Stiles Stilinski (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whatisastiles) wrote2015-01-03 04:29 pm
whatisastiles) wrote2015-01-03 04:29 pm
Entry tags:
Oh, What A Night (Beacon Hills, 2011)
Stiles and the damn fools that follow him back to Beacon Hills step into an ordinary looking teenage boy's bedroom. There's the usual furniture—bed, desk, dresser, bookshelf—and decorations—band posters, telescope, pile of smelly lacrosse gear. It doesn't look like much in the way of a werewolf investigative headquarters.
"Welcome to mi casa," says Stiles. "Dad's not home, thank God, so he won't notice we're here."
Add 'weird people traveling in through my closet' to the many things Stiles would rather not have to explain to his father.
"I need to talk to Scott," he say, punching the speed dial on his phone at the same time. He pauses for a moment listening to the phone ring, ring, and finally go to voicemail before hanging up. "And he's not picking up, so I'm going to go see if he's at home. You staying here or coming with?"
"Welcome to mi casa," says Stiles. "Dad's not home, thank God, so he won't notice we're here."
Add 'weird people traveling in through my closet' to the many things Stiles would rather not have to explain to his father.
"I need to talk to Scott," he say, punching the speed dial on his phone at the same time. He pauses for a moment listening to the phone ring, ring, and finally go to voicemail before hanging up. "And he's not picking up, so I'm going to go see if he's at home. You staying here or coming with?"
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But yes, this is 100% crapola.
"Then who did bite Scott? Is that who's supposedly..." Stiles waves his hands toward the preserve, "... out there?"
That still doesn't seem like a good reason for stalking. Just saying.
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He almost laughs in Stiles's face.
Almost.
"You're not the one who deserves an explanation. You want to know? Ask him when I'm done."
Look, that's practically a promise that Scott will survive the night if Derek has any say in the matter. Assuming he gets to him in time.
Derek gives Stiles another hard, long look, before running, leaping, and disappearing up and over a wall.
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If Stiles had more hair, he would tear at it.
"This is why I hate that guy!" he shouts at the empty space that used to contain a Derek.
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"Hey," she says, touching his arm, "For what it's worth, I don't think he wants to eat your friend."
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"You want I should go after him again?"
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So this has been a pretty spectacular failure.
Except maybe the ponchos. That turned out to be a decent idea.
"Grace's right. It doesn't sound like he's gonna kill anybody tonight."
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"'Course I'm right. I've gotta sixth sense when it comes to murderous intent."
She smirks and points at Raph.
"'Sides, you've got a jeep to fix."
Beat.
"And maybe there can be a a donut run."
She looks hopeful.
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He doesn't have to see Grace to know that she's talking about him.
"Be easier to just buy him a new one..."
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It's been literally decades since Jeep stopped making the CJ-5. You can't just buy a new one.
What the hell is this crap?
"When it's running—and only then—I'll consider taking you to the donut shop my dad thinks I don't know he still goes to every Saturday."
He's such a cop stereotype. It's embarrassing.
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Grace grins and wraps a strong arm around Stiles's neck, pulling him back the way they came.
"So you're dad likes donuts, huh? Bet I can guess which type."
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"Don't even start, Grace. You're not meeting him."
Ever, if Stiles can help it.
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Raph is not overly fond of werewolves.
And even if he was, fixing the car is way more preferable than having to deal with that mopey stalker and the potential of another Stiles.
He stows his sai and slowly follows Grace and the kid back to the Jeep.
Teenagers are exhausting.