"Peter Hale." He mused. "Wanted for 'trespassing the bounds of magic not allotted' to him. Hm. That's a bit vague. This whole overview is vague."
It was only a few hours until his flight departed for Beacon Hills, California, and he was not excited. His family had been really busy the last few months for some supernatural reason that boggled all of them. As one of the top members of his 'crime' family's syndicate, Stiles has been worked especially hard. As a bit of a reprieve, his next assignment was a judgement. Those types of assignments were given only to the trusted, main branch family. Stiles never turned his nose up at them, especially not now when he was ready to drop from exhaustion. Or so he thought.
"Dad!" He called from his room.
The forms were laid out on his desk by the time John made it across the house.
"What's the problem?"
He ignores the irritated inflection in his father's tone and swivels around in his chair to the papers.
After ruffling them for emphasis, he prompts,"What's up with this assignment?"
John blinks slowly before taking off his glasses,"Hale?"
Stiles nods,"Yeah. It's pretty vague compared to other judgements, and I've been given maximum clearance for this. I don't like it."
"Kid, your grandpa's been workin' you to the bone. Maybe he wanted to let you have a little fun? You are almost a legal adult and haven't had the luxury of normal."
He snorts,"Dad. Really? I'm a trained killer who's proficient in the use of magic. Rarely was I or am I viewed as a child. You expect me to think my leash is being loosened because I've been working hard? Is this some sort of test?"
John frowns,"Stiles, your grandfather still cares about you. And.." He innocently starts to clean the lenses of his glasses with his shirt, "I may have had a small chat with him before your last assignment. Good job, by the way."
Stiles swivels distractedly,"Seriously Dad, what kind of cloak is over this job? I don't need a vacation; I'm fine. I'm not the only person working hard here." He says the last part pointedly.
A sigh comes from his dad as he pushes off the door frame and goes to sit on his son's bed. His dark circles aren't as bad as usual so that's good. The extra jobs he's picked up were more of a trade off thing for him. At least, he'd made that very clear to HQ when he accepted them. It was well known in the family business that you don't fuck with Mieczylaw or screw him over. Being a family will only help you so much. His dad wouldn't do anything to purposefully give him a sour gig. Stiles sends his dad another pointed look, but he just shrugs.
"God, alright. Do you understand how suspicious this is? Also, 'track telluric currents' is one of my objectives? This is very short notice."
"For someone who says they want to work, you sure are complaining a lot." John laughs.
He bites back a retort,"Yeah, whatever. Love you, too."
The bed creaks as his dad gets up to leave. Much to his displeasure, John musses his hair up on the way out. He sulks all the way to California.
Stiles hated not having proper time to prepare. If HQ had time to rent him a house, get him a bank account, and enroll him in school, then they should be able to give him more than a day to relax from his last mission before sending him on another one. He hadn't even unpacked yet before he got the 'urgent' assignment. However, it was a decent flight. It isn't often they put him in first class. This must be just as shitty of a job as he thought. In the US they have an agent in every few states to keep an eye on activity. Anka is the one for the west coast. For convenience in the states though, she goes by Angela. Her cover is being the owner of a coffee shop, and the rare times he gets to visit her are a treat. She's waiting to greet him at the terminal. The moment he sees her he wants to strangle her.
Stiles stomps over with a playful scowl,"You didn't tell me you cut your hair."
She smiles and bumps their shoulders together before leading them out of the airport silently. He wasn't really mad anyways; short hair suited her, too.
"So," He started,"How's the coffee business been? Nice car, by the way."
He'd always been a fan of Jeeps- good for an unconventional getaway. This one's a little battered but seems well loved.
"Thanks. I opened another shop while you've been busy kicking ass. It's here in Los Angeles."
Stiles hums,"Good location for intelligence."
"The illusion of paradise." She muses.
"The best kind." He mumbles.
It takes them a few minutes to get out of the traffic, but once they're out of town it's easier to talk.
"Anything you could tell me about this job?"
Anka's face smooths out as she focuses,"Brief me."
He falls into step with her easily,"Judgement: Peter Hale; Trespassing magical bounds without authority. Telluric current tracking. Possible threats. The file was suspiciously undetailed."
She huffs,"Those stupid cipy. Are they trying to get their agents hurt?"
Stiles lets out a low whistles at the slip of polish and anger. Those who don't know Anka wouldn't think she had such a dirty mouth.
"What is it?"
Like the good intelligence officer she is, Anka reels herself back in and sets her eyes on the road.
"The Hales were once one of the largest United States Werewolf packs before they were unjustly slaughtered by a rogue hunter some odd years back. Most of them anyway. To this day there are three still alive, and they're from the immediate family. Peter, Derek, and Cora Hale. The female is nomadic and travels without her pack but still has ties. The current alpha is Derek Hale, her brother. Their uncle is Peter Hale, brother of the former alpha. He was catatonic in a nursing home for years after the destruction of his pack. The facts are blurred after that. Out of simple diplomatic courtesy we have not lurked around them for more information; however, I do know that the pack has been expanded. Their number isn't large, but you know how werewolf packs are."
Like it knows it's being talked about, the scars across his back throb.
"I'll watch my back." He says cheekily.
"Hey." Anka growls. "You're the best we've got Stiles, and I care what happens to you. Werewolves are protective of their own."
He hates being serious with Anka, but she's not going to let it go.
"I'll do my job and stay safe, Anka."
She 'tsk's at him, but there's not as much strain in her hands anymore. Stiles turns the radio up to ease the atmosphere.
At home in Poland he lives in the countryside with his dad. They stay in a luxurious cabin that his dad commissioned before he was born. Stiles isn't much of a cabin person, so he puts up a passive aggressive protest by placing runes everywhere. Most of them are just for protection, but John thinks they're all booby trapped. He isn't completely wrong, though. The most one will do is give him a little shock. Honestly, his old man is just dramatic. So it's surprising that he didn't try to pull one over on him and make him live in a cabin during his stay. Anka pulls up outside what looks like a small family home.
"Why am I staying here? That looks like a three bedroom house."
She gives you a confused look,"Is your dad not coming with you?"
"No. He's staying in Poland for work. God, is HQ trying to make this harder for me? What kind of shitty cover am I supposed to have for this? No highschooler moves abroad and lives in a three-bedroom house by himself." He runs his hands through his hair.
"I don't know what to tell you. I was just picking you up." She turns the car off and tosses him the keys. "Ask your dad. Car's yours."
She hopped out of the car and started walking. If there was one thing he didn't like about Anko it was her abrupt exits. She had the record of an experienced field agent at her late thirties. It was normal for her to be twitchy. Heck, Stiles had it, too. He watched her go until she stepped into a taxi waiting for her down the road and left.
He was set to attend at least one full semester at Beacon Hills High School. It was a lengthy stay he was sure would grate on his nerves. He was always moving. With that, he grumpily grabbed all his bags and hauled them to the house. He was confused for a moment at the door until he found the house key on his car's key ring. The air in the house was stale with old energy. It washed over him unpleasantly as he strode in. A dull buzzing around his body made him stop. Runes were a big hobby of his, so he knew the feel of one when it was around. It made him uneasy, but he could tell it wasn't a powerful one. With his magic ready to be called on in a moments notice, he left his things and searched for the rune. Caution was always important when dealing with unfamiliar magic no matter what; it took him a few minutes longer than usual to find it. Upstairs, in one of the bedrooms, there was a very small ward in the window frame. Stiles frowned and dropped his magic. It was just a sealing rune. He unlocked the window but even after trying a few times with all his strength, it still wouldn't open. The small symbol was basic with a crest in the center. A triskele. How ambiguous.
"Thought as much."
With a huff of disappointment, he left the room. He would need to put down some runes of his own. It was risky to mess with others' when you don't know their origin, but there was time. He had a week to kill before school started for him. No pun intended.
Hiding from werewolves, Stiles found, would be incredibly annoying. At night was the easiest time to skulk around and find out about the telluric currents, but of course it was the week of the full moon. He'd have to make himself virtually scentless to get anything done. Beacon Hills was a medium sized town. He couldn't walk everywhere to get information, and Roscoe- as he'd taken to calling his darling jeep- wasn't subtle. Bless her heart. With no other options he could logically choose, he relaxed. John said he could have fun, right? Wrong. Werewolves had amazing, adept senses. Stiles' was particularly strong, so he couldn't even play with it here. 'Maximum clearance' his ass. This Judgement assignment was just too complex for anyone else, so it was pawned off on him. The first few days led him to doing frustrated meditating and yoga. After that he was ready to go stir crazy. The house was spotless, and his dad had promised to ship all of his favorite weapons to Anka sometime soon for pickup. He tried to argue that he was virtually defenseless, but his dad laughed him off. Apparently he was never defenseless. With mass amounts of irritation, he hastily googled for a jogging trail and could've cried when he found one just outside town. He was out the door in under five minutes.
The Beacon Hills Preserve was pulsating. Stiles has been very few places that have given him such a buzz- led alone with enough time to admire it. Out of everyone he knows he would easily consider himself the most in-tune with magic. Yet another piece of the puzzle falls into place. The jogging trail circles the preserve, and the whole afternoon passes before he knows it. He's covered in sweat and all of his muscles burn pleasantly when he finally decides to do a cool-down lap. The sun is beginning to move from its peak and toss shadows a bit more forcefully across the trail. The telluric currents out here were the strongest he's ever been around. It made it increasingly hard to keep a tap on his magic when it was humming just beneath his skin, aching to trek into the preserve. At the end of his little trip he'd only seen two other joggers who quit long before he did. Halfway through his last lap, he sensed a few presences. They were gathered at the beginning of the trail where the cars are parked. Because he was trained as a pro, this didn't make him falter or hesitate in his steps. After all, magic best senses other magic. It would be good to see what kind of werewolf pack he was dealing with.
Roscoe came into sight after about twenty minutes of jogging. There was a nice car parked on the other side of the lot with a gaggle of..teenagers(?)..beside it. Stiles drops into a walk as he goes to his car. Once he gets there he makes sure to stay with his back to the pack while he fishes out a hand towel and a bottle of water from the passenger side. While he's wiping down his sweaty body, he uses a small amount of his magic to scan over the others. He can tell the wolves aren't focused on him very much, but he still slightly worries about the uptick his heart just did. There are two alphas. Nobody said anything about there being two alphas. As casually as he can, while he's wiping down his neck, he brushes his ear and mouths roboro. It's his go-to Latin word when he wants to enhance one of his senses. His hearing sharpens seamlessly. It takes a second to focus, but then he's listening carefully and continuing to wipe himself down.
"-looks like a teenager, smells like a teenager-"
"No, he doesn't."
"Wait! How do you smell like a teenager?"
"Scott, leave this conversation to the adults, please."
He can hear the pattern of nails clinking on the metal of the car. Human nails.
"I'm the only adult here."
The feminine clearing of a throat reaches him,"If that's so, then you're a bit of a creep for eyeing up the teenager across the lot."
"But how can you t-"
"Derek, there is no way in hell you can stoically play this off."
"Hey, maybe he's into older guys."
"I'm not that much older than any of you."
"I can go ask for you, then? Yes? Okay."
Okay, so maybe he wasn't entirely correct in his assumption of him not being on their radar. Deciding it would look weird to keep toweling off, he tosses it on the car and gulps down some water. None of them are the man he's looking for. Stiles is going to fairly assume than neither of the two unnamed people are Peter Hale, considering one is female and the other is a different race and far too young. With ample disappointment, he mouths quiescat to get rid of his earlier spell. He calmly sets his things inside the car before turning it on and pulling out of the lot. He does not look back to see a girl with wild blonde hair standing in the middle of the lot looking at her feet with confusion.
These are just google translated:
Cipy- Polish for 'cunts'.
Roboro- Latin for 'strengthen' or 'enhance'.
Quiescat- Latin for 'stop'.