Chasing The Sun Vol II: Citizen Soldier

Chapter 12: Christmas Lights

 Parrish grinned thankfully as Derek Hale rescued him from Melissa's clutches. Never let it be said nurses weren't absolutely terrifying.

Walking up to the porch, he accepted a beer from Chris Argent, and tilted his head back to take a sip.

"Tango not your game is it?" Chris teased.

"No way. I think I'll stick to Club dancing", he muttered weakly.

"Ah, and who here strikes your fancy?" Chris asked teasingly, as he sipped his own beer.

"That, Argent is a terrifying and dangerous question. There are way too many good looking people here. I'm not picky", he leered playfully.

Even as he said it, his eyes slid to the youth leaning against a lit up tree.

Parrish's gaze started to travel and note pale skin that was just begging to be marked. His skin was dotted with a constellation of moles that Parrish wanted to trace with his tongue. The teen was tall but lithe, had hips that looked perfect to hold on to when taking him apart and that mouth. Fuck, if that wasn't terrifying and dangerous.

Stiles is a volatile package.

It wasn't just his looks though. The teen was intelligent. Stiles would begin a conversation then break-off into 13 tangents and somehow make it back to what they were originally talking about. It was beyond endearing.

Although he'd come to understand that about him, Stiles was still an enigma.

Most of the town had commented, the young teen, was Loud, obnoxious, loyal, sarcastic, loved his father very much.

So, when Parrish had met him, it came as a bit of a shock. Stiles, seemed like the nothing the town's people said.

Haunted, broken, on alert.

The look of a Citizen Soldier, not the vibrant teen he'd been expecting. For a seventeen year old, he looked much older, older than Parrish himself. Stiles eyes look too old for how many years he has been on this earth. As the teen held his gaze, eyes unwavering, after the accident, while he gave his statement. Parrish realized deep within his very core that Stiles is different.

This isn't the person the town's dealt with before. He's dealing with someone who has seen hell, and survived it.

Now, now, when he watched the teen. It made sense. He was a Soldier of sorts. Parrish had been a young Captain, before an injury changed all that.

Stiles commanded attention.

Derek was his right hand. And how he knew that, was a mystery unto itself. The guy barely spoke two word, in a day.

Jackson was definitely his left-hand; he seemed to hold a position for communications. And knew when to intervene. He managed to keep inquisitive minds at bay and re-direct their attention.

And inquisitive minds were all over the place, tonight.

For example, the Sheriff who now walked to Stiles and looked ready to launch the Spanish Inquisition.

"I imagine he'll finally tell the Sheriff what's got him pulled so taut", Chris Argent commented wryly.

And almost in synch, Derek and Jackson pushed away from the women they were dancing with.

Stiles grinned and discreetly shook his head. You wouldn't have noticed the movement, if you hadn't had years of tactical training.

Chris smirked, "And the wolves back down", he teased.

Both Hale and Whittemore glared at Argent, who grinned with all his teeth.

Parrish raised a brow, "There is something seriously fishy about this family. Seriously fishy. It's interesting, I like it", he smirked tilting his beer bottle towards Stiles.