Chapter 17: Aftermaths are for Altering Facts
Can Hunters and Werewolves coexist? Do werewolves make good cops? Will Alphas make good students? Does the zombie apocalypse research paper actually exist?
Read on for answers to all these questions and more!
AN: I both can and can't believe this is the last chapter. For some reason, this was a sloooow writing story. It took me months to write it, and more months to edit, but in the end I'm happy with it. Thanks to everyone who's followed along. I hope the ending satisfies. - etrix
The sheriff was surprised to receive a phone call from Chris Argent. He was even more surprised that the man wanted to meet. "The force incident review team won't want us talking to each other," he said. "After all, they're investigating you as well."
"It's not me you'll be talking to," Chris responded. "My Aunt Elizabeth is in town. She's a big deal in our world." By which Noah gathered she could order Chris to fall on his sword if she wanted to.
"She'd like to meet you."
Noah sat back in his chair. He'd spent most of the day with Stiles and Derek, but now he was in his office looking over more résumés, and making phone calls, and thinking.
He'd spent some time last night talking to Deucalion. Unlike Derek, the Alpha Pack leader was old enough to remember dealing with hunters and other werewolf packs. He hadn't been especially helpful, but Noah had a better idea of how bad it was between werewolves and hunters. Gerard hadn't been the only one to ignore a truce, just the most vicious.
On the other hand, if meaningful change was possible, then as a sworn officer of the law, duty bound to uphold the peace, he kind of had to meet with Chris's Aunt Elizabeth.
"I can give her half an hour in about…" He looked at his watch. It was only 4PM. "In about an hour."
"We'll meet you at the Starbucks?" Chris asked.
"That works."
-o0o-
Saturday evening's crowd was lighter than the one during the week. The sheriff was glad to not have to deal with the pressure of too many people, but sorry to lose the ambient noise. He got his coffee and took a table in the back.
Chris walked in slowly, and the sheriff remembered he'd been hit pretty hard when Ennis tossed Scott at him. The woman walking with Chris was not what Noah had expected. She looked like a lawyer from a TV series: sharp suit, high heels, and make-up that took time to get right.
He rose to his feet and held out his hand. She didn't even blink before shaking it. "Elizabeth Argent—Chris's aunt. This is my granddaughter Georgia." Georgia looked like a female version of Stiles with less klutz and more hair. She gave a little wave, barely remembering to take her hand off her phone as she did. Then she went back to tapping at the screen.
Chris pulled out a seat for his aunt. Georgia took the one beside her, still with her phone out.
"Do you want a refill?" Chris asked. Noah shook his head and Chris went to the line to get the drinks for his family. They must've discussed their order before they showed up, because they sure as hell hadn't discussed it since.
Georgia barely looked up, supposedly playing on her phone. Was he supposed to think she was playing Angry Birds? Noah was pretty sure she was recording the whole thing and the thumb-tapping was just a cover. He could call them on it, but that wouldn't help the negotiations—and they were negotiations. Considering just whom 'Aunt Elizabeth' represented, he was probably in negotiation for his life.
He gave Chris's aunt his best serious look. "I'm sorry we have to meet in these circumstances. Please understand I can't discuss either Kate's or Gerard's case with you."
She smiled softly, reassuringly. "I'm not here to talk about them." She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Rather, my nephew seems to think we should leave you in place, despite your… recent affliction."
Affliction? Noah repeated to himself, working hard not to roll his eyes.
"That's one way of putting it," he said, voice just as mild and reasonable as hers. "Of course, I agree with your nephew," he went on. "I'm a good sheriff, and with the exception of the last two months, my arrest record's pretty good." He gave her his own reassuring smile. "Now, if you want to run someone against me–"
Ms. Argent had blinked a couple times, in surprise or something like it, but when he mentioned elections she waved a hand. "It's not your status as sheriff that's the issue. At least, it's not the prime issue that I wish to discuss."
Noah leaned back in his seat and rested a hand on his belt, thinking. He'd gone back to his old leather one now that his back could take the extra weight. The feel of the worn leather was reassuring.
He decided to push a bit. "Are you saying Gerard was meeting with County Supervisor Hardwicke for some reason other than having me impeached?"
Ms. Argent's smile turned tight. "Gerard's schemes—whatever they were—died with him. My concerns are quite different. After all," she continued. "If I'm going to change 250 years of tradition, I need to know the catalyst."
Ah, Noah thought.
Chris Argent came back with the drinks: tea for Aunt Elizabeth, and a sugary confection that only slightly resembled coffee for her granddaughter. Noah took a breath, enjoying the fresh coffee smell, detectible even under the syrups. Chris made sure the milk and sugar levels were right for everyone before taking the last seat at the table. Elizabeth Argent took a decorous sip, and then set the cup down
Noah crossed his arms over his chest, and prepared for questions that would be rude, derogatory, and dismissive or filled with stupid assumptions. "Ask away."
"Are you enjoying the shift, Sheriff?" Elizabeth sipped her tea.
"Enjoy isn't quite the right word," he responded. "I don't enjoy guns, but they are an integral part of my job. Because of that, I learned how and when to use them. Tools of the trade."
"You consider claws and fangs a tool?" Her eyebrow went up in disbelief. Noah thought the motion was calculated. She wanted to provoke him, just like every defense attorney he'd ever faced on the stand.
"I've thought for a while that a K9 unit would be useful in Beacon County," he said. "More often than I'd like, we find meth and other drug labs set up in the Preserve. I wouldn't care if it were a Chihuahua, as long as it helped me protect the citizens of Beacon County. Being big and scary…" He shrugged. "Those would be like pearl handles on a revolver. Nice, but not necessary."
"And you think you'll be able to control your, hmm. 'K9' unit?" she asked.
The sheriff quirked his lips in a fake smile. "I'm good with dogs."
Ms. Argent took another sip, very lady-like and precise—the sheriff prepared for the knife. "You once had a reputation as being quite the drinker."
His gut tightened. He clenched his fist and kept his politician's smile in place. "My wife had just died. It was a dark period of my life, but it never affected my work." It was from the script his original campaign manager had worked out for him and he repeated it by rote, but he had something new to add. "Since my 'affliction' doesn't let me get drunk, it's now a complete non-issue." He drank his coffee, making sure to display his (still) completely human fingernails for the peanut gallery. Score one for him, he thought.
"And how are you going to keep the knowledge of your recent… Change, out of public knowledge?"
Noah snorted. "I'm not going to bother. Too many people know already."
"Oh?" she asked. "You're not going to ask your deputies to lie on their official reports every time you use or display non-human characteristics?
Noah kept the smile on his face through pure stubbornness. Aunt Elizabeth's knives were sharp. Thankfully, he'd had a lot of time to think about this since Peter Hale's attack on the station. He'd already talked to the County Prosecutor
"No, ma'am, I'm not," he said. "It would be unethical for me to influence their reports in any way."
For the first time, Ms. Argent frowned. Her eyes narrowed, and he guessed she was planning a new avenue of attack. His smile sharpened.
She didn't even try to be polite with her next questions. Instead, she fired them at him like bullets: what would he do about full moons? What would he do at a bloody crime scene?
He answered them the same way. "Change shifts with somebody else." "Same as now: wait until forensics clear me for entry."
"How would you deal with deputies quitting—essentially leaving your pack?" She paused and narrowed her eyes at him, as if she'd made a point he couldn't argue.
Noah barely refrained from rolling his eyes.
"Same as I do now," he said. "Have my Chief Deputy and my Administration Supervisor go through the piles of applications again." He crossed his arms on the table leaning forward a little. "You have to understand, Ms. Argent, officers who last longer than five years are the exception, not the rule. I've survived having some truly fine people walk off their shift and not come back. It upset me when I was a rookie; it doesn't upset me now."
His phone beeped to remind him of a teleconference he had in ten minutes. He excused himself with decent politeness (he thought), and took his used cup with him when he left the table. He gave the barista a nod as he put it on the counter. Old Mrs. Perkins stopped him, asked after Stiles (she'd taught him in grade 2), and promised him her support in the 2012 elections. He managed a genuine smile for her, but he could feel the wolf clawing him up inside.
Outside the Starbucks, he rested his hands on his service belt. As ever, it grounded him. Cop. Stiles' father. Werewolf. The first two might switch in importance, but the last one would always be last.
-o0o-
Their table was quiet in the midst of the ambient noise. Chris didn't look away from Aunt Elizabeth, because if he pretended to be interested in anything other than her reaction would be an obvious lie. Georgia's thumbs stilled on the screen of her phone.
Aunt Elizabeth click-click-clicked her tidy, short nails against her cup. "Well."
"Hmm," Chris hummed neutrally.
"He believes it," Georgia said disbelievingly.
"Belief is a powerful weapon," Aunt Elizabeth said. She'd stopped tapping her nails, but her knuckles were white around the heavy ceramic.
Chris clenched his jaw. "As long as he believes in the law, and his place within the law enforcement community, he could be a formidable ally." It was a close he could come to saying that they should leave Sheriff Stilinski alone.
"Hmmm," she echoed his neutral hum. "He could also become the worst kind of despot." She puts her hands flat on the table. "No. I'm not willing to make any snap decisions about this." She looks at him. "I hope you like your current house. You're probably going to be here for a while."
-o0o-
School on Monday wasn't as bad as Allison had feared. It helped that she was flanked by Lydia and Scott when she walked in the door. Stiles had stayed home. He had his own injuries to heal from, but he'd claimed that he needed to stay home to make sure Derek didn't do anything stupid. (Allison had heroically managed to contain her laughter at the statement. The man had apparently attacked one of the Alphas after being impaled through the stomach!)
The local newspaper had been remarkably quiet about the whole thing at the shed, which meant the nationals weren't getting involved either.
Lydia figured it was because the main players weren't alive to be charged with anything. This time there would be no dramatic announcements in the Beacon County Courthouse. Hopefully, no one would mention werewolves at all.
Speaking of…
"Hello Ethan," Scott said cautiously. He was standing tightly balanced in front of the former member of the Alpha Pack.
"How's Aiden?" Lydia asked. She'd just seen him yesterday, so the question was to diffuse the tension. Allison appreciated it.
"He's much better," Ethan replied. "He'll be good to come back to school tomorrow. If that's okay…"
Scott frowned, a quick drop of his eyebrows. "Why wouldn't it be okay?"
That made Ethan frown. "We're not in your pack."
"Yeah, okay," Scott acknowledged. "But you're still students. You are actually students, right? It wasn't just a cover."
Ethan nodded quickly. "Yeah, we're really students."
"You're not sixteen, though." Allison guessed.
"Eighteen," he said. "But we didn't graduate." He flicked a quick glance at Lydia. "We figured that the sheriff would probably look more favorably on our request if we were committed to finishing at least grade 12." He said it stiffly, as if he'd memorized it, and Allison had a good idea of who exactly had had that idea.
So did Scott, because he also shot Lydia a glance.
Lydia lifted her chin and kept it raised until Scott shrugged. "Well then, I guess we'll see you around school."
"Are you going to tell Alpha–"
"Sheriff," Scott corrected.
Ethan swallowed. "Are you going to tell Sheriff Stilinski that we're here?"
Again, Scott shrugged. "He probably already knows."
Suddenly, Ethan shifted, lifting his hands to his hips and huffing out a frustrated breath. "Then why hasn't he been to see us?"
"He can't until the special investigators are done," Scott said surprised. "It could be taken as witness tampering if he does."
Ethan stared at him. "He was serious about that cop shit. It wasn't just a pose?"
"Dude! He was dead serious," Scott replied. "And don't call it 'cop shit' around him or Stiles, or you'll get a three-hour lecture on the Constitution and all the ways an honest judicial system is the cornerstone to civil liberties and good government."
This time, Ethan's stare lasted longer. "Seriously?"
Allison nodded along with Scott. They'd heard it yesterday, although she wasn't sure it had lasted three hours.
Two hours, tops.
"Tell you what," Scott said. "I'll let Stiles know you're concerned about Sheriff Stilinski's reaction to you and your brother sticking around. He'll talk to his dad, and then he'll tell me what his dad said, and then I can tell you."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "What can go wrong with that?"
"Stiles has got a great memory," Scott defended his friend.
"When he remembers his meds," Lydia pointed out.
Ethan raised his hands. "I'll take it. We'd like to stay. We just have to know what's expected of us."
"No turning evil," Allison said.
"Our parents tend to kill Evil around here," Scott said solemnly.
Ethan blinked. "We noticed that."
-o0o-
Chris waited patiently in the bland sitting area outside County Supervisor Hardwicke's office. He didn't read a magazine or play on his phone. He didn't twitch or shift and that was only partly due to his still healing ribs.
It was restful here.
There was no muzak, the chairs were only mildly uncomfortable. Best yet, his wife and his daughter weren't fighting in the next room.
He tipped his head back against the wall but didn't close his eyes.
He waited.
Aunt Elizabeth and Georgia had left on schedule. She'd decided to wait until after Sheriff Stilinski's first full moon. It hadn't made Victoria happy, but his wife would respect the order. (That she fully expected Sheriff Stilinski to lose control by week's end was the only reason she hadn't argued harder.) Chris was just happy that the two women had managed to be polite to each other for the rest of Aunt Elizabeth's visit.
While they'd been getting into the car this morning, Aunt Elizabeth had turned to him, laid a hand on his cheek, and said that, given Kate's recalcitrant attitude, she would be taking over the handling of Kate's case. "Don't worry," she'd said. "I'll take care of your sister." It sounded vaguely threatening, but then, most of what Hunters said could be considered ominous. All he could feel was relief that it was one less family burden off his back (and the guilt that came with that relief).
A deep breath (to prevent pneumonia setting in, nothing more). It made his ribs twinge and he shifted uncomfortably, making the County Supervisor's secretary shoot him another nervous look.
It was a reminder that it had only been three days, and unlike just about everybody else involved in the "incident", he was all too human and healed at a human's normal, irritating rate. The sheriff certainly hadn't looked like he'd been attacked by Alphas just three days ago.
Bastard, he thought without heat.
When he'd come in, he'd known that the bruises on his face made him look like he'd been involved in a bar fight, combine that with his refusal to book "an appointment next week" like a polite person, and he hadn't endeared himself to the secretary. He was pretty sure her hand was hovering over the panic button by her desk.
He caught the secretary giving him another glance. She was talking into her headset, soft enough he couldn't hear what she said, but another quick glance and a nod and she was smiling brightly at him. "Supervisor Hardwicke will see you now." She stood up and waited for him. "Can I get you more water?"
Chris creaked to his feet, gave his broken rib a moment to settle, then smiled back. "I won't be in long enough."
He'd met Shay Hardwicke a few years ago. In her role as head of the County Procurement Committee, she'd approved the purchase of tactical weapons and vests from Silver Bullet. The years since had settled easily on her. Her hair had some extra grey, and she was plumper than before, but her skin was still smooth and her posture still upright and controlled. She exuded an air of affable approachability, but Chris knew she was much more like his Aunt Elizabeth. It was just that Aunt Elizabeth didn't depend on votes to maintain her position.
Supervisor Hardwicke walked around her desk as he entered, circling beside it and waving him towards the fancy table she could use for small, private meetings. Like this one.
"Mr. Argent—Chris. I am so sorry for your loss." She raised a hand, and didn't let him respond. "I can only imagine what your father was going through—what he was feeling. The desperation that pushed him into such an unbelievable act!"
He didn't smile. They'd agreed to blame the cancer. Not entirely a lie, but hardly the truth. "He kidnapped and threatened to kill a 16-year-old kid. There's not many ways to justify that."
Supervisor Hardwicke shifted the hand to her throat. "Well, ummm."
He saw the moment she decided to ignore the ugly truth of Gerard's end. Her hand dropped and she took a breath.
He beat her to it. "Whatever he suggested to you, in regards to Sheriff Stilinski, you should know that the rest of the family didn't support his actions." Definitely a lie. They'd known exactly what Gerard was doing. Victoria had suggested it, after all.
Hardwicke opened her mouth.
"Whatever funding, or manpower, or political pull he offered to you in whatever plan you two had to get Stilinski out of office, that's gone."
She sat, just blinking at him for several moments. "But he shot your father!"
Now Chris did smile, small and bleak, but still an upward tilt of the mouth. "The sheriff didn't shoot Gerard. I did," he said and watched her go pale. She was looking at him as if he was a monster. The way he'd probably looked at Gerard as he pointed his gun at Stiles' head.
He'd had enough of this conversation. He needed to be out of this room, this building.
Just one more thing to say:
"I'm not sure I like the man, but he's a good cop. The county could do a lot worse."
He got up and walked out. He didn't run, didn't quicken his pace. He was proud of that even as he realized he was using it to time his breathing. He took the stairs. Couldn't imagine standing in the tiny box of an elevator car. He counted the stairs in sets of four—four in, four out—and didn't let himself think (remember) anything else. They were just stairs. He was just going down the stairs. That's all. That's all.
He was still thinking in sets of four when he reached the SUV. He was just standing at the door, counting.
How long...?
Didn't matter, he decided. He was out. He was done. He could go home.
And hope Victoria was done being angry enough to try to stab him with a butcher knife.
He didn't bother getting his keys out of his pocket. He was in no state to drive. Besides, he decided, a slow walk would do him good.
-o0o-
Sheriff Stilinski came home to a now familiar sight: Derek, under blankets and with plenty of snacks and liquids to hand, frowning at the TV. The sheriff heard David Attenborough's soothing narration of one animal species doing horrific things to another.
"Stiles put it on?" It wasn't really a question, but Derek grunted agreement.
"You feeling better?" The sheriff wasn't yet comfortable with how much he could pick up from people who'd accepted him as their alpha, so he resisted the urge to use the pack bond to check on Derek's physical recovery.
"I'm fine," the beta said grumpily. Noah waited until Derek caved. "I'm mostly fine. Your son's just a worrywart."
Noah had to laugh at that. Just this morning, Stiles had reminded him that he needed to get his cholesterol level checked. (Of course, Stile's had said it while swiping the bacon from Noah's plate…)
"Good, good," he said. "I'm just going to put my gun away and get changed. Then we need to talk about what you want to do once you're completely fine."
Derek shot him a nervous, wide-eyed look but he didn't protest. He gave a shallow nod then turned back to the show. Noah doubted Derek would hear one word in ten, but he would respect the protective measure by not asking Derek about the program when he came back down in comfortable clothes.
Stiles grabbed him in the hallway, to talk about the twin alphas, Ethan and Aiden Steiner attending school. It was an easy answer (as long as they had the paperwork and didn't break any laws) so it didn't take long before Noah was heading back downstairs for his talk with Derek.
He grabbed a couple beers from the fridge before heading to the living room. He was off shift for the next two days as the special investigators moved in, and no matter the reason, he always had a beer to celebrate the start of his weekend, damn it!
Derek frowned at the bottle he handed to him, but he took it. "Beer?"
"I like beer," Noah shrugged. "I wasn't giving it up." He took a drink, enjoying the rich flavor.
Derek, nose pre-wrinkled in dislike, sniffing at the bottle delicately. "I used to drink it as cover in college.
Noah's eyebrows went up. "I didn't know you went to college."
Derek nodded. "Some business and corporate law courses. I was going to manage the family investments." He smiled sadly. "Laura was a great alpha, but she was horrible with budgets. Or anything to do with money, really."
"Family investments?" Noah repeated. "There's enough to need a business manager?" Noah sat back in his chair. He'd known the Hales were well off—somewhere in the upper parts of upper middle class—but what Derek said put them above even that.
Derek nodded. He took a small sip, jumping a little in surprise. "The Hales owned most of Beacon Hills by the time the Gold Rush started. They sold off the land bit-by-bit, so between that and time–"
"And moonshine," Noah added with a smile.
Derek nodded. "And that, it's kind of accumulated." He stopped, stared at the label on the bottle. "Then there's the insurance money."
"Ah." Noah imagined that Derek felt guilty at having that money—would bet that Derek thought it was blood money, 'earned' through the death of his family. He steered the conversation away from the topic of Hale's money. "Is it a full-time job? Managing the investments."
Derek looked over at him, surprised. "No. I mean… It's more about understanding what our portfolio managers are saying. My portfolio managers, I guess."
"Are you thinking of going back to college? Finish off that business degree, or you know, become a lawyer?"
Derek flinched. It was minute physically, but loud through the bond. He shot Noah an apologetic look.
"Didn't enjoy college, huh." Noah kept his mouth shut on speculation about the reasons why and how it might be different now. "Well then, what are your plans? Head back to New York?"
A spike of fear flashed through the bond. It made Noah's skin feel icy before Derek got himself back under control. "New York was my sister's idea, and I liked it, but…" Derek picked at the label, carefully not looking at Noah. "I'd expect her to be there, you know?"
Noah did know. Ten years, and he still sometimes expected to hear Claudia's laugh.
The sheriff took a drink before speaking. It helped his voice remain neutral. "If you're thinking of staying in Beacon Hills, I have absolutely no objections. In fact, I have a suggestion for you—a request. Join the Sheriff's Office."
Derek choked on his beer and coughed uncontrollably for a while. Noah reached over and took the bottle from Derek's hand and put it on the coffee table. He waited, outwardly patient, while Derek gave him disbelieving glances in between coughing.
Noah waited, until Derek was ready to ask his questions.
"You want me to become a deputy. Me?" Derek made it sound as ridiculous as becoming an intergalactic astronaut in a Lego spaceship. "You remember you arrested me for murder."
Noah shook his head. "You weren't arrested for murder, but for interfering with a dead body."
"Oh that sounds so much better." Derek substituted a scowl for an eye-roll.
"And the charges were dropped," the sheriff continued. "Aside from that and a couple speeding tickets, your record is clean. If you take an eight-month law enforcement course from the state college in Sacramento, even those will be forgiven."
Derek leaned forward on the couch. "You're serious."
"I am absolutely serious about this." Noah leaned forward to match him. "The county needs deputies and a deputy with werewolf abilities can only be an asset." Derek shook his head. Noah pressed on. "In the shed, you said you'd accept me as your alpha. I am willing to accept you as my beta, but I've found I do better—I'm more stable—if I have my betas close." He waved a hand. "I can't keep Stiles or Scott out of school. I'm not willing to bite anyone else at this time, so you joining the force would be a big favor to me. And to everyone else in the office," he admitted, slouching unhappily in his chair.
"How bad is it?" Derek asked.
Noah pinched his nose, hoping to relieve some of the tension. "Frankly I was better before Jason's declaration. Now, I want to growl at every person who's rude to my staff. Frequent-flyer complainers irritate the shit out of me even though I know my people can and will handle them without incident."
Derek stared at him, a small divot between his brows let Noah know he was thinking.
"Is it just when your civilian staff is hassled?" he asked.
It was Noah's turn to frown as he thought. He examined all the instances over the last two days when he had nearly popped his claws. Aside from a couple incidents with Stiles, they all involved his civilian staff. Maybe his werewolf side was still waiting for that—for one of his clerks or the finance manager to make some kind of statement. It sounded silly, but he was a werewolf. Weird and silly was a given.
"I'll talk to Wanda about it tomorrow," he said. "Still doesn't change the fact that you'd make a good deputy. If you want to."
-o0o-
Derek looked at the sheriff. He used every sense he had to figure out if Stilinski was lying or exaggerating in any way, because... why?
Why would Stilinski want him that close?
First off, the whole idea of him becoming a deputy was ridiculous. Wasn't it? He'd been arrested. Stilinski couldn't just sweep that away. Except he obviously thought he could.
Still.
Derek didn't actually like people much. Didn't trust them, kind of always thought they were out for themselves.
Actually… that might be an asset for a cop.
He'd be close to his pack.
It hadn't escaped his notice that deputies had dropped by continuously over the weekend. Stilinski's no-nonsense chief deputy, and the laconic senior sergeant who'd told embarrassing training stories about the sheriff while folding little wolves (that Stiles had cackled at and collected). Bungalon and Astiago and a bunch of other had all "reported in" while the sheriff worked from home. They'd all given Derek searching looks. They'd all asked if there was anything he needed. In other words, they'd hovered.
He'd wanted to shout at them that he wasn't going to bite Stilinski—either of them—but even the thought if shouting made his still-healing stomach hurt.
"Are you going to make the same suggestion to the twins?" he asked instead of the other questions rattling around his brain.
The sheriff sat back. A frown of concern settled on his brow. "Ethan and Aiden," he said with a sigh. "They're still teenagers, so that'll help, but the Alpha Pack was a violent gang, responsible for the deaths of dozens of people-"
"Werewolves," Derek corrected.
"People who were also werewolves," Stilinski said with unarguable firmness. "I've got Lassiter researching their movements since they joined the Alpha Pack: fingerprints, witness statements, that kind of thing-"
"We don't have fingerprints when we're shifted."
The sheriff's mouth stayed open as he processed Derek's statement. Finally, his face twisted in disbelief. "Why not? Where would they go?" All Derek could do was shrug helplessly. "This is like the sideburns, isn't it?"
It was Derek's turn to stare in disbelief. "The sideburns. The claws and fangs. The extra 50 to 100 pounds of body mass," he said.
Stilinski gave another sigh. He took a long swallow of beer, finishing the bottle. "So no fingerprints. Good to know. Explains why Deucalion isn't on a Most Wanted list somewhere."
"I'm sure the Argents have him on one."
The sheriff waved that away. "As long as the Steiner twins aren't on it."
They were silent a moment as they contemplated how unlikely that was. It would require Chris Argent to keep secrets from his wife. Having encountered Victoria Argent around town a couple times, Derek didn't think it was likely. At all.
Finally, Stilinski waved a hand dismissing the twin alphas. "They're asking to stick around apparently, and I have no reason to say no."
Derek's brows went up. "They're alphas?"
"They have alpha strength, but not the personality. I think they just want a safe harbor for a while. Some place where no one treats them as fodder." He waved his hand again. "But they're a distraction from the question at hand."
"Me becoming a deputy," Derek said without inflection.
"If you want to. If you think it's something you'd enjoy."
There was no pressure in the sheriff's voice. He'd already stated that he wanted Derek with him at the station, keeping him stable, but he wasn't making it an order and that counted for a lot.
Derek could get into whatever college was offering the program. He could pay for whatever program he wanted to take. He could fucking travel the world in a luxury yacht if he wanted!
"I'll think about it." And he did.
He thought about it through supper. He thought about it as the sheriff checked his bandages. He was still thinking about it at 2 AM, when Stiles stumbled down the stairs in search of the kitchen.
Derek didn't say a word, he didn't move, but Stiles still somehow knew that he was awake. He brought two glasses of milk and a plate full of cookies into the living room. (Derek could manage the stairs now, but he was slower than a nonagenarian without his cane.
Stiles ritualistically folded his cookie in half, breaking it carefully, and dipped it into his milk. He held it under for about four seconds before taking it out and sucking on it. Then he dipped it again.
Derek's brows went up. "That's disgusting."
"Naw, man. Cookie-filtered milk is the best," Stiles said. "I like gingersnaps the best, but any hard cookie will do."
Derek looked at the plate of cookies. "Those are chocolate chip."
"And they're their own little patties of joy." Stiles wiped a crumby dribble of milk off his chin.
Derek levered himself upright. It was slow (though maybe not as slow as in the morning?), and he appreciated that Stiles didn't rush over to help him. He closed his eyes against the flashes of pain making sparks in his brain and his eyeballs. When he opened them, Stiles was holding out the plate. Derek took a cookie and bit off a small piece. They were good. Stiles had made them that afternoon.
He still couldn't agree with dipping them in milk until they were a soggy porridge.
"Are you gonna do it?" Stiles asked out of nowhere.
Derek froze with the cookie halfway to his mouth. "Do what?"
"Become a deputy," Stiles said, munching on his wet cookie.
"I don't know," Derek responded cautiously. "I'm thinking about it."
Stiles shot him a quick glance as he grabbed another cookie. "You're allowed to be happy," he said, looking down at his glass of now brownish milk. "You always grieve, but you're still allowed to want things."
"I don't know if I want to be a cop."
"Too cliché?" Stiles waggled his eyebrows. "Don't want to be known as 'Wolf Cop'?"
Derek glared at Stiles. "Nobody would call me that." Stiles would definitely call him that.
Stiles peeked at him. "So what's your problem with it?"
Derek's hand dropped to his lap, scattering cookie crumbs on his blanket.
"You think it's a good idea?" he asked in disbelief. "What the hell am I saying? Of course, you think it's a good idea. You're the one who chucked lacrosse balls at a newly turned werewolf in order to teach him control."
"It worked!"
"You're lucky he didn't kill you."
Stiles hunched into a sulky curl. Eating his cookie sludge with a hurt-looking pout.
Derek sighed. "This time… well, you might not be wrong."
Instantly, Stiles straightened. His whole face looked bright and hopefully. His cookie oozed milk onto his pajama pants. "Really? I mean, you're seriously thinking about it."
"I'm seriously thinking about it."
" 'cus I can help you with the course, and learning the laws and stuff. If you become a sworn officer, then you don't have to know the county by-laws, but it's a good idea to know the basics anyways. Actually, Gus will have you doing parking tickets for at least part of your training," Stiles rambled. "He doesn't like the sworn officers thinking they're better than the unsworn ones."
Derek lifted his hand (the one without the cookie). "Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean 'sworn' and 'unsworn'?"
Derek only realized his mistake when Stiles' eyes doubled in size. "Oh, maaan! I have sooo much to teach you…"
EPILOGUE
Two weeks after Aunt Elizabeth left, Chris received a call from Kate's prison. His sister had been attacked, stabbed in the throat, and left in some suddenly empty area of the jail, said the impartial voice on the phone.
The voice waited, no doubt expecting him to ask questions. He didn't bother.
The voice on the phone continued, telling him his sister hadn't been breathing when her body was discovered and all attempts at resuscitation had failed. There would be an investigation, the voice said, but the voice also said she didn't expect the investigation to find out anything unless someone came forward.
Chris silently agreed with her.
His sister had pissed someone off enough that they'd killed her. Whether the person who'd wanted her dead had been inside the jail with her, or had contracted the hit from the outside, it didn't matter.
The voice said that they would notify them when they were ready to release his sister's body. The voice gave him a phone number for a government information line that could help him with the process of getting his sister's body out of the prison morgue.
Chris didn't write it down.
"My condolences on your loss," the woman said.
Chris hung up the phone without further comment. He sat as the day darkened to night, trying not to think, until he felt steady enough to go tell the rest—the last—of his family.
Kate—his beautiful, deadly sister—was done.
.../fin
RESEARCH & RELATED FACTOIDS
Justifications for Things I Wanted to Do Anyway
Given canon's bizarre chronology, (Timeline? What's a timeline?) I ignored all dates and time markers in show except the ones I want to include (or that make at least a tiny bit of sense). I figure the Winter Formal takes place in March 2011, so all my other dates are based on that. Also, I started writing this before having watched Seasons 5 and 6, so many of those events, characters and their backstories are not factored into this story.
Also, I decided to make Derek 16 at the time of his relationship with Kate and the fire. I know fandom is divided on this thanks to the many inconsistencies within the series, but my initial thought when watching Season 1, was that Derek had been 16, and most of the canonical evidence seems to support him being about that age, so I stuck to it.
Beacon County Sheriff's Office
According to the 2012 Bureau of Justice Statistics' Census of State and Local Law Enforcement Agencies (CSLLEA), there are nearly 18,000 law enforcement agencies in the US, employing around 1.1 million people. Sheriff Stilinski, as a member of US law enforcement, has a huge pack.
Because Sheriff Stilinski is the main focus of my story, I needed to know more about how a sheriff's office would work in California. I must thank Nyxelestia for the heads up on the size/make-up of the Beacon County Sheriff's Office. (BTW, Winter Wolves, Nyxelestia's fusion of Teen Wolf and Marvel Cinematic Universe, is wonderful! I recommend it.)
The sheriff's office is only ever shown as this small, one-floor building, with room for (maybe) 20 deputies on rotating shifts. However, Show specifically states the population as 30,000 in the town and 500,000 for the county as a whole. Research says the average ratio of law enforcement staff for a population the size of Beacon County is 24.4 total staff for every 10,000 citizens. This means Beacon Hills (the county) would have around 900 police officers and 300 support staff (clerks, dispatchers, and other civilians).
I needed to find a completely logical way to ignore over 95% of the police force.
Beacon Hills' chronic staff shortage meant I made up rural stations elsewhere housing the bulk of the police force, and then essentially ignored them. I also decided that most of the uniformed deputies would rotate through patrol, court duty & prisoner escort, so we wouldn't actually see them. Problem solved.
Tara Graeme's long tenure as a deputy is canon (3.09, The Girl Who Knew Too Much). The hiring dates of the other canon deputies aren't specified in show except for Jordan Parrish who showed up after the reactivation of the Nemeton in season 3A, much too late for this fic.
As much as possible, I tried to use canon names for my deputies, meaning I found them on IMDb. The unflappable Sergeant Augustin "Gus" Trejo is completely my creation.
Speaking of Sergeant Trejo…
Origami Howling Wolves
Why yes, they do exist. I got my eldest spawn to make me one. It wasn't easy, and she's never made another one. If you want to try, this is the YouTube video she used: watch?v=4jYOOk-cJj0
Quotes and Other Factoids Used for Inspiration (Not Procrastination)
The zombie research paper is real.
Professor Robert Smith? (the question mark is part of his name) of University of Ottawa's Department of Mathematics uses the zombie apocalypse to teach his students about how to research the data needed to make predictive calculations while factoring all the variables. I listened to an interview with Dr. Smith? a long time ago. He said his main source material was Shawn of the Dead because they had already done the research and put the most common tropes in the movie. (heh—good choice!) It's probably because of that interview that I always remember the paper exists.
Lydia's quote about vengeance is from Henry VI. It's one of Shakespeare's plays I've never actually seen. There's a lot of talking about vengeance, so I imagine that everyone dies in the end.
The sheriff's idea of turning "the alpha's alpha" into alfalfa I got from KouriArashi's excellent series The Sum of Its Parts. I don't remember which story they used it in, but probably The One You Feed, since it deals with the alpha pack.
In my story, Allison's gets the new Argent Code from Brandon Sanderson's The Way of Kings (2010). /Quotes/TheStormlightArchive. I did not know there was anything out there so similar to the one she says in Show until I went hunting for the exact words.
If I quoted dialogue from show, I probably found the correct words in a transcript on foreverdreaming |.| org