"Ms Ramsey?"
Stiles leaned in, around the door, and waited for the new guidance counselor to either shoo him away or invite him in.
A round faced woman in her fifties looked at him over oval shaped glasses and smiled. She had short, feathered, auburn hair and was rounded in every part of her body. She looked like she'd give good hugs. He shouldn't be thinking about hugging strangers.
"You're Stiles aren't you?" She put down the pen she was holding and slid her papers away, giving him her full attention.
His face fell a little. She'd been expecting him. Of course she'd been expecting him, he was broken and she was the woman in the mental supply closet, she had the brain glue.
"Um..."
"I've heard wonderful things about you," she gestured to the chair across the desk as she went on, "you won the championship game for the Cyclones."
He was thrown by this. His mouth was hanging open like a grounded fish taking it's final gasp. He straightened his open shirt just so he had something to do with his hands.
"Nice T shirt," she said, now that his gesture had made his 'Viva La Evolution' graphic tee clearly visible.
"Thanks," he prodded himself in the chest, "see it's Darwin instead of Che Guevara."
"I see that," she nodded, then made a bolder gesture to the empty chair beside him. "I have time if you want to talk. If not we can make an appointment for later today, another day..."
"I'm not sure if," he waved away the chair as if sitting in it was a huge commitment, "I just heard that you were the new Morrell and I just..."
He didn't really know why he was there. He had nothing to say and no excuse to stay, even less excuse to leave. For some reason he really didn't want to sit. He knew that was a solid, non negotiable.
"My favorite shirt is my old Shakespeare's Sister one."
Stiles had no idea if he had no idea what she was talking about because of his brain or because nobody would have any idea what she was talking about because it was an obscure reference.
"Shakespeare's wife was called Anne Hathaway." He ended up blurting.
Ms Ramsey rose from her chair and pointed behind him to the open door.
"Let's go for a walk."
"Oh, okay." Stiles found himself being led down the halls, outside, and heading towards the lacrosse field.
Neither of them spoke. Stiles really didn't want to talk but he hated the silence. He was never able to understand the concept of a comfortable silence. He could ignore somebody talking to him, he could stay quiet while somebody else babbled on, but if they weren't talking he started to feel anxious and have to fill in the blank.
Maybe that was the trick, make him so uncomfortable so he started talking, well he wasn't going to play that game.
He managed about twenty seconds.
"So what is the Shakespeare's sister thing?"
"Shakespeare's Sister was like...imagine Lana Del Rey and Florence Welch singing duets together."
"Oh, okay, it's music." Stiles pushed his hands into his pockets and looked down at his feet.
"It's like goth feminism, pop with a dark side, that kind of thing."
"Huh, maybe Lydia might like it."
"I don't think she'd appreciate the fashions."
"Well, she doesn't appreciate mine but she still..."
"She still..?"
"She still likes me." Stiles managed another twenty seconds of silence as they walked on. "Lydia doesn't really have guys as friends, but we've kinda become friends without noticing."
"I'm glad," Ms Ramsey said, "after what happened with poor Allison, I'm glad all of you pulled together and took care of each other. Losing a friend that way can take a group of friends apart."
Stiles bit his lip. He couldn't talk about that. He was never really sure what the official story had been. He'd been out of it and then there were lies to cover him, lies to cover the supernatural, lies to cover the lies. He got sick in the car, wasn't that it? He was really sick and they pulled over for him to get some air. Guys with knives tried to steal the car, or rob them or something, and he'd collapsed from being sick so he was unconscious when...
"Were you friends with Allison in the same way you were with Lydia?" Ms Ramsey broke the silence.
"No," he felt bad that he'd answered so quickly, and so negatively. "I mean, not in the way I am with Lydia. I used to have a crush on Lydia and she ignored me, then we tolerated each other, but it felt awkward because she knew I liked her and she didn't like me. After a while we suddenly... It caught us by surprise that we were friends, I think."
"You just evolved."
Stiles nodded.
"Allison was Scott's girlfriend and Lydia's best friend. I was third wheeling it twice over."
"But she was looking for you with the others when you thought you were sick, wasn't she?"
"Isn't that supposed to be private?" Stiles side-eyed her.
"It is, but when a minor goes missing for days after being admitted to hospital, we were all told to be on the look out and to keep you safe if we found you."
Yes, Stiles the flight risk. He forgot about that. He went missing from the lacrosse final, he went missing and almost froze to death, then he went missing from the hospital they took him to after he almost froze to death. Were there any more? Yes, the missing from the mental health institution extravaganza, he mustn't overlook that one.
"Sorry about that," he muttered, half to her and half in general.
"You don't always have to run, Stiles," Ms Ramsey said as she stopped walking and faced him, "you can go to a lot of people. There will always be people who can keep you safe, stabilize you if it's a mental health thing, stabilize you if it's anything else and you just need some support."
"Sometimes it wasn't even me...running. Sometimes I don't get a say on where I end up."
"That's scary stuff."
Stiles snorted and nodded.
"Do you know everything?" He squinted at her, trying to find a tell, to see if she was lying to him. "Do you know about what's happened recently?"
"I know you had an accident at home, that you are still outperforming almost everybody in most of your classes, and that you've improved in a lot of ways compared to your academic performance before the accident."
"Yeah, that, but I mean the stuff with them trying to take me away from my dad. When they said he was making it all up."
"I heard that Child Protective Services weren't entirely ethical with their treatment of your case and that you might be defensive or hesitant about any offer of support. I also heard that you asked about me."
"What did Danielle say?"
"She told me about being pestered for gossip, feeling as if the loss of her friend was dismissed, and having somebody to stand up for...who stood up beside her, and how you made sure each other were doing alright before leaving."
"She said I asked about you too?"
"She mentioned it."
"So why didn't you call me in?"
She tilted her head to one side, looking disappointed.
"I don't roam the halls with a butterfly net, looking for students to fix, Mr Stilinski. I'm here for them when they come looking for me."
Stiles couldn't help but smirk at the image she conjured up inside his head.
"Next time we go for a walk, could we carry butterfly nets?"
"Next time?"
Stiles nodded.
"Just the same thing as this, only holding butterfly nets, just to hear what they come up with."
"Who are they?"
"The people like the guy bugging Danielle, the CPS woman, they all think I'm nuts but you should hear the crap they come up with."
"Unfortunately I do, on a regular basis," Ms Ramsey said with a deep sigh. "Well, the net idea is fine with me, but you're bringing them in. This is your joke, you bring the props."
"So what are you bringing to the table?"
She paused to think for a moment.
"How about a jar of lollipops, like a pediatrician?"
Stiles eyes widened.
"I get a lollipop?"
"If you come again, yes."
He grinned.
"Sir, one of the Easter Island heads is waiting in your office," Cordova greeted him as he came back from grabbing some lunch.
He wiped the grease from his fingers and hoped none of his son's 'diet Mafia' were paying attention this afternoon. If he had been able to recruit people to the Sheriff's Department as fast as Stiles was able to recruit people onto his 'cholesterol squad' he'd be able to have a lot more time at home with his feet up, and a beer, and a bag of chips, with his son. No beer for Stiles, though. He shook his head at the thought. Drunk Stiles? It must have happened already, at least once, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to cope. He wasn't sure America would be able to cope with Stiles drunk.
As he entered his office he nodded to the 'Easter Island head', or the rigidly tense Derek Hale as others knew him.
"You didn't have to come right away, just when you had time and were passing by." The Sheriff sat down at his desk and motioned to the chair opposite him.
"What is it? Why did you say we needed to talk? Is Stiles alright?" Hale didn't move his feet an inch.
It was like he was rooted to the floor.
"Stiles is fine. He's at school, one of his friends is in a class with him all day and he has a free period which he assures me will be spent introducing himself to the new guidance councilor."
He thought Hale relaxed on hearing this news. It was indecipherable really but something had softened a little in his posture. It was subtle, like the sharp corners of an ice cube straight from the freezer, gradually smoothing.
"What do you need from me?" Hale got directly to the point so the Sheriff did him the courtesy of doing the same.
"Look, as far as I know, you're a stranger. You're a grown man, you have a dark past and some shady relatives..."
"Only Peter," he corrected the Sheriff abruptly.
"True, but I like to count him at least twice when it comes to the threat level posed to my son's safety and sanity."
Hale moved an eyebrow at that, ever so slightly nodded, and then let his shoulders fall more comfortably.
"I can't argue with that," Hale said as he pulled out the chair and finally sat down. "Am I supposed to be a threat too?"
The Sheriff rubbed the back of his neck and leaned forward to look Hale in the eye.
"That's what I want to know."
Hale simply stared at him, waiting for him to proceed.
"You're first on the scene, you're angrily protective of him and then angry towards him when the threat's gone. You came to the hospital to offer to be his appropriate adult. You're the one who calls when he's had a panic attack, or is about to have one, or you've talked him out of one."
"I don't talk him out of them, he just gets distracted by the need to aggravate me. He distracts himself."
"Are you always watching him or listening in because you think he's a threat?"
"No."
The answer was firm and without hesitation.
"Is there a threat to him that's being kept from me?"
"If there is it's being kept from me too, sir."
The two men looked at each other, trying to understand the situation, and the Sheriff shook his head and went for it.
"Are you my son's friend?"
Hale looked uncomfortable for a moment. There was the briefest loss of his stony expression as soon as the question was asked.
"I'm not his enemy, or yours."
"Are you his friend?" The Sheriff perceived.
"I wouldn't say that."
"So what would you say," the Sheriff heard himself slip into his cop voice, but Hale was doing his very best to sound like a suspect so nobody could blame him.
"He's an acquaintance."
"So an acquaintance tore off my garage door to get to him, stood outside a hospital listening to Lydia Martin reading him comic books and discussing feminism with him until he fell asleep, and put my bathroom back together after he flipped out on you?"
"And whose car is parked around the corner from your house every night when I'm on patrol," Cordova added from the open door to the office.
Hale gave the Deputy a death glare. The Sheriff worry lines deepened as he waved Cordova away.
"Close the door and get some paperwork done."
Cordova closed the door and Hale only managed to meet his eyes fleetingly. He found the corner of the desk suddenly captivating.
"Please, Mr Hale, characterize your relationship with my son."
"It's nothing like that," he growled out in response.
"Scott is his best friend. Lydia Martin is his former unrequited love and right now...let's say female best friend. Melissa McCall is a mother figure. Deaton is an acquaintance, he's not relaxed around him but he deals with him because Scott trusts him. I'm his father. Cordova is a pain in the ass who has spoiled him since he was a toddler and covers for him when he shouldn't. Melissa treats him like a son. Scott treats him like a brother. Lydia treats him like an equal. Deaton treats him the way a military man treats a civilian. Characterize your relationship with my son."
"He's an irritant!" Hale snapped. "He's a piece of gravel in my shoe. He's a smart ass. He's a loud mouth. He's a danger to himself and others. He's human and breakable and won't heal like us. He's the one they go after every damn time. He's not afraid of me. When he was afraid of me he still got in my face and called me a dick. He does the right thing the wrong way. He does the wrong thing for the right reasons. He's had too much crap. He will fight to the death for you, for Scott, for Deaton and for me. He'll fight to the death for people he hates because it's what needs to be done. He fights everything. He fights everything with nothing, and every time he needs somebody to fight for him there's never ever anyone around!" Hale punctuated his last statement by banging his fist against the desk.
There needed to be a moment taken. The dust stirred up needed to settle. The tension needed to alleviate. They both had to process so much and all it gave them was more questions. Too many questions.
Maybe, the Sheriff thought, they should just go for statements.
"He's seventeen."
Hale picked up on that immediately. He made sure his gaze didn't falter this time.
"If he were eighteen my relationship with your son would be exactly the same."
"You don't see him as a little brother."
"I don't. I had a little brother. I'm not in the market for replacements for the people I loved."
"You don't see him as a member of your pack?"
"He's part of Scott's pack, I'm not, I'm just an ally of the pack."
"You don't see him as an acquaintance."
Hale swallowed and conceded that his earlier statement was bullshit with a wordless shake of the head.
"You don't see him as a friend."
"No, I don't see anyone as a friend. I have allies."
"Do I spell it out or do your characterize your relationship with my son?"
Hale took in a deep breath and let it go, slowly.
"I don't have plans for your son, Sheriff."
"Does Stiles know what the hell kind of relationship you two have?"
"I don't know. He might think we're friends."
"But he's wrong?"
"I suppose not."
"Oh come on, Hale!"
"Look, Deaton thinks he's a sage to these kids. He thinks he's a mentor and an authority figure and a go to confident. Stiles doesn't trust him, we both know that. Stiles would characterize that relationship completely differently to Deaton. Is one lying? No."
"So Stiles thinks you're friends?"
"You're asking me what Stiles thinks? You think anybody can predict that kid?"
"Do you trust him?"
"Yes."
"Do you protect him when you can?"
"Yes."
"Do you have a problem with people who hurt him?"
"Yes."
"If you had to chose between Peter or Stil-"
"Stiles. Even when he was the pest getting in the way when I wanted to win Scott over. Even when he was possessed."
"So I never have to worry about going into my son's bedroom late at night and finding you in there with him?"
There it was. Hale dried up like a single drop of water in the desert.
"It's not like that," he croaked.
"You didn't have a lot of definitions for your relationship just now, something changed, Hale?"
"I've been in hiding, or I've been looking for him for research. I've been looking for him when he's missing. I've had to have conversations in his room because supernatural chit-chat in the living room, where you could hear everything, wasn't appropriate."
Did Derek Hale just say chit-chat?
"You're looking out for him, taking care of him, protecting him and monitoring his health. He's something to you."
"He humanizes me. Scott's a better alpha because Stiles is there and human. Lydia's a better person, less ashamed of who she is, because Stiles is there for her and human. Deaton is better at whatever the hell he really does because Stiles is there, human and calling bullshit every time he pulls that enigmatic crap."
"Stiles is human and that does what to benefit you?"
Derek Hale actually slumped over the desk, elbows propping him up as the tension sagged out of him, and he looked as if the answer was going to be a complete revelation to him.
"It anchors me."
Hale wasn't lying.
Hale had just understood what their relationship was.
Even when he was nowhere to be seen, that kid of his could turn your whole world upside down.
