After dodging werewolves and Hunters for much of his high school career, and briefly being a dragon in college (he doesn't like to talk about it), Stiles's tenure as a SHIELD intern is satisfactorily anticlimactic.
For a while anyway.
Weapons cages, paperwork, coffee runs. Research.
Alas, the good things never last in Stiles's life. Eventually he does get noticed, because despite the lack of formal training (unlike most of his recruitment class) he is a veteran of a war that is much closer to the one that the Directorate fights than any other. Not a whole lot rattles Stiles much anymore.
He doesn't grok the importance of that at first. But it gets noticed when he's doesn't stop telling a ridiculous joke when a winged, sword-wielding centaur hooves it through the door, chased by a hurried looking maintenance crew.
When asked later he shrugs and says that tripping the horse-dude seemed like the thing to do at the time.
Stiles is also unique in being utterly disinterested in being transferred into the support echelon of the Avengers' Initiative. He's done his time as the cheerleader for the not-quite-ubermenschen, he's good. He does trade in a few favors (the currency that runs the SHIELD, much as is the case with any bureaucracy), to get one of Hawkeye's bows for Allie and Rogers' autograph for Dad.
That's as close as he wants to get to the whole thing, really.
Which, of course, makes the eventual call into Coulson's office pretty much inevitable.
The Luck of the Stilinkis. If it weren't for bad, they'd have none at all.
"They call me their babysitter. Which is insulting to pretty much everyone, on every level." Coulson walked purposefully with a long stride of a man perpetually out of time, negotiating the maze of corridors with the unerring familiarity, not bothering to see if Stiles was keeping up. "More importantly - it shows total misunderstanding of the situation."
"We are not here-- don't wince, you are 'we' provisionally. Chin up, you may not last a day. Wouldn't be the first time. We are not here to babysit them. Individually every one of them is at least twice as smart as you. Collectively they are plain dangerous. Sometimes crazy as a box of ferrets, especially if there hasn't been a mission for a while."
Coulson's face tightened a little. "Last time they felt restless Stark had Banner help him redesign the training program. The Avengers felt that SHIELD was being unrealistically soft in its conditioning demands on its personnel, thus putting both said personnel and the Avengers at risk, during the real-life situations that both were expected to tackle together."
Stiles nodded, jerkily. That particular story had passed into the institutional hushed-whisper mythology with record speed.
"Those two moro-- most highly regarded scientific minds of the century solicited tactical advice from those on the team with combat experience and used Thor as the template for the threat matrix."
The popularity of the training regimen had actually skyrocketed, from what Stiles had gleaned in the stats. Rigby Fallon totally geeked out at him. Said it made Mass Effect look like Doom. Went on for hours about the hard-light holograms.
... well, it felt like hours anyway.
"We are still dealing with the short-staffing issue," Coulson grated. "And the DOD is not entirely satisfied with the deeply invasive forensic accounting inspection they launched. I believe the quote from the report remarked that it 'strains credulity to ascribe this sudden jump in medical expenses to a glorified video game'."
Coulson stopped suddenly and cocked his head at Stiles. "Remember this for future reference. This is important."
"Director Fury truly dislikes being accused of embezzling governmental funds for black bag operations. Especially when he is innocent."
Rigby had also said that under the face of a retarded poodle Hawkeye had a pretty decent ear for dialogue and plotting. And Widow reminded him of a GM that ran his DnD game in high school.
"Lasted three years," Fallon said dreamily. "I was an alcoholic elf-thief with a penchant for humping unwilling livestock. Chaotic good was never this disturbing, man! The work I put into the character development of that guy. Man - he was a thing of beauty. We fought through 3 continents and besieged the fucking Citadel of Evil! Good times."
Stiles knew a punch line work-up when he was being fed one and had just raised an inquiring eyebrow. Rigby, denied satisfaction, sniffed and finished the story abruptly with "Rocks fall, everyone dies."
Stiles had nodded understandingly which had only pissed off Fallon more. "You still don't get it, dude! It was a fucking abattoir in there. She created 13 levels worth of kamikaze missions and genocide! Apparently Ms. Commie took writing lessons from fucking GRRM or something. She doesn't believe in win scenarios! Winter is not coming - it fucking lived in that game and made us its bitch! And then it made ugly winter-babies and armed them with bio-weapons!"
He'd paused, briefly out of breath, grasped Stiles by both shoulders, stared him directly in the eyes and sighed longingly. "I'm gonna marry that woman one day..."
Then there was a discreet cough from behind the shelves and the Captain walked past them, determinedly engrossed in an upside down manual for installing a Samsung 46-incher.
Rigby'd remembered that he had urgently needed to be away at that point, for some reason.
"The moral being," Coulsin said primly "Mr. Stilinski, is that you need to rapidly divest yourself of the camaraderie-building bullshit notions you may have picked up. You are not here to protect the exotic yet charmingly dysfunctional Avengers from the big bad world. You are here to protect the big bad world from them. To the extent possible."