• "I want to be selfish, just this once. I want to have this. I want to have you." •
• "You already have me." •
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Leaving Beacon Hills and heading to New York for spring break, Mieczyslaw 'Stiles' Stilinksi set out on a path of greatness. Or wh...
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Dusk came fast in Beacon Hills. The trees blew in the heated summer breeze and the old houses began to whine, stifle and still. Stiles hopped down his front steps and skipped over to his Jeep. The door emitting a low creek as it swung open. Starting the car, it ignited almost immediately with a withering roar, one that indicated that it had seen better days. Stiles cringed as the sound hit his ears. Wincing internally, he clamped his eyes shut for a brief moment.
"One day, baby. One day I'll have enough money to fix you." He said as he gingerly stroked the steering wheel. "I know mom would have like that."
The golden afternoon sun's rays glittered off of the hood of the rusting jeep as it screeched to a stop outside of Deaton's clinic. Stiles sighed as he slid out of the car. His worn shoes hitting the concrete with a resounding thud that echoed slightly in the empty parking lot. He inspected the front of the building. The blinds were drawn to a close, the little sign on the door flipped to display the word 'closed', written in bright red. Stiles made his way towards the glass entrance, the polished metal of the handle cold to the touch as he tugged it open before he made his way inside.
"Deaton?" He questioned, as he closed the door behind him, making sure to click the lock with his fingers. "Hello?" He tried again, his hand reaching for the closed gate of the receptionist desk.
"In here, Stiles." Deaton called out as he peered out from around the corner of his office. "Come in." He motioned to the boy to follow him as he retreated around the corner once more. "Close the gate behind you."
Stiles followed hastily, the bounce in his step grew more prominent with each bound he took towards Deaton's office. His anxiety peeked out just under his skin.
Once inside the office, Deaton gestured to an empty seat. "Wait, right here a moment. I have something for you."
"Okay?" Stiles peered around the enclosed space. This was the first time he had ever been in Deaton's office. He had to admit that he had never really given much thought to the contents of doctor's study. Then again he had never really given any thought to Deaton, in general. He felt almost ashamed that he had so easily passed over the man with such disinterest. Deaton had helped them out numerous times and Stiles still didn't know much about him. Deaton's office looked, pretty much how Stiles would have imagined it. Small, homey, with chipped mahogany furniture. The blinds were drawn to an almost close, the last rays of the descending sun peeking out through the gaps.
The door once again pushed open with a resounding creak and in came Deaton, hidden behind an unusually large trunk. "Here." He said as he placed the chest on his stained desk. Deaton cleared the dust from the lid with a swift swipe of his hand. "Open it."
"Deaton-" Stiles started, only to be cut off by the older man.
"Open it." He urged. "Open it and you'll find that you understand more than you may realise."
