Derek looked at the medic who was placing a small boot around Stiles foot. “I once had a cat who lost a toe, it had terrible balance. Is he going to have the same issues? Cause he’s balance is already pretty bad, he can’t afford for it to get worse.”

Asshole! I don’t even know why I like you, it’s a big fucking mystery!”

Stiles snapped his head at Derek with bulging eyes.

Derek smiled at him. “So, you like me, huh?”

The medic smirked, giving Stiles the all clear and stepped away. Stiles picked at his jacket with his free hand, his other still being held by Derek. He shot a quick glance at the werewolf, his eyes falling to his chest where his jacket had fallen open.

“You’re the one wearing an FBI shirt.”

Derek glanced down at himself, looking back to Stiles and shrugging. “My boyfriend got it for me.”

Stiles’ heart thumped loudly in his chest. “Boyfriend?”

“That’s what Cora was telling people when I went to see her. I just stopped correcting her. Is that okay?”

Stiles swallow, his throat feeling dry. “I-I don’t mind.”

“Seemed like an easier explanation than telling people that there’s this kid I left back home who I haven’t been able to get out of my head sending me a bunch of stuff from the FBI where he’s training to be an agent, even though I haven’t talked to him in over a year.”

“When did you become Mr. Open-and-Honest?” Stiles joked.

Derek shrugged. “When I stopped denying everything I ever felt about you.”

“Oh.” Stiles croaked. He chewed on his lip, Derek running his thumb over the back on his hand. “If, uh, if you wanted to kiss me, you know I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

“Oh no?”

“I mean, if this were a movie, it’s kind of the pivotal moment. I can practically hear the audience screaming at you.”

“Can you? Interesting, cause I think I still hear them laughing about your toe. Are we in the same movie?”

Stiles glared at Derek before dropping his head back and closing his eyes. “Ass. Hole.”

Derek laughed, leaning over Stiles slotting their lips together. Stiles brings his hand up to cradle the back of Derek’s head.

“You know,” Derek starts, dragging his mouth over Stiles’ chin and along his jaw. “I’m going to be expecting one of these jackets. And a new coffee mug; mines chipped.”

Stiles let out a laughed. “I think I can work something out.”