Work Text:
Damon entered the Sheriff's department without actively taking notice of his surroundings. He just wanted to get rid of the surveillance tape of his little-feeding-stint this morning, nothing else. How could he have known that he was feeding in the only damn back alley that had surveillance cameras? What a hazzle.
"Who are you?"
Confused he looked down to where the voice came from. A small boy, maybe four years old, stood at his feet, big eyes directed at him.
"Who are you?"
"I asked you first. Who are you? Why are you here? My Daddy had to leave with his deputies. I promised to stay here and keep an eye on the station. I'm a big boy. I can even write my name. Do you want to see?"
Before Damon could say anything the small boy grabbed his hand and pulled him into a room that seemed to be the sheriff’s station’s archive. The walls were lined by cabinets and there was a blackboard in the far back, completely scribbled full of a child’s drawings.
The boy pulled him in front of the blackboard and started to write in an empty corner. Damon wanted to leave the boy here and finally look for the security recording, but somehow he couldn’t. It had been a long time since someone wasn’t at least wary about his presence, even if it was only a child.
"Look, I can write it!"
Damon looked down over the boy’s head where he pointed with his small finger. There was something written now, the end tail obscured by a drawing of a pig? A dog? He didn’t recognize the animal portrait. But that aside, he couldn’t even read the name.
"M… How do I read this?"
" Mieczysław! It’s a polish name. My dad is polish but I can’t speak polish. Mommy tried to teach me, but she’s ill often and can’t teach me anymore. But nobody calls me Mieczysław. They call me Stiles. That’s easier to pronc… proun…"
"Pronounce.", Damon automatically corrected.
The boy fascinated Damon. He just wasn’t afraid of him at all. And he seemed to be happy that Damon was there, something that didn’t happen that often.
"Can you tell me your name now? And why you’re here?"
Stiles' smile didn’t waver once, his bright eyes staring at him expectantly.
"Damon. My name is Damon."
Then he kneeled down in front of Stiles and stared deeply into his eyes, Damon’s pupils contracting and then delating again.
"You will forget that I was here. When someone asks you were in here all day drawing and writing your name. You won’t remember me unless I’ll come back and talk directly to you. Then you are allowed to remember me."
Stiles nodded his okay and Damon was out of the room, had the surveillance recording destroyed and was out of the Sheriff’s station before the drowsiness had left the small boy completely.
Maybe he would come back one day to see Stiles. Maybe.