It has been two days since he saw Derek at the Nemeton. Stiles has been trying to busy himself with anything and everything in order to forget about the meeting. He's even cleaned his room.
The front door bangs and Stiles perks up from the chair he's been glued to all morning and afternoon. He'd been staring at his laptop, and the picture that filled the screen. The picture that made him feel queasy and gave him a fluttering feeling in his chest.
"Stiles?" the Sheriff calls out.
"In here," he hollers back.
The Sheriff walks through Stiles' open doorway, his beige jacket undone. Hat in one hand, and a bag of takeout food in the other.
"You been at that desk all day?" the Sheriff asks.
"Yeah, just homework." Stiles replies absentmindedly as he pushes the laptop lid down, concealing the screen.
The Sheriff throws the bag of fast-food at Stiles and he snaps out of his thoughts.
"What?"
"Stiles, you've had over a month off. And even if you had been at school. Homework? Really? Look if it was…you know, videos or whatever, that's fine, just shut the door, or put a tie on the handle." The Sheriff rubs the back of his neck as his cheeks colour themselves brightly.
"Huh? Oh. Dad. No. I wasn't – watching – DAD IT WASN'T PORN." Stiles' face becomes almost as red as his father's as he stammers the words out. The light that hangs from the ceiling above them blinks.
"Alright. Alright. There's nothing unnatural-"
"No Dad. Seriously. Can we just eat?"
"Sure." The Sheriff is visibly relieved.
Stiles' chair creaks as he gets out of it and makes his way to the lounge.
As they settle into the sofas and begin eating, the Sheriff speaks. "Haven't seen Scott recently. Or anyone for that matter."
"I can survive without him, without them," the snap makes Stiles feel instantly guilty.
The Sheriff looks uneasy. "I know Stiles, I just worry, you don't get out much anymore, or talk. I'm afraid I'm losing my son again."
I'm afraid I'm losing myself. "It's fine. I'm fine. I'll call Scott later and we'll hang out tomorrow."
"Alright." They continue to eat in silence until the Sheriff's phone starts vibrating on the glass table. With an exasperated exhale he pushes himself up off the couch and holds the phone to his ear.
"Ah crap. I'm on my way." He sighs and hangs up, stuffing the phone back into his muddy pocket. "I'm glad I don't bother taking this damn uniform off. I'll be back later. See what's up with the power would ya'? The house has been damn cold these last weeks, and the lights are on the fritz." The Sheriff gets up and walks out of the lounge.
"Stay safe," Stiles calls after him; he picks up the remote and begins flicking through the channels.
The Sheriff shouts from the doorway, "Remember it's a full moon coming up, I don't want you out after dark. Especially not with a Hale back causing me trouble."
Stiles tenses on the name Hale.
"Peter...Or Derek?" he asks, his voice brakes slightly as he speaks Derek's name and he coughs to cover it up.
"I don't know which one it is; they're all a pain in the ass just the same." The Sheriff waves over his back and leaves.
Stiles twitches on the couch. There was a time when he'd have got on his police scanner and followed his dad. But not anymore. Nothing good ever came of following the Sheriff. And nothing good ever came of being with a Hale.
Infomercials of the Magic Bullet were on the T.V, so he makes to change the channel. The remains of the crushed remote are in his hand. He stares at it for a long time.
Eventually he delicately pulls out his phone and dials the only man who might know what's up with him, and possibly help him. It rings twice before someone picks up.
"Deaton? Yeah, something's wrong."