Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.

Read on, oh faithful ones...

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Chapter One

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"Hey Scott, so I'm here. I'm in Quantico, Virginia at the FBI. I'm at the freaking FBI! It's real. I'm really here. Look I kinda told Lydia that I miss her, and I can't wait to get home, but listen, Scott, whatever you're doing right now just make sure you're still getting out of Beacon Hills. Maybe you think that, you know, the whole thing falls apart if you're not there, which I get, but you have to. I know you're supposed to drive out tonight, so if you don't call me back, just promise me that you're going. Just get in the Jeep and go."

Satisfied that he'd left enough command in his tone that Scott would actually obey, Stiles ended the call and headed through the building - the FBI building - to his first session of the day.

Spitting water over one of his classmates (FBI-mates? Peers? Ooh, better.) wasn't exactly going to be a highlight of his day, but then neither was finding out that Derek Hale was a suspect for murder. Mass murder, at that.

New FBI recruits weren't allowed their phones on inside the building due to security reasons, so as soon as Stiles overcame the shock of his instructor's words, he was desperate to get outside of the building and on his phone asap. Stiles planned on sending a text along the lines of 'what the actual fuck, Derek Hale?!' just as soon as he possibly could.

Unfortunately, that wouldn't be soon enough, because the details for Derek's case were brought to the forefront after his incessant questions. His peers decided to psychoanalyse every single thing they could about both the case and person, desperate to prove themselves to the FBI, each other, and maybe themselves.

The details for the case were oddly vague considering the detail usually seen in FBI cases. Stiles restrained himself from shouting that he knew that the information was wrong because he was with Derek on those dates, or, y'know, the Nogistune was fighting him on that day. There was another so-called murder the week they found Derek in Mexico.

He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs that this wasn't right, that Derek wouldn't hurt anyone. Not anyone who didn't deserve it, at least. Stiles couldn't say any of this, not without those same desperate-to-please peers turning on him. Besides, he's certain that they'd find out about his connection to the "mass murderer" soon enough, and he felt his stomach turning and churning, like butterflies going through a wood chipper.

His first day at the FBI was going to be his last. That had to be some kind of record, surely?

Stiles stayed quiet for most of the session, to the obvious relief of his instructor and peers. He took diligent notes, using his own form of shorthand to write the real details of what had happened on the dates his peers called out. He tried to keep his expression neutral as people who didn't know the first thing about Derek examined every last detail of his life.

Derek had his family torn from him, literally burnt to ashes, and these people were acting as though he came out from that... that trauma as the world's biggest villain. The complete and utter opposite was true, and Stiles hated that these people couldn't see that.

Where were the details about how he had saved people's lives, and always made sure to stock extra bags of candy and chocolate at Halloween, and how he'd sacrifice himself before letting anyone he cared about coming to harm? Where was thatin the stupid file?!

"Known acquaintances: Peter Hale, redacted, and... redacted. Well, that's helpful," one of Stiles' peers muttered, glaring down at the paper in frustration.

"What?" Stiles asked, eyes wide.

She was the one he'd accidentally spat on earlier, and she still didn't look overly pleased at him for that, but she handed the paper to him with a shrug. "A lot of names are redacted. Doesn't make sense in a case like this, huh?"

"No, no it doesn't," Stiles muttered, eyes scanning down the paper. He reached for another piece of paper, eyes taking it in at a glance, then another, and another.

In every place possible, Scott's name was redacted, and for some reason, so was his.

Before he could say or ask anything, they were let out for lunch, and Stiles followed the group, his mind already whirring overtime to try to make the connections and fit all of the puzzle pieces together. His finger itch, and Stiles wished that he'd at least brought a piece of string to help him focus.

The lunch room wasn't exactly quiet, but there's enough whispered conversation that when it stopped completely, Stiles definitely noticed. He looked up from his notes to see what had happened and his face settled into a scowl. Remembering where he was, Stiles tried to make himself look more neutral instead, but it was difficult when Agent Dickface was heading over to his table.

His peers, to put it lightly, freaked out a little. They sat up straighter, looked attentive, and Stiles was pretty sure that one guy was this close to drooling and/or fainting.

"Good afternoon recruits; it's good to see some new faces," Rafe McCall said, smiling at the group broadly.

Stiles couldn't stop the scowl this time, but at least the others were all looking at Agent Fuckwad instead of him.

"What have you been working on this morning?" Rafe asked, sitting at the end of the table and looking at them expectantly.

The final puzzle piece fell into place and Stiles looked at Rafe sharply. Rafe returned his gaze for a split second, cool and unperturbed, before his gaze continued to the rest of the group.

They finally seemed to realise that Agent Rafe McCall actually expected an answer and they hurried to tell him everything about their case that they possibly could.

"Excuse me," Stiles muttered, barely even noticed by his peers as he stood and left.

Rafe glanced after him briefly, but returned his attention to the rest of the recruits, who were vying for his attention and approval.

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Stiles made it outside using his very own swipe card - not stolen, borrowed or copied, thank you very much - and turned his phone on. He had a few messages from his father, saying how proud he was, how he expected a full report that evening, and that Scott had taken the Jeep earlier that morning. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief on seeing that text.

He swiped through his contacts and settled on Scott's name for a moment, then continued past. Stiles felt as though a piece of lead had settled in his stomach, and he had a brief thought about Agent McJerk, wondering if he had had any hand in Stiles actually getting to the FBI. There was a time in his senior year when his grades had slipped, so while Stiles had been hopeful about getting in to the FBI, he hadn't really expected to get in.

He finally settled on the contact for 'wolf' and sent a text message.

You're being framed for mass murder. Run.

Stiles turned off his phone and headed back inside.

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End of the first chapter.