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tamingthemuseTitle: Stiles Stilinski, PI [2/?]
Fandom: Teen Wolf (Marvel fusion, Jessica Jones.)
Prompt: 499 - squalor
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~916
Summary: Basically a Stiles as Jessica Jones fic.
Disclaimer: It’s all lies and I own nothing.
-- = --
Derek wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he realized this Stilinski’s PI business was run out of a building in Beacon Hills’ southside—which isn’t the worst neighborhood, but it’s a near thing. However, not only is it in a practically squalid apartment building, but Stilinski’s office—if Derek can even call it that, regardless of what it says on the door—also happens to be where the PI resides.
Derek showed up early for his appointment and has spent the last fifteen minutes knocking on the door. He’s pretty sure any moment one of the neighbors is going to start screaming at him, but he can hear that someone is inside. That someone is slowly waking and taking their time climbing to their feet.
The guy that opens the door smells like he bathed in liquor. “Can I help you?” he asks, the scent of his interest faint over the alcohol.
Derek can’t believe the deputy at the station would send him here. “Are you Stilinski? The private investigator?”
“Yup,” Stilinski says, slouching further against the door jamb. “You got an appointment?”
“I called you Wednesday,” Derek tells him, barely keeping the growl out of his voice and the blue out of his eyes. “About Laura—my sister.”
Stilinski barely nods as he turns around and heads further into the apartment to a desk situated in front of the windows on the far wall opposite the door. He shuffles papers around, coming up with a notebook. “Hale, right?”
“Yeah,” Derek says from the doorway, tempted to leave and take his chances with the police. “Look, if you’re not going to take this seriously—”
“Hey!” Stilinski shouts, looking like he’s about to keel over or pass out. “I take my job very seriously. It’s just been a rough couple of days. Which is no excuse, so.” He slowly lowers himself into the chair behind the desk. “Laura. She’s been missing for a little over two weeks. Why don’t you tell me what you know.” He gestures to the seat across from him at the desk.
Reluctantly, Derek enters the apartment, closing the door, and moving into Stilinski’s ‘office.’ He sits in the chair and meets Stilinski’s gaze over the desk. “Laura and I shared an apartment in Brooklyn. A few weeks ago, she got a phone call that left her… rattled. She didn’t tell me who it was or what it was about. A couple of days later, she told me she had to go home—come back to Beacon Hills—to check on something. That I shouldn’t be worried and that she’d call me.”
Stilinski is scrawling in his notebook. “Did she call you?” he asks, glancing up at Derek.
“Yeah. She called me when she landed. Then again the following day, just to say that things hadn’t changed a whole lot back here, and that she was going to visit our uncle. But that was the last I heard from her. I called her hotel when I couldn’t get a hold of her and she never came back after the last time she called me.”
Stilinski is quiet for a few long moments as he finishes writing. This time, when he meets Derek’s gaze, he doesn’t look quite so hungover, eyes bright with inquisitiveness instead of alcohol. “So, as far as you know, your uncle was probably the last one to see her?”
“As far as I know,” Derek says with a sigh. “But I’m not sure how much that’s going to help you since he’s been catatonic for over a decade.”
Stilinski looks even more interested. “What’s your uncle’s name and is he being cared for at home or in a facility?”
“Peter Hale. And he’s been at Beacon Hills Memorial, in their long-term care ward.”
“I guess I’ll start there. Do you have a recent photo of your sister?”
Derek slides his phone out of his pocket, unlocks the screen and goes to the photo album. He taps on the picture he’d taken of Laura the week before she’d left. They’d been browsing the stalls at the farmers market and she’d been trying on scarves; Derek had draped a red one around her neck and told her it matched her eyes. “Here.” He hands his phone over.
“I’m texting this to myself,” Stilinski says, not even waiting for Derek’s approval. “I’ve got some contacts at BHM. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Derek nods and takes his phone back. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“For now, just keep trying to contact your sister. If you can think of anything else that might be helpful—where she might’ve gone if she was in trouble, who she might be with, if there’s anyone she might’ve considered an enemy—just give me a call, let me know. If you hear from her, call me. If anybody contacts you with information about her or asking for a ransom, call me.”
Derek wonders, not for the first time, if Laura’s disappearance has to do with what they are, figures it’s something Stilinski would consider helpful. But Derek doesn’t know if he can trust him yet. He’ll see what the guy finds first. Derek hopes he’ll find Laura, but she’s been missing for almost three weeks now and he knows that’s not good. He’ll give Stilinski a week, depending what the guy finds—if he finds anything—Derek will either divulge their secret, or he’ll go back to the police.
Fandom: Teen Wolf (Marvel fusion, Jessica Jones.)
Prompt: 499 - squalor
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~916
Summary: Basically a Stiles as Jessica Jones fic.
Disclaimer: It’s all lies and I own nothing.
Derek wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he realized this Stilinski’s PI business was run out of a building in Beacon Hills’ southside—which isn’t the worst neighborhood, but it’s a near thing. However, not only is it in a practically squalid apartment building, but Stilinski’s office—if Derek can even call it that, regardless of what it says on the door—also happens to be where the PI resides.
Derek showed up early for his appointment and has spent the last fifteen minutes knocking on the door. He’s pretty sure any moment one of the neighbors is going to start screaming at him, but he can hear that someone is inside. That someone is slowly waking and taking their time climbing to their feet.
The guy that opens the door smells like he bathed in liquor. “Can I help you?” he asks, the scent of his interest faint over the alcohol.
Derek can’t believe the deputy at the station would send him here. “Are you Stilinski? The private investigator?”
“Yup,” Stilinski says, slouching further against the door jamb. “You got an appointment?”
“I called you Wednesday,” Derek tells him, barely keeping the growl out of his voice and the blue out of his eyes. “About Laura—my sister.”
Stilinski barely nods as he turns around and heads further into the apartment to a desk situated in front of the windows on the far wall opposite the door. He shuffles papers around, coming up with a notebook. “Hale, right?”
“Yeah,” Derek says from the doorway, tempted to leave and take his chances with the police. “Look, if you’re not going to take this seriously—”
“Hey!” Stilinski shouts, looking like he’s about to keel over or pass out. “I take my job very seriously. It’s just been a rough couple of days. Which is no excuse, so.” He slowly lowers himself into the chair behind the desk. “Laura. She’s been missing for a little over two weeks. Why don’t you tell me what you know.” He gestures to the seat across from him at the desk.
Reluctantly, Derek enters the apartment, closing the door, and moving into Stilinski’s ‘office.’ He sits in the chair and meets Stilinski’s gaze over the desk. “Laura and I shared an apartment in Brooklyn. A few weeks ago, she got a phone call that left her… rattled. She didn’t tell me who it was or what it was about. A couple of days later, she told me she had to go home—come back to Beacon Hills—to check on something. That I shouldn’t be worried and that she’d call me.”
Stilinski is scrawling in his notebook. “Did she call you?” he asks, glancing up at Derek.
“Yeah. She called me when she landed. Then again the following day, just to say that things hadn’t changed a whole lot back here, and that she was going to visit our uncle. But that was the last I heard from her. I called her hotel when I couldn’t get a hold of her and she never came back after the last time she called me.”
Stilinski is quiet for a few long moments as he finishes writing. This time, when he meets Derek’s gaze, he doesn’t look quite so hungover, eyes bright with inquisitiveness instead of alcohol. “So, as far as you know, your uncle was probably the last one to see her?”
“As far as I know,” Derek says with a sigh. “But I’m not sure how much that’s going to help you since he’s been catatonic for over a decade.”
Stilinski looks even more interested. “What’s your uncle’s name and is he being cared for at home or in a facility?”
“Peter Hale. And he’s been at Beacon Hills Memorial, in their long-term care ward.”
“I guess I’ll start there. Do you have a recent photo of your sister?”
Derek slides his phone out of his pocket, unlocks the screen and goes to the photo album. He taps on the picture he’d taken of Laura the week before she’d left. They’d been browsing the stalls at the farmers market and she’d been trying on scarves; Derek had draped a red one around her neck and told her it matched her eyes. “Here.” He hands his phone over.
“I’m texting this to myself,” Stilinski says, not even waiting for Derek’s approval. “I’ve got some contacts at BHM. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Derek nods and takes his phone back. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“For now, just keep trying to contact your sister. If you can think of anything else that might be helpful—where she might’ve gone if she was in trouble, who she might be with, if there’s anyone she might’ve considered an enemy—just give me a call, let me know. If you hear from her, call me. If anybody contacts you with information about her or asking for a ransom, call me.”
Derek wonders, not for the first time, if Laura’s disappearance has to do with what they are, figures it’s something Stilinski would consider helpful. But Derek doesn’t know if he can trust him yet. He’ll see what the guy finds first. Derek hopes he’ll find Laura, but she’s been missing for almost three weeks now and he knows that’s not good. He’ll give Stilinski a week, depending what the guy finds—if he finds anything—Derek will either divulge their secret, or he’ll go back to the police.
