Stiles is changing. His humour fading, the light in his eyes turning darker with everyday, he was becoming more and more like the dark spirit they just defeated. His friends notice it. His dad notices it. Stiles knew this.
But what he didn't know...
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"Training starts now."
Stiles stood with his mouth agape, as he stared in shock at the woman in front of him. He had been called down to the training room to begin his lessons with Natasha, only to find her engaged in a rather violent sparring fight with other agents he didn't recognise. His body had frozen in awe as he watched her take down each agent one by one, without even breaking a sweat. Natasha Romanov was a force to be reckoned with.
"Stilinski." Natasha gave the teen a small wave with a soft smirk as he watched him falter out of his daze, and his cheeks go red with embarrassment. "You alright there kid?" She asked as Stiles smiled bashfully.
"Uh.. mmhmm... yeah all good." The teen coughed as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off his nerves. "So......" Stiles trailed off, looking around the training gym. "Where do we begin?" He smirked, stretching his arms behind his head confidently.
"Not so fast Stilinski." Natasha walked over to the shelves. Stiles tried to look eagerly over her shoulder at what she was retrieving. A gun, swords, bow and arrow, supercool blaster thingys that shoot lasers from his hands.
"A yoga mat?"
The redhead dropped the mat to the floor as she raised her eyebrow at the teen.
"What?" She asked teasingly. "Not what you were expecting?" Stiles eyed the mat suspiciously, expecting it to turn into some sort of awesome weapon. When it didn't he sighed looking up at his trainer in defeat.
"How is this going to teach me to fight?" Stiles provoked, frustrated. "What am I gonna do? Scare the bad guys with my inner zen powers?" He threw his arms up in frustration. "This is a waste of time." He muttered under his breath, but Natasha caught it.
"You know Stilinski." The agent began, crossing her arms over her chest. "For someone who has such a high IQ, you really can be an idiot." Stiles looked up to her with an expression of disbelief.
"Oh really?" He countered defiantly. "How?" Natasha shook her head sighing.
"Believe it or not Stilinski but we didn't call you in because of physical abilities, those still need quite a bit of work." Natasha raised her brow as Stiles opened his mouth in complaint, and then shutting it almost straight away as he realised that she was probably right.
"Your powers have a nasty habit of controlling you, instead of you controlling them." She carried on. "Before we can begin on all the other practical elements of your training, Fury decided it would be best for you to focus on control and ensure that the incident that occurred does not happen again." Natasha watched sympathetically as Stiles looked to the ground in shame.
"Look kid," she sighed, placing her hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "I know it wasn't your fault and no one blames you, but we need to work on this now rather than later. Don't you agree?"
Stiles nodded, composing himself. He looked up at the agent before him with the soft smirk that he was notorious for.
"Let's do this."
——————
Stiles rubbed his tired eyes as the pressed the button on the elevator. The soft music filling his ears made his body feel heavy and drained. He had spent the last few hours training with Agent Romanov and it had left him exhausted, however the teen felt it had helped a lot, he was even beginning to warm up to the yoga mat.
The doors of the elevator opened with a ding. The teen shuffled his heavy feet down the long corridor to the final door on the right. Pulling out the keycard from his jean pocket he held it up to the scanner, the light turned green and the comforting click of the door unlocking filled his ears like an old friend.
"Stiles?" The teen heard his dad calling from the apartment kitchen. "Is that you?" Stiles hummed lightly at the mouthwatering smell of cooking coming from the room, which he followed as if in a daze to find his father by the stove stirring a pot of wholesome goodness.
"What are you making." Stiles peered over the pot with pupils dilated. The Sheriff chuckled lightly at his son's antics, as he poured the contents of the pan into two bowls.
"Just soup." Noah smiled softly as he sat with Stiles at the table. "Nothing special." He looked down as he began to eat.
"Well it tastes amazing Dad." Stiles grinned at his father. "And it's healthy too." He winked. "Good job." The teen shrunk away with a laugh as the Sheriff threatened to attack him with his spoon.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." Stiles laughed as Noah slowly brought the spoon back down, still eyeing his son warily. "How was your day? Any news from back home?"
The atmosphere in the room dimmed instantly at the mention of the situation back in Beacon Hills. Noah looked down at the table with a grim expression, unwilling to look his son in the eye.
"Your still the number one suspect." Noah placed his spoon gently on the table. "The story has grown massively, and there's coverage in nearly twenty states. It's not looking good son." The Sheriff looked up to see Stiles stare down at his bowl with an angry expression.
"Good." Stiles muttered as Noah took a sharp intake of breath. The Sheriff swallowed the lump in his throat as a soft anger built up inside him.
"Good? What do you mean good? They are on your tail Stiles! At the rate this is going you may never be able to leave this facility. You are a wanted murderer!" Noah boomed, slamming his hand against the table. Stiles remained unmoved.
"I deserve it." The teen began, his eyes still focused on the table. "They're not wrong you know. It was me. I killed those people. I'm not innocent, so stop trying to make out like I am. I deserve to get the blame because it is my fault. I-"
"No listen to me son. Fury said-"
"Fury said shit!" Stiles shouted, standing up from the table in rage. "He thinks that I can just pretend it never happened, just train along with these agents like the good-little boy that I am. We all know that he just wants me to be his weapon. I can't just forget what happened. These people are dead! And they're not coming back. It's my fault they can't go and hug their families, grow up get married, have kids. I killed them."
Stiles huffed. His anger leaving him as he collapsed back into his chair in tears. Noah walked up to him, pulling the teen into a tight embrace as he let him sob into his chest.
"I'm sorry. I just, I just feel so guilty." Stiles cried, as Noah rubbed his back soothingly as his own eyes glistened with tears.
