January Prompts 09

 

 

John manages to shut the drawer in his desk just as Stiles opens the door to his office. The NPWS (Nosey Progeny Warning System) initiated by his staff the week before Stiles came home from Minnesota might just be working.

 

Hopefully the sound of the snack packet crinkling down into the confined space didn’t travel out into the hall. When John ran tests his Wolf deputies had been able to hear it from across the other side of the bullpit, but, well. Stiles is human, and will be for at least a little while.

 

John has been trying to ignore the rumors flying around town about a certain one of his alpha deputies and his son’s fumbling fraternization at Grind Goal. He’s only just got his baby-boy home; John doesn’t need to think about the fact that omegas tend to bond early, some long before their nineteenth birthday, which is the one Stiles is heading towards now. 

 

John puts the idea out of his head and looks the kid over as he sits. The slightly pinched expression on his face might be because he caught the shoving of the contraband candy into the drawer, but it’s just as likely because he’s just come from Deaton’s. The kid hates those appointments. Everyone hates those appointments, but John’s pretty sure the ones for omegas are infinitely worse than those for betas or alphas.

 

“Dad,” Stiles offers as greeting as he sits his butt on the chair in front of John’s desk. There’s a lilt to his voice that sounds just like his mother’s.

 

And now that John’s thinking of it, the glint in Stiles’ eye and the pink in his cheeks is the spitting image of Claudia, too. There is so, so much going on in that brain, and John can’t help but feel a little awed and proud and just a touch worried ‘cause all that focus is currently on him.

 

“Son.”

 

Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, and all that.

 

“When were you going to tell me?”

 

And… an open-ended question. Damn.

 

Stiles’ brilliance might have come from his mother, but the interrogation methods that gather information for Stiles’ big brain? They’re all John’s fault. He’d started using the techniques to extract information about water-balloon fiascos and ant-farm explosions when Stiles and Scott were creating havoc together in elementary school. Scott had spilled the beans every time, but Stiles had quickly learned not only how to answer without providing any actual information, but also how to copy the questioning style to a T. He’s now had more than a decade’s practice.

 

“Well, old man? This isn’t the kind of thing you should be trying to keep from me. And I emphasize the word try. You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, did you?”

 

John weighs his options quickly. He can answer the question he thinks he’s being asked — about the bag of gummy worms in his drawer, or he can try to hedge in case Stiles is talking about something else. A lot changed in town in the years Stiles was away — he only ever came back for Thanksgiving and Christmas and ninety-percent of that was spent at home, and thus most of it Stiles is only discovering now. There’s a whole bunch of stuff that the indignation on his kid’s face could be about.

 

But, Stiles isn’t the only clever one in the room. John might not have the same book-smarts as Claudia gave their son, but he’s got a decade or two on Stiles when it comes to solving mysteries. The glint in Stiles’ eyes is warm, and that touch of color in his cheeks is telling. There are a couple of information pamphlets that John will bet are from Deaton’s sticking out Stiles’ coat pocket, which hangs undone because it’s a size or so small. In fact it’s small enough that the sleeves are too short to cover the lyca-band that Stiles has been trying not to worry at in the three minutes since he got here. While Stiles’ face is blank, the sharp sound of concern he gets when he’s thinking of John’s health isn’t evident in his voice.

 

And, really? John knows that Stiles heard the damn candy packet crinkling into the desk drawer. The fact that he’s ignoring it means there is something more interesting right now. Something positive enough to cancel the negative of bad diet equals bad health equals need to protect Dad.

 

Time to take a stab at it, then. Either way John will likely end up eating tofu-scramble for the rest of the week.

 

“What, and spoil your fun? He’s a damn fine alpha.”

 

Stiles’ eyes don’t quite widen at the pronouncement, but John can tell he’s impressed by his old man’s deductive skills, nevertheless.

 

“Damn fine, indeed! And I would have known that he was available weeks ago if my dear father had only seen fit to inform me that he works with the said same Wolf every day of the week.” Stiles stands and picks up his knapsack. "Don't think I'll forget that you were hiding the finest alpha in the county from me, Dad. But," he looks over his shoulder as he opens the office door again, "I’ll allow that one packet of gummy worms as long as it lasts the rest of the month. We’re having roast cauliflower curry for dinner tonight, so don’t be late.”

 

John groans on the inside, but lets himself be happy that it isn’t actually tofu-anything. “Excellent.”

 

 

bright (adj) : favorable or auspicious, quick-witted or intelligent

 

December January Prompts List/Series: AO3, Pillowfort, Dreamwidth