(AN: Hello! I'm not sure if there's a story out there like this or not, I just thought I would give it a shot. This is a short chapter but the next one will be longer. Just wanted to put it out there. Thank you for checking it out!)
Stiles' POV
My mornings don't start with coffee; per usually start with a call from dispatch telling me that I have to get my ass out of bed because some psycho is running amuck.
"Stilinski, you're late! I called like twenty minutes ago!"
"Sorry, coach. Hurried out of bed. Says you reported a burglary?" Coach had lost more hair since the last time I saw him, which wasn't long ago. He was graying at the ends and crinkling in the corners.
"It's this Mischief night! It's going too far. They took my pens, my extra whistles, and even my greeting card collection. Then some idiot had the great idea to fill my desk with baked beans! I'm allergic to legumes!" I snort and turn to grin while coach carefully slides his drawers open, revealing the beans.
"Smells great."
"Smells like vandalism!" I search last night's video footage while coach stands over my shoulder. Two freshmen haul ass down the hall at around midnight, their hands carrying crockpots of beans.
"I'll get them before school, coach." I assure him, even though I won't. Amateur prank, yes. Vandalism, no. No response from coach could beat the "son of a bitch" I received my junior year.
"You know, Stilinski, it's great that you went into this whole cop thing like your dad. Gotta say, I'm proud of you. Can't say that about Greenberg, I mean he pumps sewers on the weekends. Needless to say he probably smells the same as he did in high school."
Derek's POV
Dia Das Bruxas. Day of the Witches. Cora puts on her yellow eyes while we walk around the city, getting compliments on her "contacts" and showing her pointy teeth to children. She loves this too much, and I have to say, I do too.