The Nine Lives of Stiles Stilinski Part Seven: "Getting Good at Starting Over"
Series: The Nine Lives of Stiles Stilinski
Chapter Title: Getting Good at Starting Over
Part: 7/9
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairings: eventual Derek/Stiles; some Jackson/Stiles; Mystery Man/Leon; Chris Argent; Scott McCall; Lydia Martin; Allison Argent; Sheriff Stilinski.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Summary: When Stiles woke up he was in a room that wasn't his own.
Notes: snagged the idea for this from teenwolfkink.
Warnings: un-betaed. This series takes place after season one.
Previous
He didn't bother to help the other hunters. They'd done their job-gotten him in to take the life of the cat. Except they hadn't done well enough. The cat only had one less life than when he'd begun this hunt and he knew that he'd have to make certain he was dead for good. Once he'd shot him though, the werewolves (whom he had been reluctant to believe in) went berserk. One transformed into an actual wolf and came after him-teaching him that they did exist and they weren't very happy about what he'd done. He felt it was a little silly that a cat would team up with anyone-especially a pack of feral mutts. He oiled his gun in silence, his eyes landing on his phone every now and then.
There was a knock at the door. His eyes landed on it as he figured that the wolves wouldn't knock. They'd just tear down the door or break through the window in order to kill him. He put the gun out of the way, yet still in reach if he needed it, and adjusted the knife on his belt. It was small really, a pig poker more than anything. He pulled the door open, ready to leap back to avoid claws of any sort. There was a man who had his side to the doorway, squinting into the parking lot. The stranger turned to him and offered an almost dazzling smile, his hand extended. He gave it a long look before he took it in a hand shake. The stranger spoke.
“Chris Argent. May I come in?” But he was already angling his body in through the door as he spoke. He supposed that he could have slammed the door on him or used his own body to stop him, but this man seemed sure he had the right guy, so he let him through and closed the door behind him. He turned and gestured to one of the two chairs in the room. Chris took it and sat at the table, eying the oiled gun. His gaze flicked back up to him and he moved back to sit on the bed. He hoped his daughter didn't call during this unplanned visit; he wouldn't want to have to explain to either of them-Chris or his daughter-who the other was. Mostly because he wasn't sure who this Chris guy was, even if 'Argent' sounded a bit familiar.
“Leon-it is Leon, isn't it?” He nodded in response, even as Chris continued speaking, “Well, it's come to my attention that you fronted a raid on the old Hale Residence. I'd like you to tell me about that.”
An order, not a question. Even behind his friendly mask, Chris Argent was trying to be a leader. Which meant he likely was the leader of the hunters here. That was okay with Leon. After all, they hunted werewolves, not the cats that roamed the world. This town just happened to have an infestation of both.
{break}
When Stiles woke up he was in a room that wasn't his own. The sunlight was just barely showing through the curtains on the only window in the room. A breeze rolled in through the window, the sound of birdsong drifting in with it. He blinked and inhaled deeply. It still hurt, of course, but he wanted to know everything. The comforter was haphazardly tossed over him, it was a deep hunter green while the sheets were gray, like a foggy morning in the forest. The scent was purely Derek. It calmed Stiles slightly, although it still didn't give him any idea of where he was. He heard the clatter of silverware on plates-at least a couple of people were in the place. Stiles took a moment to stretch, his muscles protesting, but not as badly as they had felt before he'd fallen asleep. He supposed death did that to you.
It didn't take him long to suss out that he had on a pair of boxers-his own, in fact-and that his clothes from before his second death were hanging over the back of a wooden chair that sat next to the window. He swung his legs around and padded over to his clothes, the faux wood floor feeling a little slippery under his bare feet. He put on his clothes slowly, pulling back the curtain to peer outside. They were sat slightly back from the road, a gravel driveway winding in front of the house where the Camaro, Jackson's Porche and his Jeep sat. Oh, his baby! A rumble went through his chest, but it wasn't like any growl he'd ever heard. He shook himself and dropped the curtain, looking around the room. It was sparsely decorated, not seeming much like Derek at all, but impersonal-pretty, but impersonal. He glanced at the picture of yellow wildflowers and sun hung up over the headboard and shook his head-definitely not the Derek he knew. There was an attached bathroom, he noticed, so he went to rinse his mouth out before he faced the world.
When he emerged he headed straight for the other door and hesitantly went to join the others. He could tell who was there before he'd even managed to get down the hall. The voices, the scents-it was the pack, sans Allison. Scott, Jackson, Lydia and Derek. He rounded the corner and saw the open layout of the place. The living room blended with the dining room which blended with the kitchen. They were all sat around the island at the middle of the kitchen while bowls of bacon, eggs, fruit and waffles were passed around. Derek looked up immediately and rumbled a 'Good Morning' in his direction that caused the rest to look up at him.
He wasn't expecting it, really, but Lydia was there with her arms around him and her face pressed to his chest. She was so much shorter without her heels on, he noticed, but she smelled clean and fresh. He awkwardly patted her shoulders and upper back, unsure of whether this was something she'd stab him for or not. After a moment she pulled back and brushed an errant tear from her cheek, sniffling and straightening herself out. He tried not to notice, though it felt good that she cared. A warmth spread through him at that-she cared, Lydia cared! Then Scott was speaking up, motioning to a stool next to him.
“Want breakfast?”
Stiles' stomach rumbled and his mouth watered and even the pull of Lydia being there and paying attention to him couldn't deter him from crossing over to perch on the stool and load his plate. Luckily she just smiled broadly and joined them at the table. Derek's hands were there suddenly: helping him serve himself, touching his shoulder and finally just resting on his thigh. Scott wasn't being so clingy, and Jackson was directing his touching to Lydia (which finally seemed normal, at the very least), so Stiles just let Derek do as he pleased for now. The food was more important anyway.
{break}
When the hunters were dragging themselves (Dad's friends from out-of-state, she reminded herself) in for morning she noticed that a few of them seemed more tired than usual. A few of them had bumps on the head or were careful about how they moved-they'd been in a fight. Automatically she shut herself down. She had to make it through breakfast and avoid her mother's gaze, and then she could seek out her father and find out what this had all been about. The hunters were sullen and didn't talk much. Probably because she was still in the room, finishing up her breakfast. She picked at her eggs, but her roiling stomach and her nerves wouldn't let her finish. What she had eaten was making a good attempt at coming back up and she really didn't want or need that right now. She scraped her plate clean and excused herself, lingering outside the doorway for only a moment to see if they would start talking. They didn't.
It ended up that her dad was out. She wanted to find out why, but she didn't dare ask too many questions of the wrong people. Her mom still didn't seem to want to acknowledge her awareness of the wolves or the hunters being what they were and shut down any attempts at conversation about them. All she got out of her mom was that Dad was okay and he was just having a talk with someone. Hopefully it was a talk along the lines of 'don't touch the wolves because they're protected', but her hopes were rather low. She waited in her room until she heard the door open and close and her father's voice raising above the banisters and drifting into her room. There was some order given, a complaint and then her father's retort; but he was climbing the stairs shortly after. She was upon him before his feet had even reached the landing.
“Is he okay?”
Chris gave her a tired look and grabbed her arm, guiding her down to her room. He shut the door and pulled the curtains. She was a bundle of nerves and kept pulling her long sleeves down over her hands, balling the hem up in her fists. She worried her bottom lip. He turned back to her and offered a soft smile. “He's fine. I'm afraid that you can't go to him, though. Not just yet. Just get ready and go to school, he should be there and you can talk to him then.”
He sat on the edge of her bed and she regarded him with wide eyes. He had something else to say. “Listen, I want you to tell him that this wasn't my idea. I put a stop to it, so it won't happen again. It was foolish and unorganized. I'm glad none of them were hurt.”
She breathed a sigh of relief.
{break}
Leon sat on the bed after Chris Argent had left, gazing at the picture that had been in his wallet for years. His wife and his daughter, smiling and beautiful. Alive. He thought of what Chris had said. How it didn't matter, that if Stiles was in Beacon Hills then he belonged there. That he was absolutely certain that Stiles Stilinski would never hurt anyone. He didn't even care that it the boy was a cat and not one of the wolves that he was hunting, preserving-Leon wasn't sure what the man was doing with them anymore. Leon was supposed to leave town, go back where ever he came from.
He frowned. He wanted to, of course he wanted to. To be with his daughter and be safe and well would be nice. But his wife... her distinct lack of being alive anymore pushed him to want to stay, to kill the cat. After all, it was a cat that had killed her. She would want revenge. She would want the vermin hunted down and killed. As many times as it took. He pushed the picture back between layers of leather and closed his wallet, holding it in his hands for a while yet. He had a decision to make.
{break}
While the brief reprieve from Jackson being everywhere all the time and so damn close to him was nice, it wasn't good to have Derek still be all over him. He was pretty sure that Scott's reaction of 'good luck with that' covered Derek too, which wasn't so much help. So while Stiles didn't do anything during the first plate of food about Derek's hand, he kept on brushing it away during the second plate. At some point the alpha thought it would be a good idea to try to hold onto his hand, but a well placed claw did the trick. Derek scowled and brushed his knuckles across his face instead, which only served to irk Stiles more. Scott seemed to be rather amused by the whole thing. Lydia kept turning her wide eyes to him, but by the time he figured out why he had a forkful of eggs in his mouth. Actually, several forkfuls. He swallowed thickly and jabbed the tines of the fork in her direction.
“So she knows?” He glanced between everyone as they avoided his gaze. Only Derek held strong. It seemed like they were all differing to him anyway, which was just a pack thing he guessed.
“Yes, she knows.” No more needed to be said, really. It sounded like they'd had an extensive conversation about it and Stiles was willing to trust the handsy alpha this time around. No questions. They ate quietly for a while; everyone else was either done or picking at their food by the time Stiles had finished. It was then that he looked around for a clock. Derek was already picking up Stiles' plate and stacking it with his, carrying them over to the sink. He spoke, not even glancing over his shoulder.
“You all should be heading to school.”
The reaction was immediate, Scott was off the stool and patting him on the shoulder. Lydia and Jackson were latched at the hand as they cleared their places and headed for the door. It was kind of amazing to see how much power the alpha had over the pack. Stiles was slightly envious of that, but got up too, his bare feet against the tile in the kitchen was shockingly cold. It wasn't the sudden chill that held him up, though, it was Derek's voice. “Not you, Stilinski. You're staying.”
Stiles sighed and looked at Scott, hoping he would be able to convince the alpha that he should be going too. Scott just shrugged and crossed the rooms to the door as well, helping Lydia balance as she put on her second heel. Stiles scowled after him, partly because he left him and partly for being the one to help Lydia Martin. Derek's hand was on his shoulder after a moment and he turned back to face what was sure to be a flurry of questions or something. Instead Derek just gestured to the leftover food and spoke gently. “Help me put this up in the fridge?”
{break}
By the time second period came around, Allison was more than a bit peeved. Scott hadn't shown up for homeroom or first period and Lydia and Jackson were missing as well. If there was some sort of pack meeting, surely he would have texted her. She checked her phone again, but Scott was slipping into the room just as the bell was ringing. She put her phone down and her irritation was forgotten as he slid into his seat. She was checking him over, making sure he was fine. It seemed that her worries were unfounded-but she doubted that even if he had been hurt it would show. Perhaps something she should be incredibly grateful for in the werewolf abilities. It kept him safe, mostly. His hand locked with hers under the desks and he glanced back quickly.
“We'll talk after class.” Even though she was frustrated about the lack of information she had on what had happened, she let it go for now. Her foot tapped and she bounced the eraser end of her pencil on her desk, but she tried her best to concentrate on the class work.
Her patience paid off as they walked to their next class. She held tightly to his hand as she relayed her father's message, but his lack of response had her looking at him. He looked positively furious. “What is it? What's wrong?”
Scott pulled up short and turned to face her, his voice low but no less powerful. “Stiles was hurt, Allison. He died. Don't ask me how it's possible, but he really died out there. So you can tell your Dad that a simple apology isn't going to cut it this time.”
Allison wasn't sure what to say about that, but luckily she didn't have to come up with any sort of reply-Lydia and Jackson ventured over, looking every part the couple they had been when she had first met them. Happy, content, perfect for one another. Jackson bumped shoulders with Scott, probably sensing something she hadn't, and made Scott snap out of it. Scott had the good sense to look a bit ashamed and he squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Sorry, it's just I-”
But she cut him off, “It's alright, you don't have to explain.”
She smiled at him, deciding to chew on the new information for a while.
{break}
It wasn't long after his daughter had left for school that the hunters were filtering out of his home. It gave him some sense of relief-he always had to be careful of what he expressed around them, as he knew things that they should never be able to stumble upon. Not only could he truly relax, but he was free to run his own errands. Of course they were all normal types of errands usually, but today he had a special one to do: to find out if Sheriff Stilinski knew anything about his son being less than human.
It wasn't long before he was all ready to go under the guise of making sure the police were well equipped and didn't need anything firearms wise. He kissed his wife on the cheek and made all his other stops before the one at the police station. Leaving the few items (all non-perishable) in the SUV, he crossed the parking lot and opened the glass door into the station, putting his sunglasses up on top of his head as he did so. The puff of air conditioning was refreshing, but he only paused a moment in the doorway in order to let his eyes adjust. A few people waved at him and he responded in kind, but he made his way to the Sheriff's office without much ado. He knocked on the door frame and waited just outside to be polite. He was waved into the room. He sunk into a chair across the desk and smiled winningly at the man.
“Here to sell me something else, Chris?” The Sheriff teased him, glancing up from his paperwork briefly to offer a smile back. Chris just leaned back in the chair and put his right ankle up on his left knee, feigning relaxation as he responded.
“Hopefully.”
The Sheriff leaned back after scribbling something on a piece of paper and setting it aside. He regarded the salesman coolly and ventured a question. “What is it this time?”
“Just a new type of ammunition. I hear it's going to be manufactured soon and wanted to know if you wanted to know if there was any interest.” The majority of the conversation was geared toward the rounds-which was convenient and Chris was thinking about sending a 'thank you' card to the company that was producing the new bullets just because it gave him a good cover for being here. He only turned the conversation elsewhere when they were drawing to a close on the serious talk.
“How's your son doing? School going well?”
Something passed over the Sheriff's face then, a shadow of something that Chris would have loved to know about, but he just shrugged and looked out the window in his office. “He's probably not going to make first string for Lacrosse again, and it's likely that he'll continue to have focusing problems; but I suppose you can only ask so much. I just wish he'd be proud of himself for what he has accomplished.”
Then, almost like he felt he'd divulged too much information to someone who may or may not actually care, he turned back and smiled. “How's your daughter?”
“Oh fine, fine. Always with Scott-you know how it is.” This seemed to trigger something and the Sheriff opened his mouth to say something, but just then someone ducked their head into the office and apologized for interrupting, but the school Principal was on line one for the Sheriff. The Sheriff sighed and said a harried goodbye to him, which Chris accepted dolefully. The Sheriff was picking up the phone as Chris left.
Next
Chapter Title: Getting Good at Starting Over
Part: 7/9
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairings: eventual Derek/Stiles; some Jackson/Stiles; Mystery Man/Leon; Chris Argent; Scott McCall; Lydia Martin; Allison Argent; Sheriff Stilinski.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Summary: When Stiles woke up he was in a room that wasn't his own.
Notes: snagged the idea for this from teenwolfkink.
Warnings: un-betaed. This series takes place after season one.
Previous
He didn't bother to help the other hunters. They'd done their job-gotten him in to take the life of the cat. Except they hadn't done well enough. The cat only had one less life than when he'd begun this hunt and he knew that he'd have to make certain he was dead for good. Once he'd shot him though, the werewolves (whom he had been reluctant to believe in) went berserk. One transformed into an actual wolf and came after him-teaching him that they did exist and they weren't very happy about what he'd done. He felt it was a little silly that a cat would team up with anyone-especially a pack of feral mutts. He oiled his gun in silence, his eyes landing on his phone every now and then.
There was a knock at the door. His eyes landed on it as he figured that the wolves wouldn't knock. They'd just tear down the door or break through the window in order to kill him. He put the gun out of the way, yet still in reach if he needed it, and adjusted the knife on his belt. It was small really, a pig poker more than anything. He pulled the door open, ready to leap back to avoid claws of any sort. There was a man who had his side to the doorway, squinting into the parking lot. The stranger turned to him and offered an almost dazzling smile, his hand extended. He gave it a long look before he took it in a hand shake. The stranger spoke.
“Chris Argent. May I come in?” But he was already angling his body in through the door as he spoke. He supposed that he could have slammed the door on him or used his own body to stop him, but this man seemed sure he had the right guy, so he let him through and closed the door behind him. He turned and gestured to one of the two chairs in the room. Chris took it and sat at the table, eying the oiled gun. His gaze flicked back up to him and he moved back to sit on the bed. He hoped his daughter didn't call during this unplanned visit; he wouldn't want to have to explain to either of them-Chris or his daughter-who the other was. Mostly because he wasn't sure who this Chris guy was, even if 'Argent' sounded a bit familiar.
“Leon-it is Leon, isn't it?” He nodded in response, even as Chris continued speaking, “Well, it's come to my attention that you fronted a raid on the old Hale Residence. I'd like you to tell me about that.”
An order, not a question. Even behind his friendly mask, Chris Argent was trying to be a leader. Which meant he likely was the leader of the hunters here. That was okay with Leon. After all, they hunted werewolves, not the cats that roamed the world. This town just happened to have an infestation of both.
{break}
When Stiles woke up he was in a room that wasn't his own. The sunlight was just barely showing through the curtains on the only window in the room. A breeze rolled in through the window, the sound of birdsong drifting in with it. He blinked and inhaled deeply. It still hurt, of course, but he wanted to know everything. The comforter was haphazardly tossed over him, it was a deep hunter green while the sheets were gray, like a foggy morning in the forest. The scent was purely Derek. It calmed Stiles slightly, although it still didn't give him any idea of where he was. He heard the clatter of silverware on plates-at least a couple of people were in the place. Stiles took a moment to stretch, his muscles protesting, but not as badly as they had felt before he'd fallen asleep. He supposed death did that to you.
It didn't take him long to suss out that he had on a pair of boxers-his own, in fact-and that his clothes from before his second death were hanging over the back of a wooden chair that sat next to the window. He swung his legs around and padded over to his clothes, the faux wood floor feeling a little slippery under his bare feet. He put on his clothes slowly, pulling back the curtain to peer outside. They were sat slightly back from the road, a gravel driveway winding in front of the house where the Camaro, Jackson's Porche and his Jeep sat. Oh, his baby! A rumble went through his chest, but it wasn't like any growl he'd ever heard. He shook himself and dropped the curtain, looking around the room. It was sparsely decorated, not seeming much like Derek at all, but impersonal-pretty, but impersonal. He glanced at the picture of yellow wildflowers and sun hung up over the headboard and shook his head-definitely not the Derek he knew. There was an attached bathroom, he noticed, so he went to rinse his mouth out before he faced the world.
When he emerged he headed straight for the other door and hesitantly went to join the others. He could tell who was there before he'd even managed to get down the hall. The voices, the scents-it was the pack, sans Allison. Scott, Jackson, Lydia and Derek. He rounded the corner and saw the open layout of the place. The living room blended with the dining room which blended with the kitchen. They were all sat around the island at the middle of the kitchen while bowls of bacon, eggs, fruit and waffles were passed around. Derek looked up immediately and rumbled a 'Good Morning' in his direction that caused the rest to look up at him.
He wasn't expecting it, really, but Lydia was there with her arms around him and her face pressed to his chest. She was so much shorter without her heels on, he noticed, but she smelled clean and fresh. He awkwardly patted her shoulders and upper back, unsure of whether this was something she'd stab him for or not. After a moment she pulled back and brushed an errant tear from her cheek, sniffling and straightening herself out. He tried not to notice, though it felt good that she cared. A warmth spread through him at that-she cared, Lydia cared! Then Scott was speaking up, motioning to a stool next to him.
“Want breakfast?”
Stiles' stomach rumbled and his mouth watered and even the pull of Lydia being there and paying attention to him couldn't deter him from crossing over to perch on the stool and load his plate. Luckily she just smiled broadly and joined them at the table. Derek's hands were there suddenly: helping him serve himself, touching his shoulder and finally just resting on his thigh. Scott wasn't being so clingy, and Jackson was directing his touching to Lydia (which finally seemed normal, at the very least), so Stiles just let Derek do as he pleased for now. The food was more important anyway.
{break}
When the hunters were dragging themselves (Dad's friends from out-of-state, she reminded herself) in for morning she noticed that a few of them seemed more tired than usual. A few of them had bumps on the head or were careful about how they moved-they'd been in a fight. Automatically she shut herself down. She had to make it through breakfast and avoid her mother's gaze, and then she could seek out her father and find out what this had all been about. The hunters were sullen and didn't talk much. Probably because she was still in the room, finishing up her breakfast. She picked at her eggs, but her roiling stomach and her nerves wouldn't let her finish. What she had eaten was making a good attempt at coming back up and she really didn't want or need that right now. She scraped her plate clean and excused herself, lingering outside the doorway for only a moment to see if they would start talking. They didn't.
It ended up that her dad was out. She wanted to find out why, but she didn't dare ask too many questions of the wrong people. Her mom still didn't seem to want to acknowledge her awareness of the wolves or the hunters being what they were and shut down any attempts at conversation about them. All she got out of her mom was that Dad was okay and he was just having a talk with someone. Hopefully it was a talk along the lines of 'don't touch the wolves because they're protected', but her hopes were rather low. She waited in her room until she heard the door open and close and her father's voice raising above the banisters and drifting into her room. There was some order given, a complaint and then her father's retort; but he was climbing the stairs shortly after. She was upon him before his feet had even reached the landing.
“Is he okay?”
Chris gave her a tired look and grabbed her arm, guiding her down to her room. He shut the door and pulled the curtains. She was a bundle of nerves and kept pulling her long sleeves down over her hands, balling the hem up in her fists. She worried her bottom lip. He turned back to her and offered a soft smile. “He's fine. I'm afraid that you can't go to him, though. Not just yet. Just get ready and go to school, he should be there and you can talk to him then.”
He sat on the edge of her bed and she regarded him with wide eyes. He had something else to say. “Listen, I want you to tell him that this wasn't my idea. I put a stop to it, so it won't happen again. It was foolish and unorganized. I'm glad none of them were hurt.”
She breathed a sigh of relief.
{break}
Leon sat on the bed after Chris Argent had left, gazing at the picture that had been in his wallet for years. His wife and his daughter, smiling and beautiful. Alive. He thought of what Chris had said. How it didn't matter, that if Stiles was in Beacon Hills then he belonged there. That he was absolutely certain that Stiles Stilinski would never hurt anyone. He didn't even care that it the boy was a cat and not one of the wolves that he was hunting, preserving-Leon wasn't sure what the man was doing with them anymore. Leon was supposed to leave town, go back where ever he came from.
He frowned. He wanted to, of course he wanted to. To be with his daughter and be safe and well would be nice. But his wife... her distinct lack of being alive anymore pushed him to want to stay, to kill the cat. After all, it was a cat that had killed her. She would want revenge. She would want the vermin hunted down and killed. As many times as it took. He pushed the picture back between layers of leather and closed his wallet, holding it in his hands for a while yet. He had a decision to make.
{break}
While the brief reprieve from Jackson being everywhere all the time and so damn close to him was nice, it wasn't good to have Derek still be all over him. He was pretty sure that Scott's reaction of 'good luck with that' covered Derek too, which wasn't so much help. So while Stiles didn't do anything during the first plate of food about Derek's hand, he kept on brushing it away during the second plate. At some point the alpha thought it would be a good idea to try to hold onto his hand, but a well placed claw did the trick. Derek scowled and brushed his knuckles across his face instead, which only served to irk Stiles more. Scott seemed to be rather amused by the whole thing. Lydia kept turning her wide eyes to him, but by the time he figured out why he had a forkful of eggs in his mouth. Actually, several forkfuls. He swallowed thickly and jabbed the tines of the fork in her direction.
“So she knows?” He glanced between everyone as they avoided his gaze. Only Derek held strong. It seemed like they were all differing to him anyway, which was just a pack thing he guessed.
“Yes, she knows.” No more needed to be said, really. It sounded like they'd had an extensive conversation about it and Stiles was willing to trust the handsy alpha this time around. No questions. They ate quietly for a while; everyone else was either done or picking at their food by the time Stiles had finished. It was then that he looked around for a clock. Derek was already picking up Stiles' plate and stacking it with his, carrying them over to the sink. He spoke, not even glancing over his shoulder.
“You all should be heading to school.”
The reaction was immediate, Scott was off the stool and patting him on the shoulder. Lydia and Jackson were latched at the hand as they cleared their places and headed for the door. It was kind of amazing to see how much power the alpha had over the pack. Stiles was slightly envious of that, but got up too, his bare feet against the tile in the kitchen was shockingly cold. It wasn't the sudden chill that held him up, though, it was Derek's voice. “Not you, Stilinski. You're staying.”
Stiles sighed and looked at Scott, hoping he would be able to convince the alpha that he should be going too. Scott just shrugged and crossed the rooms to the door as well, helping Lydia balance as she put on her second heel. Stiles scowled after him, partly because he left him and partly for being the one to help Lydia Martin. Derek's hand was on his shoulder after a moment and he turned back to face what was sure to be a flurry of questions or something. Instead Derek just gestured to the leftover food and spoke gently. “Help me put this up in the fridge?”
{break}
By the time second period came around, Allison was more than a bit peeved. Scott hadn't shown up for homeroom or first period and Lydia and Jackson were missing as well. If there was some sort of pack meeting, surely he would have texted her. She checked her phone again, but Scott was slipping into the room just as the bell was ringing. She put her phone down and her irritation was forgotten as he slid into his seat. She was checking him over, making sure he was fine. It seemed that her worries were unfounded-but she doubted that even if he had been hurt it would show. Perhaps something she should be incredibly grateful for in the werewolf abilities. It kept him safe, mostly. His hand locked with hers under the desks and he glanced back quickly.
“We'll talk after class.” Even though she was frustrated about the lack of information she had on what had happened, she let it go for now. Her foot tapped and she bounced the eraser end of her pencil on her desk, but she tried her best to concentrate on the class work.
Her patience paid off as they walked to their next class. She held tightly to his hand as she relayed her father's message, but his lack of response had her looking at him. He looked positively furious. “What is it? What's wrong?”
Scott pulled up short and turned to face her, his voice low but no less powerful. “Stiles was hurt, Allison. He died. Don't ask me how it's possible, but he really died out there. So you can tell your Dad that a simple apology isn't going to cut it this time.”
Allison wasn't sure what to say about that, but luckily she didn't have to come up with any sort of reply-Lydia and Jackson ventured over, looking every part the couple they had been when she had first met them. Happy, content, perfect for one another. Jackson bumped shoulders with Scott, probably sensing something she hadn't, and made Scott snap out of it. Scott had the good sense to look a bit ashamed and he squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Sorry, it's just I-”
But she cut him off, “It's alright, you don't have to explain.”
She smiled at him, deciding to chew on the new information for a while.
{break}
It wasn't long after his daughter had left for school that the hunters were filtering out of his home. It gave him some sense of relief-he always had to be careful of what he expressed around them, as he knew things that they should never be able to stumble upon. Not only could he truly relax, but he was free to run his own errands. Of course they were all normal types of errands usually, but today he had a special one to do: to find out if Sheriff Stilinski knew anything about his son being less than human.
It wasn't long before he was all ready to go under the guise of making sure the police were well equipped and didn't need anything firearms wise. He kissed his wife on the cheek and made all his other stops before the one at the police station. Leaving the few items (all non-perishable) in the SUV, he crossed the parking lot and opened the glass door into the station, putting his sunglasses up on top of his head as he did so. The puff of air conditioning was refreshing, but he only paused a moment in the doorway in order to let his eyes adjust. A few people waved at him and he responded in kind, but he made his way to the Sheriff's office without much ado. He knocked on the door frame and waited just outside to be polite. He was waved into the room. He sunk into a chair across the desk and smiled winningly at the man.
“Here to sell me something else, Chris?” The Sheriff teased him, glancing up from his paperwork briefly to offer a smile back. Chris just leaned back in the chair and put his right ankle up on his left knee, feigning relaxation as he responded.
“Hopefully.”
The Sheriff leaned back after scribbling something on a piece of paper and setting it aside. He regarded the salesman coolly and ventured a question. “What is it this time?”
“Just a new type of ammunition. I hear it's going to be manufactured soon and wanted to know if you wanted to know if there was any interest.” The majority of the conversation was geared toward the rounds-which was convenient and Chris was thinking about sending a 'thank you' card to the company that was producing the new bullets just because it gave him a good cover for being here. He only turned the conversation elsewhere when they were drawing to a close on the serious talk.
“How's your son doing? School going well?”
Something passed over the Sheriff's face then, a shadow of something that Chris would have loved to know about, but he just shrugged and looked out the window in his office. “He's probably not going to make first string for Lacrosse again, and it's likely that he'll continue to have focusing problems; but I suppose you can only ask so much. I just wish he'd be proud of himself for what he has accomplished.”
Then, almost like he felt he'd divulged too much information to someone who may or may not actually care, he turned back and smiled. “How's your daughter?”
“Oh fine, fine. Always with Scott-you know how it is.” This seemed to trigger something and the Sheriff opened his mouth to say something, but just then someone ducked their head into the office and apologized for interrupting, but the school Principal was on line one for the Sheriff. The Sheriff sighed and said a harried goodbye to him, which Chris accepted dolefully. The Sheriff was picking up the phone as Chris left.
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