Fangs ⊰ d. hale ᴮᴼᴼᴷ¹

⊰twenty⊱

After our run-in with Jackson, Stiles dropped off Scott near the woods. He was hoping to catch Allison on the trail that she normally jogs and he had to give her back the necklace—the one that he took from her bedroom. 

Then, Stiles and I went home. Our dad wasn't home yet so I got my car keys and I took off for a little drive through town. I had to clear my head and take some time away from my brother because his incessant whining about my kiss with "his enemy" was driving me insane. 

The only reason that he even found out was because I was writing in my old diary for the first time in years and he had walked in, curiously looking over my shoulder before I realized he was behind me.

I couldn't stop wondering about Derek. The fact that he had joined his uncle's side in this little battle sequence of our lives just shook something inside me. I couldn't understand why he would do it and why he hadn't come to see me—to tell me himself.

He had to be somewhere, doing something. I just didn't know what. And that bugged me. I mean, you don't just kiss a girl twice in one night and then leave without a trace.

Didn't I deserve to know why he teamed up with his psychotic uncle? 

It was dark outside by the time I got back home after my drive. I heard voices in the kitchen, so, that's where I went.

When I got into the dining room, I saw my dad and my brother seated at the table and my dad was drinking a full glass of whiskey. He would never do that. My brother turned around and I glared at him. I stalked over and was about to take the glass from my dad when I saw the papers that were spread out on the table.

Then I froze.

Files upon files relating to arsonists and the Hale fire. My dad was trying to piece it together and solve a six year old case.

My eyes widened and I looked up at my father. By then, he had already finished the glass of whiskey and set the glass on the table and leaned over it on his elbows. He was already wasted.

"You know, Derek Hale would be a whole hale of a lot...Hale of a lot?" he slurred.

"Hell of a lot?" my brother asked.

"Hell," my dad dragged out. "Yes. He would be a hell of a lot easier to catch if we could get an actual picture of him," my dad said.

"How do you not have a picture of him?" Stiles asked.

"It's the weirdest thing. It's like every time we try to get a mug shot, it's like two..." my dad started out, like he was trying to find the right words, "laser beams were pointing at the camera," my dad finished as Stiles took a photo of Derek from my dad's hands.

Stiles looked up at me. "The flash. It triggers the glowing hue of our eyes," I whispered.

"Nice," my brother observed.

My dad looked up when he heard my voice and he smiled when he saw me. "Hi, Sarah," he mused in his drunkened state.

I chuckled at him. "Hi, Daddy," I said.

He groaned and leaned back in his chair, taking his glasses off of his face and rubbed the back of his head. "Oh, my God," he groaned. "God, that ounce hit me like a brick. And I have said way too much, and if you repeat any of that—"

"Wha—Dad...It's me. I'm not gonna say anything," my brother objected.

"And I just got here, so I didn't hear anything anyway," I added—which wasn't a total lie—as my brother grabbed a file and removed the papers from inside.