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End of the Road and Back

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This was wrong.

This was very, very wrong.

But damn, did it feel right.

Stiles Stilinski had only been home from his sophomore year of University for two weeks and he was already bored. A double major in Social Work and World Mythology, he was used to a schedule that kept him running between opposite ends of campus and reading until well into the night, but Beacon Hills was an entirely different world.

He didn’t regret moving home for the summer. His dad had suffered a mild stress attack just before Stiles’ final exams, and immediately upon finishing the last of the seven, he had thrown his duffel bags into the back of his rusty blue jeep and driven the four hours back to his hometown without a single stop, pulling in just after nine o’clock. He spent the next three days corralling the man around the house, keeping him in a chair and restricting him to rest and serious health food until Melissa McCall, his best friend’s mom and nurse extraordinaire, put her foot down, assuring Stiles that his father would be fine as long as he took it easy and didn’t overtax himself at work.

Stiles had made his own demands at that point, taking a quick (and completely illegal) tour through the city’s budget before demanding that his father hire no less than two new deputies within the next month in order to insure he wasn’t spreading himself too thin. Much to his surprise the Sheriff had complied, and quickly too, coming home eight days later to inform his son that both positions had been satisfactorily filled. Placated, Stiles had spent his time sacked out on the couch playing hours and hours of video games and nomming on his hidden snack stash, but after a few days he was thoroughly through with being a slob. Showering off three days of lazy-funk, he’d dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and chucks, along with his lucky white button-up with the green plaid print before climbing into the jeep and driving over to the station to check out the new recruits.

Because after all, they were there because of his insistence.

He was essentially the whole reason they’d been hired.

This time, the trouble he was in was entirely his fault.

Because he was in trouble.

Holy, sweet hell, was he in trouble.

Slouched down low in the driver’s seat, he rested his cell phone on the steering wheel pretending to play a game of Candy Crush while surreptitiously peering through the windshield at the small group of cops gathered in front of the police station. He’d parked next to his dad’s cruiser and was just about to jump out of the jeep when they’d emerged from the building, two older men that he’d known since he was a kid and two he’d never seen before, their black uniforms and heavy utility belts giving them away as the new deputies. Stiles’ eyes had gone wide and he’d flailed down beneath the dash, popping back up almost immediately for another look.

Because, damn!

Daddy done good this time.

The first of the two was young, probably older than he looked, but sandy blonde and fresh-faced, with a perfectly bite-able lower lip. As the group paused in front of the station before splitting off to their respective cruisers he had turned away, and even from a distance Stiles had no problem checking out his ass in his fitted cargo pants. Still, if he was a nice eyeful the other was totally drool-worthy, dark-haired and a little pale with a sharp jaw covered in a heavy five o’clock shadow. He was standing with his arms folded over his broad chest, his feet widely spaced on the pavement, displaying a lovely set of biceps, and even if he looked just a little bit grim and grumpy, Stiles couldn’t stop his eyes from running over and over the man from head to toe.


His dad’s new deputies were gorgeous.

And he was totally screwed.

The thought had only just flitted through his head when the second deputy, the one with the thick, black hair that Stiles suddenly wanted to drag his fingers through, snapped his head up and looked directly into the jeep, looked directly at him as though he could hear the pounding beat of Stiles’ heart against the wall of his chest. It was all he could do not to jump, to just sit still and keep on with his lost-cause game of Crush, his muscles locked until the man’s mouth twisted in a frown and he turned away, back to the conversation. Letting out a silent huff of a breath he hadn’t know he was holding, he practically melted into his seat, his eyes going right back to his perusal of Beacon Hill’s latest rookies.

His staring was cut short when his cellphone chimed.

Yelping loudly, Stiles jerked in surprise, sending the phone bouncing off the dash and onto the floor. Swiftly retrieving it, he thumbed over the screen and scanned the text.

Stop stalking my deputies.

Scowling, Stiles deleted the message and stuffed the phone down into his pocket, squirming to get his hand into his one-size-too-small jeans. Jerking his keys from the ignition, he leapt down onto the pavement and slammed the door, jogging the three steps up to the sidewalk leading to the doors of the station.

“All right there Stiles?” one of the older detectives asked, and he felt his cheeks flush as he realized they had probably all heard his unmanly yip through his open driver’s window.

“Sure thing Detective Lapland,” he grinned, flashing a pair of thumbs up.

Moving quickly before he could be introduced, he bypassed the group and ducked through the doors into the lobby, ignoring the way the hair on his arms stood up as he slipped by the new deputies. He could feel curious eyes on his shoulders but he steadfastly ignored it, instead waving to Tara behind the desk and heading straight back to his dad’s office, catching him in the act of stuffing a package of M&M’s into his desk drawer.

“Thought I had more time,” the man grumbled, slapping the pack into Stiles waiting hand. “What with the spying and all.”

“I wasn’t spying, I was… observing,” Stiles insisted, closing the office door and taking a seat across from his dad. “Besides, you’re one to talk, creeping on the parking lot through the blinds.”

“Please.” The Sheriff rolled his eyes. “I could hear that jeep coming from a mile off. When you didn’t come in I had to start wondering if you’d gotten yourself hung up in the seatbelt again.”

“That happened one time!” Stiles moaned. “And the thing jammed; you can’t blame that on me!”

His dad chuckled, tapping a few papers together on his desk. “So Stiles,” he began with half a grin, “Why are you here again?”

Stiles squirmed in his seat. There was no way he could tell his dad that he had come to check out the new deputies now, not unless he never wanted to hear the end of it. He’d been caught red-handed checking said deputies out, and that was bad enough.

“Can’t a son take his dad to lunch? Gotta monitor your breaks and your junk food intake somehow,” he said finally, shaking the M&M’s at his dad like a maraca.


The Sheriff narrowed his eyes speculatively, made a harrumphing sort of noise as he stood and began to lock his files away into a cabinet.

“Stiles, I’ve been a Sheriff for the last ten years,” he said, moving to the window and using a finger to press a gap in the blinds. “And I raised you for the last twenty. I know your methods kid.”

Stiles scoffed, rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Are you really going to pass up lunch to make fun of me?” he whined.

“Nope,” his dad replied. “I’m gonna do both. Let me talk to Tara and radio out to the boys and we can go.”

“Cool,” Stiles answered, getting to his feet and pouring a couple confiscated M&M’s into his hand. “Meet you in the car?"

The Sheriff nodded distractedly and went back to locking away the last of his paperwork. Slipping out of the office, Stiles waved to Tara once more and stepped back out into the sunshine, popping a couple pieces of candy into the air and doing a neat little staggered jog down the sidewalk in an attempt to catch them in his mouth. Unfortunately, he hadn’t entirely outgrown his clumsy streak, and so it was understandable that crashing into a slim, toned body sent him completely askew, racing his chocolate towards the sidewalk.

Totally understandable.

Stiles had just braced himself for impact when a hand shot out and grabbed him by the elbow, ending his careening collision course with the pavement and hauling him upright again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I… shhhhiiiii….”

He cut the curse off mid-way through, drew it out trying to get away from the strong, slim fingers of the blonde haired deputy he’d been casing earlier.

“Oh god,” he groaned, scrubbing a hand down over his face. “Why my life?”

“You ok?”

Cracking his fingers, Stiles peered out between them, practically blinded by the bright, easy grin of the deputy still holding him upright.

“Yep,” he replied. “Great. Wonderful. Completely mortified, but it’s fine, I’ll just…”

“Easy there Stiles,” Officer Burns chuckled behind him. “I only just got the new deputy; I don’t need you taking him out so soon.”

“Right,” Stiles answered, his cheeks heating up again. “Sorry, again. Really.”

“That’s ok,” the deputy smiled. “No harm done. Stiles, right?”

Stiles nodded, accepting the firm handshake that was offered to him.

“Stiles is the Sheriff’s son,” Burns explained, clapping a heavy hand down on Stiles’ shoulder. “This here is Deputy Parrish.”

“Kyle,” the young man offered, and Stiles felt himself crack a grin of his own.

The older officers were sticklers about their titles, and to be honest he wasn’t really calling them by any other moniker, having grown up running around the station with hero-worship in his eyes for all the hot-shot cops his dad had worked with.

“Kyle,” he reiterated, and the blonde’s grin widened. He was cute, Stiles had to give him that, and he seemed totally willing to forgive Stiles’ earlier bulldozer impression. “So you’re one of the new deputies?”

Kyle laughed, tapped the narrow brass plate on his chest that declared his surname. “Yep. Third official day on the job.”

“Thanks for that by the way,” Burns acknowledged, bumping Stiles with his shoulder. “We’ve been trying to get some fresh blood in here for a while. Thought I was going to be stuck on traffic detail forever.”

“Oh man,” Stiles groaned, turning back to the young deputy. “They’re putting you on speed trap duty? Marsh Road?”

Kyle laughed and it made Stiles' belly feel warm and tickly. Swallowing hard he reigned himself in, telling his libido firmly that the only reason he was so interested in his dad’s new employees was because he hadn’t been laid since he broke up with his semi-serious boyfriend five months ago.


Because honesty was a thing.

“Nah,” Kyle replied, jerking Stiles back to attention. “They’re actually thinking about training me for dog patrol.”

“We’re getting a K9?” Stiles asked, suddenly excited. “That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty excited,” Kyle admitted, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “I grew up on a farm just outside of town, and we always had dogs, so…”

“No man, that’s great,” Stiles replied. “We totally have the budget to bring in a dog if dad doesn’t hire anybody else. It’s just you and the other guy right?”

Kyle opened his mouth to answer but Stiles felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, shake him gently, and this time it wasn’t Burns.

“Stiles, what did I tell you about hacking my work computer?” his father asked, making Kyle shift nervously.

“His methods may be questionable Sheriff, but his results are undeniable,” Burns spoke up. “We should have gone to him in the first place.”

“They really should have,” Stiles agreed sagely.

“Burns, don’t encourage my son’s delinquency,” The Sheriff sighed. “Or I’ll put you back in the speed trap out on Marsh.”

While the threat made the older officer go a bit green it elicited a short burst of laughter from the new deputy. Stiles’ dad cocked an eyebrow, shook his head before pushing his son away towards the jeep.

“Bye Stiles,” Kyle called, causing him to fumble his keys in surprise.

Casting a nervous little wave in the deputy’s direction, he climbed into the jeep and cranked the ignition, catching sight of his father’s silently shaking shoulders as he twisted in his seat to back out of his spot.

“Always nice to have you back son,” the traitor choked.

“Shut up,” Stiles muttered.