Yin To His Yang | Sterek

Call Me S

Derek checks his watch, sees that it is getting close to three, and apprehends that the days are just passing right by him. He sends a quick text to his mother, asking if she will be able to pick up the twins from school. He gets a sassy message back saying she already planned spending the day with them. Derek clears his throat, brushes his shirt for any lint, and seizes his shoulders straight. He stares down the huge brick building and inwardly growls at the imitation it gives.

Derek growls again yet this time it is heard from people bypassing him. He almost has the nerve to release his teeth at the staring glances, but figures out of the places, this wouldn't be the right one. He brushes his feet up the stone stairs, yanking the stain glass door open on his way, and tries to put a smile on his face. That's out of the question when he feels his eyebrows pinch together, and the strain downward weight from his lips. The lady at the front desk turns to him with a bewildered look before she sends him a tired smile. “I was told that I had a package here?” Derek silently curses himself at the dirty notion that could go with that statement and curse Isaac for corrupting him.

Earlier today, Derek got a call during his lunch break that he had a package at the Sheriff station. As if his nerves were not shot enough from his daily life at his job, but now they're are wired at the weirdness of picking up mail at the police station. Why couldn’t it be at a normal place, like the post office? You know where people usually pick up mail. But no, he is now standing in front of this poor woman with a cridge expression on his face, and a life long bad impression. The person on the phone didn’t give him many details of why it is at the station or who sent it in the first place, but all of this just seems fishy to Derek. He doesn’t like fish. The taste is rotten and the smell is even worse.

The dark skin lady beams a smile at him, turns around, and starts to ruffle around at the boxes behind her. Derek takes a moment to prop his elbows on the high lifted desk and bury his face into his palms. He groans as it eases some pressure off his back. Work is rough everyday, but it’s a career he loves to do. Over the years, he gotten use to it. Werewolf stamina and all. But he can feel the strains his body tells him more that his baby has taken hostage. Who would have thought something about this size of apple could impact his body so abundantly.

In pre med, Derek went through his training like a pro. He followed every order he was given, gave great suggestions, and even though he is a little introvert, he got along with the other residents. After getting a job at Beacon Hills Memorial, Derek has got himself a routine over the years. But these days it seems he has to take a moment to breathe, sit down to relieve pain, and to avoid gagging the scent of blood; something he hasn’t done since training.

Derek flinches when a hand closes around his forearm, and looks up at the desk lady to see her looking at him with her own pinched eyebrows. It takes a moment but Derek realizes that the commotion of the station seemed to go dead silence. Derek furrows his eyebrows, and purses his lips as he takes a scan of the station. His eyebrows rise when he notices several deputies and civilians blankly staring at him; not even trying to hide it. Derek tries not to let his nerves get the best of him as he straightens up and turns his attention back to the desk lady. She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it and hands him a median size box that Derek didn’t realizes she been holding. After she does that, the chaos of the station starts back up.

“You should sit.” Derek takes her up on her suggestion and takes a seat on the bench in front of the Sheriff Office. Derek shakes off the stares and searches for sender on the box in which his luck comes up short. Derek flicks out his claws without thinking, again ignores the rude staring, and rips the stupid tape off. The first thing he sees when he flicks the flaps away is a piece of paper with scribbles of words written on it.

Derek Hale, this might be confusing to you but please restrain from killing off any of my deputies with ‘The Glare’.

“I do not have a death glare.” Derek mumbles. ‘Wait. My deputies…’ Derek whips his head behind him only to see the Sheriff looking at him and when he notices Derek looking, he nods at him with a smile. Derek nods back and goes back to continue his reading.