𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨 ── 𝘚.𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘚𝘒𝘐

♡ 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗬-𝗙𝗢𝗨𝗥 ♡

The trio snuck deeper into a trashed hallway as they avoided the scattered papers and ashy merchandise that littered the floor. Noah glanced back at the boys every so often, their safety prioritized over his own. It didn't matter if he was walking into a lion's den, a supernatural one, no less. He was a father first, a sheriff second, a person last. He'd always look out for the boys.

As they turned a corner, a flaming body came hurling in their direction. Those same instincts kicked in as Noah immediately pushed the two boys backward and out of the crossfire as he barely dodged the flamed body himself.

When the body dropped to the floor, and horrifically, at their feet, Noah swallowed thickly as he recognized the man. His body wasn't charred and charcoal flesh. It was unharmed, pristine even, aside from the soot that gritted into his pores and the three deep claw marks slashed across his bare chest.

Eyes resembling hot coals and oozing honey stared up at him, barely conscious, while Noah kept both arms stretched out against the teenagers' chests. The older Stilinski let up for a moment as he knelt to his height while Scott slipped out of his grasp to examine the dirty footprints and scattered paper across the floor.

Stiles couldn't do anything else but stare, admittedly.

"Parrish, you okay?" Noah's voice was hoarse, and from the hazy war-like stare he wore, he knew it was a dumb question to ask. "Deputy!"

The sharp tone shook him out of his trance, shoulders bunching up quickly as he flickered his eyes to the Sheriff once more. A confused look overcame him as he panted; he glanced around at the thick smoke around him, seemingly unable to comprehend his own surroundings.

Noah noticed his hesitance, and his hot skin, and decided against planting a comforting hand on his shoulder and opted for a wince instead. Stiles tore his eyes away from his father for a moment and onto Scott, who was in a trance of his own as his senses urged him to follow their direction.

Eventually, all three sets of eyes were on him.

He followed the bloody footprints of a beast, bear and wolf combined, the prints wandering deeper and deeper into the hellscape that burned around them. Stiles started to follow too, albeit, hesitant.

The prints got fainter and fainter before the red liquid finally stamped into the shape of a shoe sole instead. He studied the soles, the intricacy of the lines, and the sizing of the shoe.

Surely he'd seen it somewhere.

Surely.

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Dallas furrowed her eyebrows at Stiles. "A footprint? That's all you have?"

He flopped his hands to his side as he gave his girlfriend an exasperated look. "No, it.. it went from beast to like.. man. Like it wasn't Parrish."

She bit her lip wryly as Deaton's cold metal table pressed against her thighs. She glanced down at her shoes before glancing back up to Stiles. "Well, I can promise you they're not mine. Check my soles, if you'd like."

He gave her another deadpanned look to which she chuckled at. "Sorry, yes, very serious." Dallas tried to muffle her laughs. "Okay, you can't look at me like that and expect me not to laugh, it's not fair."

"You laugh at everything I do."

"You bring me joy, shoot me."

His deadpan turned upwards into a smirk, which he had to turn his head to conceal, and forced his mouth back down again as he looked at her. "Dallas." He spoke with a stern, authoritative tone that made her chuckle just a bit more. "Focus, baby, please?"