girl almighty // s. stilinski [1]

what a mess

||

"Hey, dumbasses!"

The loud remark from the redheaded girl's lips does the trick to wake up the teenage boys who had been impervious to her previous attempts to stir them, stumbling foolishly to the land of consciousness. 

Stiles tumbles off the edge of the bed where he had been half on the comforter, his other half lying on the ground with his face in a stack of papers, the same clothes he had been wearing the day before on his back.

Scott mumbles something from his spot on the ground before snapping from his slumber, up in an instant as Stiles pulls away a piece of paper that had stuck to his cheek, groaning as he stands from the floor.

"What were you two doing all night?" Bea asks in amusement, crossing her arms over her chest as she observes the scattered array of papers that litter the floor and the laptop that is still powered up on Stiles' desktop. She briefly sees something about a bank robbery through her glasses before Stiles suddenly shuts the laptop closed. She raises an eyebrow in reply.

"Just, uh...just studying," Scott stutters, obviously lying through his teeth. Bea rolls her eyes; however, she lets it slide, deciding it is not the time to pry. She knows they are hiding something, and she will get to the bottom of it, one way or another.

The Sheriff walks up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She jumps slightly, turning her head to glance at the man. He gives her an apologetic glance, though she brushes him off, her smile assuring it is fine.

He turns his gaze to the two boys. "I've got to get to work. You three, get to school," the man demands, removing his hand from Bea's shoulder as he starts to walk away.

"Dad!" Stiles exclaims, stopping the man in his tracks as he turns back with raised eyebrows. "Heather?" His tone is hopeful, though his face falls when Noah shakes his head.

"No, nothing yet," the Sheriff sighs, walking away. It leaves Bea confused. Who is Heather?

"Ten hours and nothing," Stiles mutters, rubbing his hand across his forehead. Bea leans against the door frame, watching the two boys with interest.

"We're gonna find something," Scott assures, much like the night before. She has found Scott to be the more optimistic one of their friend group, which is quite refreshing in this dismal town.

"Finding something doesn't make Erica any less dead or Boyd any less about-to-be dead."

Bea's eyes widen at the mention of death, pushing herself off the door frame and further into the room. "Who's dead?" she questions with eyebrows up to her hairline, drawing the boys' wide eyes to her.

"Uh, I, uh—"

"We still have time," Scott cuts in, interrupting Stiles' stammering.