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The last place the Sheriff expects to see ex-fugitive Derek Hale is wandering the halls of Beacon Hills High School, a crumpled up sheet of paper in his hands that his thumbs smooth over nervously, his eyes darting from the sheet to the numbers on the row of classroom doors lining the walls. He stops in front of a particular door, glances at the writing on the paper, then stares at the number and name on the plaque just below the window.
Stopping in his tracks, Sheriff Stilinski shoots an arm out to block his son from moving forward. Stiles’ rambling cuts off with a startled grunt of exertion and the boy scrambles at the Sheriff’s arm to keep himself from falling over.
“Dad, what-“
“Isn’t that Derek Hale?”
Snorting, Stiles pats the Sheriff’s shoulder patronizingly.
“Yeah, dad, because Derek Hale’s going to be walking around my school during Parent-Teacher Night for-“
“Stiles?”
The way Stiles stiffens at Derek’s voice is almost as concerning as the awkward way Derek steps toward them, back straight but head ducked in a way that oddly reminds the Sheriff of an animal acknowledging a higher ranking member of its pack. It takes a second for the Sheriff to realize the hesitance is directed toward him, rather than his son.
“Sheriff,” Derek mutters with a nod, and from the way Stiles’ eyes are huge with what looks like panic, the Sheriff thinks there might be something bigger happening than just a greeting between a former fugitive and the town’s highest ranking police officer. Fortunately for the boys, Sheriff Stilinski’s not sure he has the energy to call them on it after another appointment with Finstock.
“Derek,” he says in return, dropping a hand on Derek’s shoulder, “How’ve you been?”
The kid startles, finally raising his head. Looking into Derek’s cautious, bemused expression, the Sheriff wonders how he ever thought that the boy was even capable of all those brutal attacks last winter.
Derek opens his mouth to answer, cut off by Stiles stepping forward and dramatically waving his arms to get the attention on himself.
“Wait, wait,” Stiles bounces on his feet with nervous energy as he talks, “What are you even doing here?” He pauses, throws a barely perceptible look in the Sheriff’s direction, then lowers his voice to ask seriously, “Is everyone…?”
“Everyone’s fine,” Derek says quickly, shooting a similar, swift glance at the Sheriff (and these boys really don’t understand how lucky they are that Finstock’s blathering wore him down). “I’m, uh, I’m here for Isaac.”
Sheriff Stilinski blinks in surprise, holding back a frown. With barely any history on the Laheys to work with, the department’s interest in keeping quiet the wrongful arrest of a minor, Isaac’s own desires, and the claim that Derek was a “close family friend” (in addition to the embarrassment that was the manhunt for Derek, only to have him later be cleared of all charges), it was decided with relative ease that Derek would act as Isaac’s new legal guardian. The payout Derek and his sister had received from the insurance companies after the fire had been more than enough to consider him financially stable. After that, no one seemed inclined to make too much noise if it meant no hassle and keeping another kid out of the foster system.
He just never thought a guy who was almost a kid himself would take his position as a legal guardian seriously.
“Isaac? What?” Stiles grabs the paper from Derek’s hand and scans it, brow furrowed in concern. “Dude, is he still failing English even after we got Lydia to tutor him?”
Derek shrugs, evidently at a loss when it comes to the parenting part of Parent-Teacher Night. Stiles, oddly enough, seems more than willing to help him out, moving to stand beside Derek so that they can both look over what’s most likely Isaac’s progress report. They discuss seriously, at length, Stiles fitting almost perfectly against Derek’s side, strangely close, and together they paint the picture of a team, of parents looking out for their son.
The realization is a bizarre enough moment that the Sheriff suddenly feels a need to excuse himself. He makes an abortive attempt to say something, to tell Stiles he’s going to step outside, but ends up giving a dismissive wave instead. They’ve moved on to talking about some girl named Erica, and something tells him that he’s better off not knowing.
He’ll talk to Stiles in the morning, maybe bribe it out of his son why he’s playing house with a twenty-something-year-old and a kid his own age.
“I bet you think this is hilarious,” the Sheriff grunts once he’s outside, staring up at the stars. She doesn’t answer, of course she doesn’t, but he knows his wife. She’s up there laughing about the new set of parental obstacles he’s about to dive into.
A voice in his head that sounds a lot like hers says, “At least he’s not getting girls pregnant.”
He can’t argue there.
With a sigh, he leans back against the wall, shoving his hands in his pockets. A tiny smile fights its way across his face; he’s unable to help feeling a little proud. The circumstances are strange - he definitely doesn't understand them - and Stiles has put him through more shit than most these past few months, but he can’t ignore the small flame of pride he’s feeling that maybe in raising his son, he might have done something right.