Alone • Liam Dunbar

Six

Parrish was sitting at the front desk of the station, his blank green eyes staring at the pale wall across from him.

Sheriff Stilinski had been keeping him at arm's length since Deputy Haigh tried to burn him alive and Parrish somehow returned naked and unscathed. It would have been a different story if we had any idea what he was, but we didn't. Parrish had been scouring our bestiary for months with Lydia, both of them trying to find something even mildly related to the symptoms he exhibited, but came up empty.

That meant for the foreseeable future, the most adventurous thing Parrish was going to get to do was to give out speeding tickets and handle noise complaints.

When we enter the lobby, Parrish perks up at the sound of other life forms. He must be ecstatic to have a source of entertainment other than the walls that kept him caged in. 

"Hey, Parrish. My dad still here?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah, you guys can go right in. He's in his office," Parrish says politely, his gentle demeanor and soft voice always betraying a muscular physique that made him appear intimidating at first glance.

His eyes pass Scott and Stiles, taking notice of me as I stand behind them.

"Unless you have any weapons," he adds with a teasing grin.

I laugh, finding myself growing fond of the deputy with each new interaction I had with him.

I wouldn't say that Parrish looked down on me before, he simply saw me as some random teenager that was friends with the son of his boss. He didn't understand the supernatural world when he first came here, and the two of us rarely spoke during the time of the Dead Pool, but after that night in La Iglesia, it was as if his view of me had changed. The way he spoke to me was different, too, as if talking to a friend or colleague rather than a civilian or subordinate.

Seeing me with a machine gun facing off with a Berserker would probably have that effect on anyone.

"I'm unarmed, deputy." I hold my hands up to him mockingly, showing him the truth of my words as the boys and I begin to walk away from him.

His eyebrows meet his hairline. "You know that doesn't make you seem harmless, right?" 

The two of us share one final smile before Stiles, Scott, and I focus on heading toward the sheriff's office, passing the rows of officer desks and shuffling deputies. We could already see him through the windows of the room, his blinds pulled open.

Stilinski has his back to the door as he works through his shortly-styled hair, aiming it all in one direction. He pauses when he catches sight of us standing in the doorway behind him in the small mirror he had in his hand.

He turns, allowing us to see his cleaned-up and semi-formal attire. A plaid shirt underneath a firmly pressed blazer with his slacks ironed to perfection. It felt so odd to be seeing him out of his uniform or his usual casual clothes.

"I'm sorry, we were looking for Sheriff Stilinski, not a male model." I grin, jokingly looking around in search of the man before us.

He chuckles, bowing his head to hide his flattered smile.

"Not too much?" He holds his blazer open slightly so we can take in the full scope of his appearance. Scott and I shake our heads, nothing but encouragement directed toward him. Stiles, on the other hand, was as helpful as ever.

"Too much? More like not enough. Where are the shoulder pads I got you?" he questions hotly, marching over to Stilinski to begin patting his arms in search of the mentioned addition to his wardrobe.

The sheriff slaps away Stiles' hands, his smile fading into a grimace of sorts that was almost always his default expression when in the presence of his son and his pushy attitude.