So apparently I can't stop myself from writing for this fandom...
Anyway I would like to thank my lovely beta Kittiekatt for editing this! She's awesome, AWESOME!
Welcome to Beacon Hills
Chapter 1: Mr. Stilinski
Stiles unloaded his jeep, getting out all of his boxes. He cracked his back; damn it, he was not a decrepit man. He was a perfectly healthy 22 year old male. He should not be hobbling like a geriatric man. Or holding his back like a pregnant woman. Fucking boxes and moving companies that cost way more than they should.
He sighed and turned to look at his house. It was an old, small, suburban, two storied single family home with had an open backyard that fenced off the woods. All in all it wasn't bad. Sure it was a bit washed out, rusted in some places, paint peeling off in others, but it was sturdy and reliable...and he had to move and unpack all the boxes. By. Himself.
Fuck his life.
-.-.-.-.-
Well his new house was relatively unpacked...okay he unpacked what he needed for tomorrow, just the bare essentials. The rest could wait.
Stiles looked around and felt a sharp pain in his chest, an ache deep within. He should have been used to an empty house with his father always working long hours, pulling doubles, and sometimes never actually coming home. But this, this was different. With his dad, there were signs of someone else; an empty cup in the sink, plates left on the table, half eaten muffins. Little residues; reminders of another's existence. Now he had to live on his own while his dad was in another state by himself. Stiles frowned. Who would look after his dad's eating habits? Watch his cholesterol levels? Force him to eat his fruits and vegetables?
His phone rang sharply, startling him out of his trance. He quickly picked it up. "I'm starting to think this wasn't a good idea."
"...Stiles, you were the one that wanted to work in a town where a murder occurs practically every day. I told you not to. Hell I pleaded with you not to."
"That's not it! I'm worried about you! Who's going to hound you about your eating habits? Who's going to stock the fridge full of healthy food? Who's going to scare all the local food joints into not giving you fatty, greasy, artery clogging food? Also not everyday- two point five murders every two weeks."
"I knew you were the reason I couldn't get a burger anymore! Damn it Stiles! A man needs his meat...and kid, it's not normal to know the number of murders happening in a town by percentage."
Stiles scoffed. "Please! like I was ever normal. I'll be fine dad. Nowhere else would even consider hiring me and this is a chance to get some experience. In a few years I can look for a job closer to where you are."
A tired sigh could be heard through the phone. "I know kid but I worry about you. You tend to be a handful."
Stiles smiled softly. "It's inherited."
John laughed. "I pity Beacon Hills already."
"Hey! Anyone would be happy to have me! They should feel honoured to be graced with my awesome presence."
"Whatever you say son. I've got to go; cases are starting to pile up. Try not to get into too much trouble."
"No promises dad."
"Had to give it a try. Goodbye son, I love you."
"I love you too, Dad." He stared down at his phone for a long time before sighing and putting it back into his pocket. Stiles glanced around his new home and felt his chest clench tighter. Fresh air, yeah, that's what he needed right now. He made his way to the back door and pulled it open, stepping outside.
The wind blew rustling and swaying the trees beyond the iron gated property line, leaves fluttered and blades of grass moved the wind powerful enough to make the trees groan and creak. Stiles pulled his hoodie closer to his body, shivering. He frowned and pressed himself closer together wasn't California supposed to be warm during the fall?
His head snapped up as he heard a noise. He squinted his eyes, peering at the forest trying to see better. Although his eyes had adjusted to the absence of light, it was still too dark to actually make anything out. He looked at the tree line for a few minutes but heard nothing further. He shrugged and turned to make his way back inside.
Stiles froze. His hand inches away from the door handle as he heard the noise once again, only this time it was clearer and he could actually classify what it was.
A howl.
A wolf's howl.
He quickly spun around and turned, scanning the yard, only this time he saw a flash of yellow, no, -flashes, of yellow, and blue. Were those eyes? The weird thing though-these flashes fucking glowed, actually glowed, in the dark and were distinctly human shaped. He was pretty damn share that; 1) California did not have wolves, hadn't had them in years; and 2) wolves' eyes did not glow and they did not have human shaped eyes.
See now any normal person probably would have walked away and gone inside, pushing whatever they had seen to the back of their mind. But see, here's the thing, he's Stiles; he's not normal and he can't leave things alone. He has to solve puzzles or he'll go crazy...okay...crazier. Which is why he jumped over the gate and walked into the forest looking for the glowing eyes and possibly his death.
Stiles paused as he entered the forest, glancing around, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He stopped as he noticed something sticking out off the tree in front of him. He walked a little closer to get a better look.
"...Is that a fucking arrow?"
He reached forward, pulling it out, he twisting it in his hands, and yeah, that was definitely an arrow. He looked up skywards. "Seriously? Plain murders weren't enough? Now you have to add a bow and arrow?" Stiles shook his head and turned. He looked around for a few minutes but found no trace of anyone or the glowing eyes. He turned to go back inside, but he stopped as he noticed something glint by his feet. He bent down and picked it up, brushing bits of dirt aside. He frowned. "Keys. So along with a psychotic person with a serious medieval weapons fetish, we have someone whose lost their keys... " Stiles shrugged and pocketed the keys. He turned and walked back home.
-.-.-.-.-
Stiles looked up at his new place of employment Beacon Hills High School. The school itself was absurdly huge; it looked more like a boarding school than a public high school, not to mention the whole creepy horror movie vibe it had going on. Well, he had no choice; it was this or nothing.
Thank God for all the murders in this town. Wait-that made him sound a little psychotic. No, he was just appreciative of the sudden openings left in the wake of...deaths. Shit that didn't sound any better. But you couldn't blame him being 22 years old with a teaching degree didn't exactly yield openings, even if you had skipped a few grades.
"Stilinski! What the hell are you doing over there, gawking like a moron?!"
Stiles flailed and quickly turned around. "Mr. Finstock...hey..."
Finstock narrowed his eyes. "I told you, you either call me Coach or Coach Finstock, otherwise don't call me at all. Except you Greenberg you don't call me period."
Stiles looked around the empty parking lot in confusion. "Um..."
Coach grabbed Stiles and yanked him along. "Come on. We don't have time! We have to make these moronic kids less moronic! Or at least get our pay checks...thank God we don't get paid based on their grades because then we'd be begging out on the streets."
The younger man struggled to keep up, almost tripping as Finstock practically dragged him into the school.
-.-.-.-.-
Stiles sighed. He had managed to get through most of the day; only his last period remained. Ugh. Why were teenagers so fucking stupid? And then there was Coach Finstock who had 'taken him under his wing because it was pathetic to let a grown man be trampled by teenagers'. He was not kidding the man had used those exact words as he manhandled Stiles. There was unnecessary rough handling and pulling that he would very much never like to part of again. Ever.
He glanced up as the bell rang and his last period class all trickled in. He took a deep breath and got up from behind his desk, smiling brightly. "I could give you all some speech about the traumatic events that have been plaguing your town and offer you condolences and sympathy, but that would just waste time. I don't have time for bullshit. I'm here to teach and that's what I'm going to do."
He looked over the silent class, all of the teenagers wide-eyed and gaping. He nodded. "Alright, now that that's out of the way, I guess I'll introduce myself. I'm Mr. Stilinski and I'm going to teaching you World Mythology for this semester." He gave a little wave to the students. "So if you have any questions or concerns or if you'd just like to ask me something then go ahead."
Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and looked around the room. He nodded as a student raised her hand and reached behind him to grab his water bottle, opening it and taking a sip. The blonde, scantily dressed student grinned, displaying white teeth. "I just wanted to know if you're willing to teach after hours," she purred, leaning over her desk, flaunting her cleavage.
Stiles choked spitting out water. He quickly wiped his mouth and turned to look at the girl. What. The. Fuck?
Behind her, several students groaned, a dark haired boy hissed, "Erica don't."
Erica smirked. "Danny let me have some fun. Sooooo, Mr. Stilinski how old are you?"
Stiles coughed a little. "I don't see how that is relevant Ms..."
"Erica." She purred out seductively.
He looked down at the attendance list on his desk. "Ms. Reyes."
Erica smiled innocently."Just curious, like everyone else."
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "I'm 22 actually."
At this the heads of several students snapped up in attention. A shaggy haired boy with a slightly uneven jaw blinked in awe. "You must be a genius!"
The teacher grinned. "And you are?"
The teenager smiled warmly. "I'm Scott! Scott McCall!"
Stiles eyes softened and yeah, he just found his favourite, shut up, he was allowed to have one. "Well Scott, I'm not a genius. I just skipped a few grades," he said as he winked.
"If you're so smart how come you're working here?" A blond haired boy sneered as he smugly looked at Stiles.
Stiles's eyes narrowed. "You are?"
The blond smirked. "Jackson Whittemore."
The little shit. "Well, Jackson, skipping a few grades in this economy doesn't mean anything, hence the reason why I'm here. But I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
Jackson's face reddened as several people laughed. He whirled around and growled at the boys behind him. "Shut the fuck up Isaac! It's not funny McCall!"
The curly haired boy laughed harder. "No way t-this is just too hilarious!"
Scott leaned over and clutched Isaac's shoulder. "This is just awesome!"
"Language, Mr. Whittemore, unless you'd like a detention."
Erica practically purred. "Oh I'd like a detention."
The dark haired girl next to her glared. "Erica stop it!" she chastised.
"Come on Allison, just look at him. He's good enough to devour."
No. Just no. Stiles smirked. "Well then Ms. Reyes, if you want a detention so badly-"
Erica leaned back against her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, "Oh I do."
"I'm sure Mr. Finstock would love to have you."
Instantly Erica hunched down into her seat, wide eyed. The students all burst into laughter.
"Oh, sweetheart that was just sad."
Erica turned to glare at the girl behind her. "Shut up Lydia."
The red head smiled coldly as she glossed her lips, ignoring the growling blond before her.
"Erica." The boy next to Lydia said quietly, keeping his eyes focused on the book in front of him as he spoke.
The blond pouted. "But Boyd I-"
"Leave her alone. Erica." He said quietly as he flipped to the next page in his book.
Erica deflated into her seat. "Fine," she muttered, perturbed.
The tanned boy, Danny, looked up at Stiles remorsefully. "I'm sorry Mr. Stilinski. Jackson and Erica didn't mean to insult you or make you uncomfortable. They..."
"That's just how they are. It takes some time to get used to them, sir." The girl beside Erica, Allison, said as she smiled at him.
Stiles grinned. "Well, we have a semester together. I hope that's enough time otherwise I'm going to end up with a drinking problem at the end of the year."
All the students laughed warmly. Stiles smiled, well this wasn't going too badly.
The rest of the class went by smoothly as he answered a few questions and then handed out a class syllabus, and gave the class an overview of what to expect for the coming semester.
He tilted his head as the shrill bell signalling the end of the school day rung. Stiles turned and waved to his students. "Get going guys." The students sprang up, all animatedly chatting with each other as they collected their things, all leaving the class grinning.
Stiles turned to his desk and started to collect his papers, shoving them into his laptop bag hazardously.
"Scott I didn't see your bike today. Where is it?"
Scott sighed, dejected. "I lost the keys to my bike last night, I had to walk all the way here in the morning."
Jackson sneered. "Nice going McCall."
"Shut up Jackson."
Allison smiled warmly and gently grasped Scott's shoulder. "Do you remember where you could have lost them?"
Scott frowned. "I think it was last night when we were...you know where."
"We're going back tonight. Maybe we'll find them." Boyd stated quietly.
Scott nodded his shoulders drooping. "I hope so man. If not then I'm going to be walking to school forever once my mom finds out and locks my bike up because I'm so irresponsible." He said as he grabbed his backpack and walked towards the door.
Stiles paused, his hand automatically reaching into his back pocket. He looked down at his hand. "Scott."
Scott looked back. "Yes Mr. Stilinski?" Scott's hand instinctively reached out and caught what was thrown at him. He tilted his head and opened his hand. "My keys!"
Stiles's eyes narrowed. "Scott, where did you lose your keys?"
The teenagers in the room froze. Scott's head jerked up, his eyes darting around the room nervously "Um...I don't really remember. I mean, you probably found them in the school right? I lost would I remember where I lost them right? But thanks Mr. Stilinski for finding them! I've got lacrosse practice so I'm going to go. Bye! See you!" With that Scott fled. He's not kidding the teen actually legitimately fled. From Stiles. The most non-threatening person to ever exist. He was sure Greenberg was more threatening and he wasn't even sure Greenberg was real.
He turned to look at the remaining students, his eyebrow raised in question. Jackson scowled. "Fucking McCall."
Danny elbowed Jackson in the side while grinning up at him. "Coach makes us run suicides if we're late, that's why Scott was in such a rush to get out of here. You've met Coach Finstock right?"
Stiles grimaced. "Yes, yes I have."
Isaac nodded and gripped his backpack tighter. "I guess we should get going then. Nobody wants to deal with more of Coach then they have to."
"You're all on the lacrosse team?"
"Yeah, we're all first string and I'm the captain," Jackson said with a gleam of pride.
"And Scott is co-captain, which you seem to keep forgetting Jackson," Isaac said as he smugly stared at Jackson.
"Lahey I'll deal with you on field."
"Okay now guys that's enough. Don't you have practice to get to?"
The teenagers nodded and slowly left the room with a chorus of "Goodbye, Mr. Stilinski."
Stiles watched their retreating backs for a few moments before he turned to resume shoving his papers back into his bag. He wasn't sure who they had been trying to fool with their poor deflective skills or their pitiful attempts at lying but there was no doubt they had been hiding something.
The question was did he really want to find out what that something was?
