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A Big Fucking Mess

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Peter Hale was sitting in the stands again, as he had done every Tuesday and Thursday after classes during practices, and Bobby Finstock was capital D Done with him.

“Get your hormone tainted eyes off my kid, Hale. You don't even want to know what freaky stuff he’s into, believe me. I didn't want to know but the kid's an over sharer and some things cannot be unseen.” Bobby knew Stiles was catnip for all these horny kids sniffing around for nubile twinks, and if he had to put the guard in ‘legal guardian’ then so be it, no one was going to touch his kid unless his kid wanted them to and used appropriate protection. And didn't do it on the lacrosse field. That was a hard rule. Lacrosse was sacred and no one, not even the coach's adopted son, was allowed to defile it. 

“Yes sir,” Peter grumbled, returning his attention to the book in his lap instead of fucking off like he should be doing. 

“Sure, ignore me, that’s real nice,” Bobby said, squinting at the teen as he stepped up a few steps in the stands for maximum looming. “Now why the hell are you hanging around school like a creeper? I don't need any extra teenage angst on my field."

"Excuse you,” it was hilarious how put out the kid was. He clearly thought he was suave and Grown Up, and the sad thing was all the kids he hung out with probably thought so too. Peter huffed, snapping the book he wasn’t really reading closed with a dramatic flourish. Bobby was second hand embarrassed just watching him.  “I'm not a teen anymore, and you couldn’t tell me what to do even when I was.”

"There's a teen in eighteen Hale, now get the hell out of here, you don't even go here anymore."

Peter sniffed. "I'm here to support my nephew. It's not a crime for family to watch practice is it? And little Derek needs lots of watching after."

Bobby  squinted at him, then squinted at the field where Derek Hale was running plays with Jackson Whittemore while the rest of the team heckled them from the sidelines. What the heck. Take his eyes off these damn kids for one second and its anarchy out there. Peter was obviously full of shit, especially since this whole stalking thing had been going on for so long that Bobby was starting to question his kid’s abilities of perception. Maybe Stiles needed glasses or something. But then again, maybe Peter had a point with this watching out thing. Derek certainly seemed to be pushing boundaries, throwing his weight around like a football player, eyes glowing an electric blue as he ducked under Jackson to score on him. Huh. Now there was an idea. 

“Hey Hale, your family’s freaky right? All you kids with your teenage angst and fangs and shit?”

Peter’s eyes went wide for a moment, his hand twitching on the book, leaving faint dents in the cover. Bobby rolled his eyes. So much drama with these kids.

“No don't give me that look, you all suck at hiding it but I don't give a shit as long as you all keep bringing in the trophies. We gotta beat Sundale and lord knows we couldn't do it with a team full of Greenburgs.” So true. Now that Peter had graduated their basketball team was a wash. Bobby completely despaired of them and had insisted that Derek switch to lacrosse for the sake of the school. There were just enough good, regular kids on the lacrosse team to give them a fighting chance if they added whatever nonsense was in the Hales to the mix. “I was just wondering if you guys know about other freaky shit.”

The boy was pale, stiff as a board but willing to lie through his teeth to keep his secret safe. Bobby always admired the kids who would lie right to his face without blinking. It was a good life skill, one he usually encouraged and rewarded when it didn't involve getting his disaster child the help he needed with all this magical crap that he was so desperately trying to hide. Hah. As if Bobby was born yesterday instead of trained and tested in the hellfire of the American Public School System to have his own almost psychic sense for when kids are up to no good.

The boy managed tolerably well, coulda fooled most of the teachers if only he had the luck of facing them instead of Bobby Finstock. 

“I don't know what you mean.” Peter’s voice didn't waver despite his little claw slip up. He paused, eyes flicking to his nephew for a moment before he forced himself to relax. Bobby checked the field too, but no one was listening in. Stiles was shooting them an amused look, probably thinking his adopted dad was giving Peter hell for creeping around. Peter noticed the attention too, and seemed to come to a decision. “More specifics would be nice, seeing as how I’m not a mind reader.”

oh HO. Ballsy. Keeping it cool and giving himself plausible deniability. Nice try but ain't nobody got time for that shit when Stiles had magical, completely uncontrolled mind powers that allowed him to blow up stuff just by sneezing. Bobby was getting tired of buying new light bulbs and pretending he didn't notice when objects started randomly hovering when Stiles zoned out. 

“Sparkles, lights blowing out, Harry Potter kind of shit. I just want to make sure its safe. He had a lot of bad dreams last week and it was a poltergeist the remix in our house every evening.”

“Stiles has been blowing up light bulbs?” Peter asked, worry all over his face. The kid might be a creep but he wanted Stiles to be happy at least. It was almost enough to make Bobby’s heart grow two sizes that day. But it was also gross and no one was ever going to be good enough for his boy no matter how cunning or possibly supernaturally protective they were.

“You got it, Hale. Now get me some info will you? And get out of here before you make Greenburg cry. The kid’s a nervous wreck with just one Hale around.”

Peter nodded, standing slowly. “I’ll look into it. Not that I have any idea what you’re talking about. You should probably keep your strange theories to yourself. People might think you’re crazy, or dangerous.”

Bobby waved him off impatiently. “Yeah yeah threats of bodily harm blah blah blah. Right back at you Mr. Pervert Eyes. We keep this between us. You should come over for dinner tomorrow night. Stiles is making lasagna and it’s better than sex. Should help keep your mind off certain other, not yet legal forms of sex.”

He clapped Peter on the shoulder, ignoring the kid’s flustered stuttering as he prowled back out onto the field to kick some slacker ass. Besides, Peter’s reaction would be nothing compared to Stiles’ horror when he hears his dad invited his long time crush over for dinner. Maybe he could convince Stiles to make a second batch of lasagna....