Burn It Down || Stilinski || Book One

Eighteen

AFTER STILES HAD SAT IN HIS JEEP FOR TWENTY MINUTES, CONTEMPLATING EVERYTHING HE HAD EVER KNOWN, HE CONVINCED HIMSELF TO GO INSIDE HIS HOUSE.

Stopping by the kitchen, Stiles grabbed the quart of milk and took a big swig to help clear his head. He started to head towards his room but stopped at the sight of his father at the kitchen table, random files and papers surrounding him.

"What're you doing?" Stiles asked curiously.

Noah didn't look up from the folder he was reading, and his eyes stayed squinted in concentration through his reading glasses. "Work," he answered, knowing his son wanted to get involved with his cases. He flipped a page while Stiles eagerly questioned if there was anything he could do to help.

"If you would pour me an ounce of whiskey, that'd be awfully nice," the overworked sheriff stated in exhaustion.

Stiles quickly grabbed the whiskey and a glass before joining Noah at the dinner table.

"Any leads?" Stiles leaned forward to read a paper and flinched when his father smacked his hand.

Noah shook the pen he was holding in front of his son's face. "You know I can't discuss that with you."

Stiles obliged and poured too much whiskey into the small glass instead. Maybe if he could get his dad slightly tipsy, he would reveal something to him.

Stiles set it in front of Noah and watched as he downed it in one gulp. Normally he would drink it slowly, but he was swamped with all the animal attack paperwork and the murders.

The alcohol affected Noah immediately as he accidentally made a pun about Derek Hale. He wanted to catch the accused fugitive but was baffled on why they couldn't get an accurate picture of him.

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

The station should have had a mug-shot from when Derek was arrested for his sister's murder. Noah held up the photo from the station and explained that every time they snapped the shot, it was like two lasers attacked the camera.

The sheriff took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "That ounce hit me like a ton of bricks," he exclaimed. "And if you tell anyone I—"

"Dad," Stiles interrupted, slightly offended that his father would think he would divulge official police business.

Sierra didn't count, though, right?

Noah raised his eyebrows; he wasn't stupid and knew he'd eventually blab to the girl next door. Trying to avoid thinking of that, he stated that all this work he had out was connected. He just didn't know how.

Stiles searched through the papers, listening as his father said that the bus driver that was killed was the insurance investigator for the Hale House fire.

"Termination under suspicion of fraud," Stiles read off what his father was going through.

"Exactly," the sheriff grumbled. "Then the video store clerk who got his throat slashed was a convicted felon and had a history of arson."

Stiles grew to learn that the two guys killed in the woods, the same ones that threatened him and Scott when he was drunk, had records of arson, too. Everything connected to the Hale House fire.

The teenager then held up the bottle of whiskey, suggesting another shot for his father.

Noah initially said no, but Stiles convinced him by talking about how hard he worked. "I'm going to have such a hangover," he laughed, and Stiles grinned.