Parrish was sitting at the front desk of the station, his blank green eyes staring at the pale wall across from him.

Sheriff Stilinski had been keeping him at arm's length since Deputy Haigh tried to burn him alive and Parrish somehow returned naked and unscathed. It would have been a different story if we had any idea what he was, but we didn't. Parrish had been scouring our bestiary for months with Lydia, both of them trying to find something even mildly related to the symptoms he exhibited, but came up empty.

That meant for the foreseeable future, the most adventurous thing Parrish was going to get to do was to give out speeding tickets and handle noise complaints.

When we enter the lobby, Parrish perks up at the sound of other life forms. He must be ecstatic to have a source of entertainment other than the walls that kept him caged in. 

"Hey, Parrish. My dad still here?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah, you guys can go right in. He's in his office," Parrish says politely, his gentle demeanor and soft voice always betraying a muscular physique that made him appear intimidating at first glance.

His eyes pass Scott and Stiles, taking notice of me as I stand behind them.

"Unless you have any weapons," he adds with a teasing grin.

I laugh, finding myself growing fond of the deputy with each new interaction I had with him.

I wouldn't say that Parrish looked down on me before, he simply saw me as some random teenager that was friends with the son of his boss. He didn't understand the supernatural world when he first came here, and the two of us rarely spoke during the time of the Dead Pool, but after that night in La Iglesia, it was as if his view of me had changed. The way he spoke to me was different, too, as if talking to a friend or colleague rather than a civilian or subordinate.

Seeing me with a machine gun facing off with a Berserker would probably have that effect on anyone.

"I'm unarmed, deputy." I hold my hands up to him mockingly, showing him the truth of my words as the boys and I begin to walk away from him.

His eyebrows meet his hairline. "You know that doesn't make you seem harmless, right?" 

The two of us share one final smile before Stiles, Scott, and I focus on heading toward the sheriff's office, passing the rows of officer desks and shuffling deputies. We could already see him through the windows of the room, his blinds pulled open.

Stilinski has his back to the door as he works through his shortly-styled hair, aiming it all in one direction. He pauses when he catches sight of us standing in the doorway behind him in the small mirror he had in his hand.

He turns, allowing us to see his cleaned-up and semi-formal attire. A plaid shirt underneath a firmly pressed blazer with his slacks ironed to perfection. It felt so odd to be seeing him out of his uniform or his usual casual clothes.

"I'm sorry, we were looking for Sheriff Stilinski, not a male model." I grin, jokingly looking around in search of the man before us.

He chuckles, bowing his head to hide his flattered smile.

"Not too much?" He holds his blazer open slightly so we can take in the full scope of his appearance. Scott and I shake our heads, nothing but encouragement directed toward him. Stiles, on the other hand, was as helpful as ever.

"Too much? More like not enough. Where are the shoulder pads I got you?" he questions hotly, marching over to Stilinski to begin patting his arms in search of the mentioned addition to his wardrobe.

The sheriff slaps away Stiles' hands, his smile fading into a grimace of sorts that was almost always his default expression when in the presence of his son and his pushy attitude.

"Stiles, I'm not a secretary from the nineties. I'm not wearing those things."

"Are you sure?" Stiles frowns expectantly, as if his father would change his mind at the sight of his saddened appearance.

"Positive," Stilinski replies swiftly, turning his back on Stiles. The lanky boy clicks his tongue under his breath at his own failed attempt at having his father dress in his vision. He doesn't press though, standing patiently as the sheriff turns to us with his tie options in either hand.

"Which one?"

He shifts each strip of fabric beside his collar, allowing us to picture in our minds what his complete ensemble would turn out to be.

One was the usual black tie he would wear with his uniform on occasion. It would blend in perfectly fine with his current clothes, while the other was bright blue, and far too stark against the neutral tones he had chosen for tonight.

"Black," the three of us all chime in at the same time.

We'd had to listen to Lydia rant about color theory when it comes to fashion more than enough times to get the right answer, and I couldn't speak for the boys, but a little strawberry blonde angel was on my shoulder guiding me in the correct direction of the sheriff's question. He seems satisfied and makes quick work of slinging the chosen tie around his neck, tightening the loop to the base of his collar. When he's done he grabs his discarded mirror, taking in his final form for his date.

The three of us grin at him appreciatively but it doesn't do anything to prevent the sudden wave of anxiety that washes over Stilinski.

"I should've got a haircut," he complains, running his hands through his hair once again which results in no difference at all.

"Well, you know, someone your age should be happy you still have hair to cut," Stiles offers that bit of unhelpful information with a smirk.

The sheriff stills as he stares at his son, probably wondering if it would be moral for him to lock him away in one of the holding cells in the other room. Scott senses the tension and takes a step forward.

"I think you look great," he beams supportively.

Stilinski's smile returns to him graciously as he looks at his son's best friend.

"Well, thank you, son I should have had."

I bite my cheek to suppress a wide grin at Stiles' reaction, his entire face dropping into shock at his father's coy words.

"That's gotta sting," I mutter.

Stiles doesn't say anything to me in response but does reach behind himself, slapping blindly to hit my upper arm. I roll my eyes as I catch his hand before he's able to pull away, keeping it pinned behind his back. He struggles to pull it out of my grip, pausing when he realizes his mistake.

"Bad idea on my part," he mumbles more to himself than any of us, though, I do nod in agreement.

Scott's entertained, but the sheriff allows our small distraction from him to be a gateway for more of his nerves to settle. He begins to undo his tie with a cringe.

"Oh, what the hell am I doing? This is a terrible idea."

Stiles acts quickly, reaching out with his free hand to smack his father's hands away before he removes his tie completely. I let go of his other hand, allowing him to move forward and redo what his father had undone. I understand now why Stiles had been so adamant about showing up as soon as possible. It was to keep his father from backing out.

"You look like a stud, sheriff. Don't worry," I offered him those words with a tender smile, not wanting him to miss out on this date either. He did so much for us, the least we could do was ease his mind on one measly date.

"Exactly," Stiles agrees. "It's one date. The town of Beacon Hills won't implode while you're out with one woman... or man?" 

Stilinski rolls his eyes affectionately.

"It's a woman, Stiles."

"Okay," his son hums, the high-pitched tone leaving it up for interpretation whether or not he actually believed his father.

"A very beautiful woman," Stilinski mentions in addition, his eyes practically sparkling at the thought of his date.

Stiles studies his father with his usual calculating gaze, interest written all over his face. He was doing his best to suppress his naturally inquisitive nature, but Stilinski's reaction was probably the tipping point for him as he desperately seeks an answer to who his father would be meeting with tonight.

"I wanna know." Stiles narrows his eyes.

"So do I," I added in truthfully, finding the sheriff's dodgy behavior intriguing. Also, it wouldn't hurt to vet the lovely lady he would be spending his time with. We certainly didn't want another Dark Druid on our hands.

"No," Stilinski states straightforwardly.

That frank objection makes Stiles and I turn to each other.

"Follow him?" I ask him. The two of us only look at each other as we ignore the sheriff and wolf beside us, especially since they were watching us with disappointment as I indulge in Stiles' mischief.

"I've got my binoculars in the Jeep," Stiles replies.

I give him a satisfied tilt of my head as we come up with a plan I was only half-sure was a joke. The sheriff wears his famed stern scowl at our words but it cracks after a second, and he lets out a light laugh despite himself, Scott soon following. Stiles relaxes at the sound, probably feeling much better now that his father didn't seem so on edge.

Any sense of humor is abruptly drained from the four of us as a violent voice cries out from someone in the station.

"Stilinski! Stilinski!"

Our attention shifts to the glass windows that overlook the rest of the building's interior, finding the culprit of the vicious outcry. It's a young man, not much older than Scott, Stiles, and I by the looks of it. He's being held back by Parrish and another familiar deputy, a short, dark-haired woman. There's another man with them, but I can tell by his neatly pressed suit, the stack of files in his hands, and the dark circles under his eyes, that he's most definitely a lawyer.

Stilinski leaves his office to face the young man whose deeply brown iris' are almost black. They track his every move, and it sends a chill down my spine when he resembles a shark in open water hunting prey rather than a person in cuffs. All of us trail behind him, curious as to what warranted such an outburst.

"I'm going to kill you," the young man grits out.

My body tenses, shifting to a far more guarded stance at the open threat. Scott does the same. Stiles merely observes, unimpressed. The sheriff isn't fazed either, only sighs before placing his hands on his hips like a lecturing father.

"Donovan, if you think that shocks me, remember it was well-documented in your Anger Expression Inventory."

His voice dripped with bored familiarity, and I could only imagine that meant Donovan had put on this little show more than once. The sheriff had his fair share of repeat offenders come and go through the doors of the station, so I wouldn't be surprised to discover Donovan was one of them too.

"Deputies, escort the prisoner out," Stilinski commands calmly.

The woman and Parrish move to follow the order, gripping Donovan and attempting to tug him away. He doesn't allow them to, fighting to stay in place. The thin space of the door lets him, as he stands in the middle of it and the deputies on either side of him are blocked from grabbing him completely. That small bit of freedom fuels his ego far too much.

"I'm not angry like I'm gonna throw a brick through your window. I'm angry like I'm going to find you, I'm going to get a knife and I'm going to stab you with it until you're dead. And when you look at me and you ask me why, remember right now. Because this is why."

Dead silence fills the space around us after Donovan finishes spewing his hateful rant.

Parrish clenches his jaw as he stares at the prisoner, as does the female deputy. It's obvious they're both trying not to lose their temper as they listen to Donovan threaten a man we all respect with such vile ferocity. His lawyer only sighs as his client has just made his job a million times harder.

My own hand twitches at my side, as if my knuckles were begging me to let them greet Donovan's face. I resist the urge, glancing at Scott in hopes of stealing some of his calmness.

He watches Donovan with a tilted head, the telltale sign of a werewolf using their abilities.

"He's not lying, is he?" I whisper.

Scott shakes his head slowly, taking a protective step closer to his best friend's father. I mirror the action swiftly, both of us flanking the sheriff's side as we openly leer at Donovan. But we become the least of his worries as Stiles uses the greatest weapon at his disposal against the guy that just threatened his father: his sarcasm.

"Wow, that was awesome. That was great," Stiles ignores the hateful scowling he gets in response as he speaks directly to Donovan.

"Can we do one more? Give us another one, maybe like Christopher Walken this time?"

It's amusing on some level, but the more rational part of my mind knows Stiles would only get so far on his wit. If the hold the deputies had on Donovan slipped even the slightest bit and allowed him to attack, we would have a huge problem.

"Stiles," I say his name warningly under my breath. He doesn't listen, waving me off as he continues to exist without a filter.

"You know what? It's fine. You'll have plenty of time to work on it when you're in your tiny, little cell, you know. Just stuck there, forever."

When Stiles finishes the room has grown even thicker with tension, almost making it impossible to breathe. Donovan's uncharacteristic laugh shatters that and instead makes the space feel cold. Almost sinister.

He lunges in Stiles' direction, everyone shifting to a defensive position as a result.

I shove Stiles behind me protectively while Scott grips the sheriff's shoulder, ready to do the same to him if Donovan got close enough. He doesn't, not as Parrish and the female deputy slam him back, using his thrown-off momentum to regain a proper hold on him and his restraints, saving him from adding another decade to his sentence.

"Get him out of here!" Stilinski demands in a frustrated huff, his calm demeanor long abandoned. He could handle Donovan threatening him, but not Stiles.

The deputies yank Donovan into the lobby, allowing him to struggle pathetically against his cuffs as they drag him outside, his lawyer trailing behind his client who seemed like a rabid dog on a fraying leash.

"What the hell's an Anger Expression Inventory?" Scott inquires quietly.

"It's a test you take when you're applying to become a deputy," Stiles answers him, taking a deep breath to calm himself. I commend him for not allowing Donovan to see even an ounce of his fear, waiting until he was out of sight to release his pent-up panic.

"That guy wanted to be a cop?" Scott presses in disbelief, and I mirror his sentiment.

From homicide investigations to simple traffic violations, I doubted Donovan would be the best candidate to have that sort of power, as well as the responsibility of representing the sheriff and his deputies.

"At least now he's getting the full law enforcement experience," Stiles murmurs.

Stilinski turns to us, shaking his head at the scenario we just had to endure. I could bet that he wasn't exactly happy that a night that was meant to be peaceful to him, turned into that.

"I should cancel my date, this isn't the night to go out," he grumbles.

"Dad." Stiles' voice borders on defeat because we all know the sheriff is a tough man. His claims of not wanting to go out now were purely from his reservations on dating again, not because of some idiot that threw a temper tantrum.

"Sheriff, you should go. Those guys have it handled," I encourage him, waving my hand in the direction of the fading deputies.

He thinks over my words, glancing between the three of us. We all wear hopeful yet reserved expressions in case he did choose to cancel.

With a sigh, he nods. "Alright, fine."

Stiles exudes utter joy as he makes a small fist bump into the air that I snort at. The sheriff stops him with a lecturing point of his finger.

"But be safe tonight," he demands, his worry for his son heightened after his interaction with Donovan.

"No problem, daddio." Stiles winks, smirking happily.

Stilinski shakes his head to himself as he pushes past us, heading out the back door to finally go to his date.

~

||| A/N |||

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