The Sicilian Defence [Derek Hale]

Chapter Eight

Reaching forward into the front seats, I snatched one of Stiles' chicken nuggets falling back into the chair. We had an agreement that I got one thing and he got the other and then we shared them. Noah was busy rooting through everything trying to find what he was looking for.

"Did they forget my curly fries?" He asked.

"You're not supposed to eat fries, especially the curly ones," Stiles pointed out and Noah only rolled his eyes looking to his son in disbelief.

"Well, I'm carrying a lethal weapon. If I want the curly fries, I will have the curly fries."

Stiles countered it as he looked to him annoyed, "If you think getting rid of contractions in all your sentences makes your argument any more legitimate, you. are. wrong." He explained.

"Well, health wise speaking if you're that worried you should go vegan," I interrupted, "it's the only diet which has been scientifically proven to reverse the affects of heart disease and since we're eating a take-out anyway...I believe he should have the curly fries," I explained nicking another nugget.

"Not helping, Grace," Stiles snapped.

"No," Noah interrupted holding out his hand to the boy, "thank-you, Grace."

"Unit one, do you copy?" The dispatcher over the radio said and Stiles reached out to answer it only for Noah to slap his hand away.

"... sorry."

Noah then picked it up pressing it closer to his mouth as Stiles began to stuff curly fries into his mouth, "unit one, copy."

"Got a report of a possible one-eight-seven."

Stiles then turned to look at his dad with his mouth filled with fries, "a murder?!" He asked and I reached forward slapping the back of his head.

As we arrived at the crime scene - it was a knock off blockbusters - Noah got out of the car telling us both to stay in it, although there was no chance that we were going to listen to it. Especially Stiles who was the first to climb out and I followed after him.

"Why the hell can't I just go home? I'm fine." The teenage boy shouted at Noah and from Stiles' face she knew he recognised him. He was probably a boy from his year.

"I hear ya, but the EMT says you hit your head pretty hard. They just wanna make sure you don't have a concussion."

"What part of "I'm fine" are you having a problem grasping? Okay, I want to go home," Jackson snapped.

"And I understand that--"

"No, you don't understand that, which kind of blows my mind, since it should be a pretty basic concept to grasp for a minimum-wage rent-a-cop like you! Okay, now, I want to go home!" Jackson roared out and Stiles was distracted by the body that was being wheeled out.

"Oh, whoa! Is that a dead body?" He asked and I quickly reached out pulling him back.

"Everybody back up. Back up."

Feeling eyes looking down at me, I looked up to see both Scott and Derek stood on the roof. Scott seemed to throw himself down as he noticed I'd looked up, but it was too late. I already knew he was there. Grabbing onto Stiles' collar I pulled him next to me, "why are they on the roof?" I asked and he looked up at me before looking to where I was looking.

"Honestly...I don't know."

"Wonderful."

The next day, I tugged the ends of my over my hands as I tried to figure out the next move. There had to be something I was missing. A different strategy. I'd skipped school, it seemed so unimportant now. Learning about how books were special for their times when having to battle life threatening situations. It made me wander if they knew about the supernatural as well: frankenstein, dracula, the ghosts, were they all real?