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mhalachaiStiles Stilinski is awesome.
At AO3
Summary: Caught between hunters and werewolves and wendigos, Stiles almost doesn’t have time to wonder much about the hot new redheaded Deputy Sherriff or the bow-wielding sarcastic gym teacher. Almost.
Rating: PG
Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, Sheriff Stilinski, etc.
Warnings: Secret identities, secrets upon secrets, the usual
Notes: I couldn't help myself. Stiles spoke to me.
Disclaimer: This is fanfic, I own nothing of the characters/worlds/franchises etc. All recognizable characters belong to their creators etc.
Stiles breathed in the stale air of the Beacon Hills High School hallway, and sighed. "It's great to be back, isn't it, Scott?"
Scott, who had been craning his neck this way and that, didn't answer. He was in Allison locating mode and would be useless until he found what he was looking for. With another sigh, Stiles hefted his backpack on one shoulder and fought his way through the crowds to his locker.
His locker was right where he expected it to be, but he wasn't expecting the small redheaded force of nature blocking his path.
"Stiles."
"Lydia." He tried to step around her, but she was immovable. "What?"
She narrowed green eyes at him. "I need to talk to you," she said.
Stiles glanced at the time on his phone. "Can it wait?" he asked. "We're going to be late for homeroom and if I get detention on my first day of school, my Dad's going to be epic pissed."
After a heartbeat, Lydia moved sideways enough for Stiles to get into his locker. "Did you boys have fun last night?" she asked. There was sarcasm and the faintest hint of menace in her voice, just like the Lydia Martin that Stiles had grown up with, and that cheered him like nothing had in days.
"Yeah, loads of fun," Stiles said, shoving his spare binder into the locker with more force than grace. "If you count running for your life while being pursued by a cannibalistic winter spirit as fun, in which case it was a goddamn trip to Disneyland. You can come next time if you want, it'll be nice not to be the slowest person in the group."
"Not a chance," Lydia said, examining her nails. "This year, the only thing I plan on running for is Class President."
"Not Homecoming Queen?" Stiles slammed his locker shut and hauled ass towards homeroom. Lydia drifted along at his side, perfect poise in three-inch heels.
"As if," Lydia scoffed. "Class president gets you into Stanford. Homecoming Queen gets you into the free clinic."
"Oh, meow," Stiles said, miming cat claws. "You want a saucer of milk with that?"
Lydia stopped in Stiles' path and whirled on him. He stopped so suddenly he nearly toppled over his own feet and ended up on the ground. Only a quick side-jerk, learned in his many werewolf adventures, saved him the humiliation. "I need to talk to you about Peter," Lydia said.
Stiles nearly dropped his binder on the ground. "Shh!" he hissed. Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Someone will hear you!"
"I'm not the one overreacting at the merest hint of his name," Lydia said. She grabbed Stiles' arm and hauled him along to homeroom. Any other day, Stiles would have been giddy at the fact that Lydia was touching him voluntarily, but Peter Hale was hanging over him like a noose and wasn't that just a mood-killer?
"Have you seen him again since the warehouse?" Stiles asked.
"No, and it's bothering me," Lydia said. "I mean, you don't' just attack me on the lacrosse field, use me to bring you back from the dead, help save my boyfriend from being an evil murderous snake-man, and then not return my texts."
It took a moment for Lydia's diatribe to sink in for Styles. "Wait, you contacted him?" Stiles squeaked. "You actually want to talk to that psychopath?"
The first bell rang, and all around them, people started rush to class. Lydia looked at Styles with narrowed eyes. "Tell Derek that if I don't hear from Peter soon, no one will be happy."
She whirled on her heel and stalked into homeroom, leaving Stiles in the hallway, horrified and curious and just the tiniest bit aroused.
What was with everyone these days?"
"Tell me again why we have mandatory co-ed gym class in junior year?" Isaac moaned, slumping against Erica.
"The Beacon Hill School Board mandated gym class for every grade to combat the epidemic of childhood obesity," Lydia seethed from the far side of the group, seated on the gym floor. "This is going to ruin my GPA."
"At least McCall might actually pass a class and get back onto the lacrosse team," Jackson said at Lydia's side.
"Hey!" Scott protested, jerking around from his long-distance pining after Allison.
Stiles let his head drop onto his pulled-up knees. This wasn't going to end well. A pack of werewolf puppies in a gym class with thirty of their classmates could only end in tears.
Or, from the way Erica kept glaring at Allison, bloodshed.
Maybe Stiles could break a leg to get out of class. No, that was too permanent. Maybe a wrist. Or a finger.
Across the room, the gym doors opened and in stepped a stranger in gym teacher garb. Dark sweats, a BHHS t-shirt, whistle on a lanyard and a clipboard, walking across the floor to the teenagers sprawled on the hardwood.
At Isaac's side, Erica sat up straight. "Hello, nurse," she murmured.
"Hello class," the man said, sounding bored. "I'm your new gym teacher, Mr. Barton."
A hand shot up in the middle of the group. "Where's Coach Finstock?" Lydia asked. She was eyeing Mr. Barton like he was a muscular strawberry Frappuccino.
"The school board thought that Coach Finstock would be better off teaching AP Economics to the juniors this semester than showing you layabouts how to do laps," Mr. Barton said.
Another hand. "He's still coaching lacrosse, right?" Danny asked, sounding worried.
"Yes, you'll see him after school at practice," Mr. Barton said. He lifted his clipboard, inadvertently flexing a bicep as he did so. Stiles had to admit, the man was toting some serious guns. "Any other questions?"
"How much can you bench-press?" Isaac asked, and Erica laughed out loud.
"None of your business," Mr. Barton said. "Roll call. I hope to only have to do this once, although since this is the last time in your life you get marks for just showing up, don't abuse it."
He went through the list, starting with Allison Argent and running all the way down to Jackson Whitmore.
While the new teacher was taking roll call, Stiles exchanged a worried look with Scott. First a new deputy, and now a new gym teacher? What if one of them was a Hunter? What if they both were?
Now, a gym class full of werewolves seemed like even more of a bad idea.
Mr. Barton finished taking attendance. "I'm going to take it as a sign that you kids at Beacon Hill really like gym class , since we have more people in this room than are on my list," he said. "Okay, stand up. We've got stations set up. Five minutes at each, rotate however you want. I'll whistle to change stations."
And with that, Mr. Barton put the whistle between his teeth and blew.
Isaac and Erica sprang to their feet, beating Jackson to the climbing ropes. Half the lacrosse team went for the indoor agility course, while some of the girls drifted towards the skipping ropes.
Allison headed to the corner of the gym where the archery station had been set up. With another pining look, Scott joined Danny in running laps around the gym.
Which left Stiles and Lydia.
"This?" she informed him, "Is the worst first day of school ever."
And with that, she went over to the balance beam.
Stiles turned in a circle to see where all his friends were, and caught Mr. Barton giving him the stink-eye. Not wanting to end up in detention from gym class, Stiles moved towards the closest station, which coincidentally happened to be the archery station.
Allison was ignoring the room, putting arrow after arrow into the target. She didn't react as Stiles edged closer. "So, hi," he said.
Allison let out a long breath, and fired another arrow.
Right. Stiles picked up the spare bow and an arrow, as an excuse to talk to Allison. "How are things?"
Allison paused mid-pull. She slowly let her hand fall back, lowered the bow, and turned to face Stiles. The twisted smile on her face set Stiles' teeth on edge. "Let's see. How could things possibly be?"
Stiles considered answering her, although since Gerard Argent was still missing, Allison's mom was still dead, her father was still a Hunter, and a pile of other Hunters were likely already on their way to town, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Instead of speaking, Stiles turned to the target. He put the arrow onto the bow like he'd seen Allison do, pulled back the string, and let go.
The arrow hit the target.
Allison's target.
"You ever use one of these before?" came an adult voice, and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin as Mr. Barton materialized at his side.
"Sure," Stiles lied. "The pointy end goes into the other man."
Alison rolled her eyes. Mr. Barton took the bow from Stiles, slapped an arrow into place, and without so much as a glance at the target, let fly. The arrow buried itself in the exact center of the bull's-eye.
"Just do that and you'll be fine," Mr. Barton said. He handed the bow back to Stiles and moved to the center of the gym.
"Just do what?" Stiles demanded, but his words were masked by the blast of the whistle.
At the top of the ropes, Erica slid down, nearly knocking Jackson to the floor. Scott made no effort to stop running circles around the gym, and Allison tossed her hair and moved on to the climbing wall.
Stiles looked back at the bow in his hand. "Fine," he muttered, picking up another arrow. He wasn't going to let Allison and Mr. Barton make him look like a fool in front of the entire senior year.
Stiles was perfectly capable of doing that all on his own.
Lacrosse practice was over and Dad was working the late shift at the station again (Stiles suspected that the new deputy sheriff was on duty, which was just wrong because Dad was old and the deputy was hot), which was the only reason that Stiles found himself lying on the old couch in the abandoned train station, listening to Erica and Isaac argue about a homework assignment and Derek brooded while doing shirtless chin-ups.
"And so Lydia's all like, Peter this, Peter that," Stiles recounted. It wasn't even weird any more to be running off at the mouth about his day while Derek ignored him. "And Allison's new pattern of ignoring Scott about everything except the most dangerous parts of our lives is going to become extremely tiresome. Scott's... pining."
Derek grunted. "Tell me about the new teacher."
Stiles twirled a pen between his fingers and hoped that the aches from lacrosse practice would fade before the weekend. "He's totally ripped."
Derek dropped down from the chin-up bar and glared at Stiles. "Tell me something useful about the new teacher."
Stiles applied his keen detective skills to the case. "Um, like forty? Handy with a bow, although it was inside so who knows if that's just for show. I don't think he's a real teacher, he didn't have any of that touchy-feely participation medal crap going on."
"Military background?" Derek asked, going for his shirt.
"How should I know?"
Derek rolled his eyes so hard, Stiles wasn't sure how he didn't hurt himself. "Did he seem like a Hunter?" Derek demanded.
"No," Stiles said. "He wasn't pay attention to any of the weirdness any more than any other teacher does. He did break up a fight between a couple of the guys, but he seemed more concerned that no one kill themselves on the ropes than anything."
"Erica!" Derek yelled. Across the large room, a blonde head popped up from the table. "Is the new gym teacher a Hunter?"
"I don't think so," Erica called. "From the way he was keeping an eye on Allison, I'd say he more interested in her bow work."
"Ew," Stiles said, making a face.
"By which I mean her archery technique, perv." Erica turned her attention back to her notebook.
Stiles gave a full body shudder. "Brain bleach, stat."
"Like you're not hung up on the new deputy sheriff?" Derek said unexpectedly.
"I am totally not!"
"Yesterday in the woods, it was Deputy Rushman this and that."
"That's because Scott nearly got arrested for smelling her hair," Stiles snapped. "It was relevant."
Derek appeared wholly unconvinced.
"And besides, Scott thought she smelled like Allison and that mean Hunter, doesn't it?"
Derek shrugged.
Stiles flung himself back on the couch. Scott was at home, under Mrs. McCall's mandated homework supervision, so that line of investigation was on hold for now. "Maybe I'll go to the Sheriff's station and see what Deputy Rushman is up to."
Derek looked at him with amusement on his face. "Yeah, you do that," he said, practically laughing at Stiles.
Stiles thought about throwing something at Derek, but that wouldn't end well for him.
So he left the werewolves to themselves.
It was dinner time when Stiles made it to the station. The Deputy on duty made Stiles sign in, then let him wander back to the Sheriff's office.
Stiles was already talking when he entered the office, like he always did. "Hey Dad, I made lacrosse first string this year which is basically showing how desperately the Beacon Hills lacrosse team needs to get new blood because seriously--"
He broke off mid-sentence when he got his first look into the office and saw Deputy Rushman behind the Sheriff's desk.
All of the worries and fears of Stiles' life coalesced into a single panic point of someone not his Dad sitting at the Sheriff's desk and he nearly freaked out before he realized that Dad was standing by the wall, looking at something on the bulletin board.
"Oh my god," Stiles said, slumping into the visitor's chair. "What the hell."
The Sheriff cleared his throat. "This is my son," he said, addressing the deputy. "Stiles Stilinski. Who has something to say about yesterday." He glared at Stiles.
Stiles straightened up, letting his backpack fall to the ground. Now what? He went back over everything that had happened, and all he could come up with was Scott's appalling behavior. "Sorry about Scott, he's a little special, has this thing for shampoo. In a hairdresser way, not some psycho stalker way," he hastened to add, lest the authorities get the wrong idea about Scott's oddities.
Deputy Rushman pursed her lips into a smirk, and even without lipstick it was so adorable that Stiles forgot how to speak for a moment.
"Not that," Dad snapped. "About how Deputy Rushman hauled you and Scott off the preserve and you didn't thank her for the ride?"
A momentary hesitation while Stiles reviewed the previous day. What with the wendigo and the jeep breaking down, thanks had seemed totally unnecessary. But Dad was glaring daggers at him, like it was some sort of crime.
"Thanks so much for the ride, Deputy Rushman," Stiles stammered out in a rush. "It was really very nice of you and you didn't have to so thanks for not leaving us to die in the woods."
The smirk on the woman's face spread out into a full-blown smile, and sweet jesus maybe Stiles did have a crush after all. "I'm glad I could help," she said, sitting back in the Sheriff's chair.
"You did," Stiles went on, twisting his fingers into the seam of his jeans by his knee, just because. "Do you have a first name? Because 'Deputy' is a mean thing to call a kid."
"Natasha," the deputy said.
"Natasha," Stiles repeated. "Do you go by Nat or Tasha or Natasha -" He caught sight of Dad uncrossing his arms and took the hint, jumping to his feet and grabbing his bag, all without falling over. "Deputy Rushman it is. Have a nice day and see you at home, Dad."
Stiles fled before he could ask the woman to marry him because that was the kind of luck he was having these days.
to be continued
At AO3
Summary: Caught between hunters and werewolves and wendigos, Stiles almost doesn’t have time to wonder much about the hot new redheaded Deputy Sherriff or the bow-wielding sarcastic gym teacher. Almost.
Rating: PG
Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, Sheriff Stilinski, etc.
Warnings: Secret identities, secrets upon secrets, the usual
Notes: I couldn't help myself. Stiles spoke to me.
Disclaimer: This is fanfic, I own nothing of the characters/worlds/franchises etc. All recognizable characters belong to their creators etc.
Stiles breathed in the stale air of the Beacon Hills High School hallway, and sighed. "It's great to be back, isn't it, Scott?"
Scott, who had been craning his neck this way and that, didn't answer. He was in Allison locating mode and would be useless until he found what he was looking for. With another sigh, Stiles hefted his backpack on one shoulder and fought his way through the crowds to his locker.
His locker was right where he expected it to be, but he wasn't expecting the small redheaded force of nature blocking his path.
"Stiles."
"Lydia." He tried to step around her, but she was immovable. "What?"
She narrowed green eyes at him. "I need to talk to you," she said.
Stiles glanced at the time on his phone. "Can it wait?" he asked. "We're going to be late for homeroom and if I get detention on my first day of school, my Dad's going to be epic pissed."
After a heartbeat, Lydia moved sideways enough for Stiles to get into his locker. "Did you boys have fun last night?" she asked. There was sarcasm and the faintest hint of menace in her voice, just like the Lydia Martin that Stiles had grown up with, and that cheered him like nothing had in days.
"Yeah, loads of fun," Stiles said, shoving his spare binder into the locker with more force than grace. "If you count running for your life while being pursued by a cannibalistic winter spirit as fun, in which case it was a goddamn trip to Disneyland. You can come next time if you want, it'll be nice not to be the slowest person in the group."
"Not a chance," Lydia said, examining her nails. "This year, the only thing I plan on running for is Class President."
"Not Homecoming Queen?" Stiles slammed his locker shut and hauled ass towards homeroom. Lydia drifted along at his side, perfect poise in three-inch heels.
"As if," Lydia scoffed. "Class president gets you into Stanford. Homecoming Queen gets you into the free clinic."
"Oh, meow," Stiles said, miming cat claws. "You want a saucer of milk with that?"
Lydia stopped in Stiles' path and whirled on him. He stopped so suddenly he nearly toppled over his own feet and ended up on the ground. Only a quick side-jerk, learned in his many werewolf adventures, saved him the humiliation. "I need to talk to you about Peter," Lydia said.
Stiles nearly dropped his binder on the ground. "Shh!" he hissed. Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Someone will hear you!"
"I'm not the one overreacting at the merest hint of his name," Lydia said. She grabbed Stiles' arm and hauled him along to homeroom. Any other day, Stiles would have been giddy at the fact that Lydia was touching him voluntarily, but Peter Hale was hanging over him like a noose and wasn't that just a mood-killer?
"Have you seen him again since the warehouse?" Stiles asked.
"No, and it's bothering me," Lydia said. "I mean, you don't' just attack me on the lacrosse field, use me to bring you back from the dead, help save my boyfriend from being an evil murderous snake-man, and then not return my texts."
It took a moment for Lydia's diatribe to sink in for Styles. "Wait, you contacted him?" Stiles squeaked. "You actually want to talk to that psychopath?"
The first bell rang, and all around them, people started rush to class. Lydia looked at Styles with narrowed eyes. "Tell Derek that if I don't hear from Peter soon, no one will be happy."
She whirled on her heel and stalked into homeroom, leaving Stiles in the hallway, horrified and curious and just the tiniest bit aroused.
What was with everyone these days?"
"Tell me again why we have mandatory co-ed gym class in junior year?" Isaac moaned, slumping against Erica.
"The Beacon Hill School Board mandated gym class for every grade to combat the epidemic of childhood obesity," Lydia seethed from the far side of the group, seated on the gym floor. "This is going to ruin my GPA."
"At least McCall might actually pass a class and get back onto the lacrosse team," Jackson said at Lydia's side.
"Hey!" Scott protested, jerking around from his long-distance pining after Allison.
Stiles let his head drop onto his pulled-up knees. This wasn't going to end well. A pack of werewolf puppies in a gym class with thirty of their classmates could only end in tears.
Or, from the way Erica kept glaring at Allison, bloodshed.
Maybe Stiles could break a leg to get out of class. No, that was too permanent. Maybe a wrist. Or a finger.
Across the room, the gym doors opened and in stepped a stranger in gym teacher garb. Dark sweats, a BHHS t-shirt, whistle on a lanyard and a clipboard, walking across the floor to the teenagers sprawled on the hardwood.
At Isaac's side, Erica sat up straight. "Hello, nurse," she murmured.
"Hello class," the man said, sounding bored. "I'm your new gym teacher, Mr. Barton."
A hand shot up in the middle of the group. "Where's Coach Finstock?" Lydia asked. She was eyeing Mr. Barton like he was a muscular strawberry Frappuccino.
"The school board thought that Coach Finstock would be better off teaching AP Economics to the juniors this semester than showing you layabouts how to do laps," Mr. Barton said.
Another hand. "He's still coaching lacrosse, right?" Danny asked, sounding worried.
"Yes, you'll see him after school at practice," Mr. Barton said. He lifted his clipboard, inadvertently flexing a bicep as he did so. Stiles had to admit, the man was toting some serious guns. "Any other questions?"
"How much can you bench-press?" Isaac asked, and Erica laughed out loud.
"None of your business," Mr. Barton said. "Roll call. I hope to only have to do this once, although since this is the last time in your life you get marks for just showing up, don't abuse it."
He went through the list, starting with Allison Argent and running all the way down to Jackson Whitmore.
While the new teacher was taking roll call, Stiles exchanged a worried look with Scott. First a new deputy, and now a new gym teacher? What if one of them was a Hunter? What if they both were?
Now, a gym class full of werewolves seemed like even more of a bad idea.
Mr. Barton finished taking attendance. "I'm going to take it as a sign that you kids at Beacon Hill really like gym class , since we have more people in this room than are on my list," he said. "Okay, stand up. We've got stations set up. Five minutes at each, rotate however you want. I'll whistle to change stations."
And with that, Mr. Barton put the whistle between his teeth and blew.
Isaac and Erica sprang to their feet, beating Jackson to the climbing ropes. Half the lacrosse team went for the indoor agility course, while some of the girls drifted towards the skipping ropes.
Allison headed to the corner of the gym where the archery station had been set up. With another pining look, Scott joined Danny in running laps around the gym.
Which left Stiles and Lydia.
"This?" she informed him, "Is the worst first day of school ever."
And with that, she went over to the balance beam.
Stiles turned in a circle to see where all his friends were, and caught Mr. Barton giving him the stink-eye. Not wanting to end up in detention from gym class, Stiles moved towards the closest station, which coincidentally happened to be the archery station.
Allison was ignoring the room, putting arrow after arrow into the target. She didn't react as Stiles edged closer. "So, hi," he said.
Allison let out a long breath, and fired another arrow.
Right. Stiles picked up the spare bow and an arrow, as an excuse to talk to Allison. "How are things?"
Allison paused mid-pull. She slowly let her hand fall back, lowered the bow, and turned to face Stiles. The twisted smile on her face set Stiles' teeth on edge. "Let's see. How could things possibly be?"
Stiles considered answering her, although since Gerard Argent was still missing, Allison's mom was still dead, her father was still a Hunter, and a pile of other Hunters were likely already on their way to town, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Instead of speaking, Stiles turned to the target. He put the arrow onto the bow like he'd seen Allison do, pulled back the string, and let go.
The arrow hit the target.
Allison's target.
"You ever use one of these before?" came an adult voice, and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin as Mr. Barton materialized at his side.
"Sure," Stiles lied. "The pointy end goes into the other man."
Alison rolled her eyes. Mr. Barton took the bow from Stiles, slapped an arrow into place, and without so much as a glance at the target, let fly. The arrow buried itself in the exact center of the bull's-eye.
"Just do that and you'll be fine," Mr. Barton said. He handed the bow back to Stiles and moved to the center of the gym.
"Just do what?" Stiles demanded, but his words were masked by the blast of the whistle.
At the top of the ropes, Erica slid down, nearly knocking Jackson to the floor. Scott made no effort to stop running circles around the gym, and Allison tossed her hair and moved on to the climbing wall.
Stiles looked back at the bow in his hand. "Fine," he muttered, picking up another arrow. He wasn't going to let Allison and Mr. Barton make him look like a fool in front of the entire senior year.
Stiles was perfectly capable of doing that all on his own.
Lacrosse practice was over and Dad was working the late shift at the station again (Stiles suspected that the new deputy sheriff was on duty, which was just wrong because Dad was old and the deputy was hot), which was the only reason that Stiles found himself lying on the old couch in the abandoned train station, listening to Erica and Isaac argue about a homework assignment and Derek brooded while doing shirtless chin-ups.
"And so Lydia's all like, Peter this, Peter that," Stiles recounted. It wasn't even weird any more to be running off at the mouth about his day while Derek ignored him. "And Allison's new pattern of ignoring Scott about everything except the most dangerous parts of our lives is going to become extremely tiresome. Scott's... pining."
Derek grunted. "Tell me about the new teacher."
Stiles twirled a pen between his fingers and hoped that the aches from lacrosse practice would fade before the weekend. "He's totally ripped."
Derek dropped down from the chin-up bar and glared at Stiles. "Tell me something useful about the new teacher."
Stiles applied his keen detective skills to the case. "Um, like forty? Handy with a bow, although it was inside so who knows if that's just for show. I don't think he's a real teacher, he didn't have any of that touchy-feely participation medal crap going on."
"Military background?" Derek asked, going for his shirt.
"How should I know?"
Derek rolled his eyes so hard, Stiles wasn't sure how he didn't hurt himself. "Did he seem like a Hunter?" Derek demanded.
"No," Stiles said. "He wasn't pay attention to any of the weirdness any more than any other teacher does. He did break up a fight between a couple of the guys, but he seemed more concerned that no one kill themselves on the ropes than anything."
"Erica!" Derek yelled. Across the large room, a blonde head popped up from the table. "Is the new gym teacher a Hunter?"
"I don't think so," Erica called. "From the way he was keeping an eye on Allison, I'd say he more interested in her bow work."
"Ew," Stiles said, making a face.
"By which I mean her archery technique, perv." Erica turned her attention back to her notebook.
Stiles gave a full body shudder. "Brain bleach, stat."
"Like you're not hung up on the new deputy sheriff?" Derek said unexpectedly.
"I am totally not!"
"Yesterday in the woods, it was Deputy Rushman this and that."
"That's because Scott nearly got arrested for smelling her hair," Stiles snapped. "It was relevant."
Derek appeared wholly unconvinced.
"And besides, Scott thought she smelled like Allison and that mean Hunter, doesn't it?"
Derek shrugged.
Stiles flung himself back on the couch. Scott was at home, under Mrs. McCall's mandated homework supervision, so that line of investigation was on hold for now. "Maybe I'll go to the Sheriff's station and see what Deputy Rushman is up to."
Derek looked at him with amusement on his face. "Yeah, you do that," he said, practically laughing at Stiles.
Stiles thought about throwing something at Derek, but that wouldn't end well for him.
So he left the werewolves to themselves.
It was dinner time when Stiles made it to the station. The Deputy on duty made Stiles sign in, then let him wander back to the Sheriff's office.
Stiles was already talking when he entered the office, like he always did. "Hey Dad, I made lacrosse first string this year which is basically showing how desperately the Beacon Hills lacrosse team needs to get new blood because seriously--"
He broke off mid-sentence when he got his first look into the office and saw Deputy Rushman behind the Sheriff's desk.
All of the worries and fears of Stiles' life coalesced into a single panic point of someone not his Dad sitting at the Sheriff's desk and he nearly freaked out before he realized that Dad was standing by the wall, looking at something on the bulletin board.
"Oh my god," Stiles said, slumping into the visitor's chair. "What the hell."
The Sheriff cleared his throat. "This is my son," he said, addressing the deputy. "Stiles Stilinski. Who has something to say about yesterday." He glared at Stiles.
Stiles straightened up, letting his backpack fall to the ground. Now what? He went back over everything that had happened, and all he could come up with was Scott's appalling behavior. "Sorry about Scott, he's a little special, has this thing for shampoo. In a hairdresser way, not some psycho stalker way," he hastened to add, lest the authorities get the wrong idea about Scott's oddities.
Deputy Rushman pursed her lips into a smirk, and even without lipstick it was so adorable that Stiles forgot how to speak for a moment.
"Not that," Dad snapped. "About how Deputy Rushman hauled you and Scott off the preserve and you didn't thank her for the ride?"
A momentary hesitation while Stiles reviewed the previous day. What with the wendigo and the jeep breaking down, thanks had seemed totally unnecessary. But Dad was glaring daggers at him, like it was some sort of crime.
"Thanks so much for the ride, Deputy Rushman," Stiles stammered out in a rush. "It was really very nice of you and you didn't have to so thanks for not leaving us to die in the woods."
The smirk on the woman's face spread out into a full-blown smile, and sweet jesus maybe Stiles did have a crush after all. "I'm glad I could help," she said, sitting back in the Sheriff's chair.
"You did," Stiles went on, twisting his fingers into the seam of his jeans by his knee, just because. "Do you have a first name? Because 'Deputy' is a mean thing to call a kid."
"Natasha," the deputy said.
"Natasha," Stiles repeated. "Do you go by Nat or Tasha or Natasha -" He caught sight of Dad uncrossing his arms and took the hint, jumping to his feet and grabbing his bag, all without falling over. "Deputy Rushman it is. Have a nice day and see you at home, Dad."
Stiles fled before he could ask the woman to marry him because that was the kind of luck he was having these days.
to be continued
