Spray Paint | Stydia & Scisaac [ON HOLD]

1

Stiles looked at his father in disbelief. "You sure know a lot about this stuff."

Stilinski laughed. "It's almost like it's my job."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Well then how come I didn't know any of that?"

Stilinski shrugged and gave his son a sideways look. "Considering it was part of your training, you tell me?"

Stiles' cheeks warmed and he was at a loss for a decent comeback. "Alright, you got me there."

Stiles pulled into the Grab and Go's parking lot and turned the car off. He pulled his phone off of the mount and closed out of his GPS app. He and his father stepped out of the police car and walked into the store, triggering a small bell. A tall, slender man, who looked like he was in his early thirties, walked out of what seemed like a break room and sat down behind the counter.

"Can I help you, Officers?"

Another man, who was short, chubby, and around his late fifties, stalked over to the Stilinski's. He eyed their badges. "You're the Sheriff?" he grumpily asked Stiles.

"I'm the Sheriff," Noah told him. The older man moved his circular glasses further up his nose. His eyes widened.

"Of course, of course," he said and began to walk the other way. "It's out here, if you want to see it." Stiles looked at Noah and he promptly nodded.

They followed the old man out of the building through the side door. When Stiles stepped out of the brick building, he saw what the fuss was all about. He thought the graffiti would be small, like the others on the bridge. But this was a mural. It was mixture of vivid colors–yellows and blues and reds. In the midst of the colors, you could see the face of an unhappy woman. It was beautiful, breathtaking even. Stiles noticed that there was a scribbled signature at the bottom. It was illegible.

"Just last month there was one like this," the man said, "And a few months before that too! I want this person punished and I want to make sure that they never vandalize my store again!"

"We'll find them," Noah assured him.

"I'm going to press charges!" he exclaimed.

Stiles turned back towards the spray-painted portrait and stared at it. His hand cupped his chin and his pointer finger laid against his top lip.

I'm going to figure this one out, he thought, without any help and without any screw-ups. Or at least major screw-ups. This is going to be my case, and this is how I'm going to prove to Dad that I can do this shit on my own.

-

"And where have you been?" Jacob Martin asked his younger sister as she crept into their trailer home. He was only older than her by a year, but he let it run to his head. Jacob leaned against the sink with a half empty water bottle in his hand.

Lydia took off her black hat that perfectly hid her red hair. It freely fell down her shoulders in a shower of orange. She stuffed the hat into her dark grey duffle bag and held it close to her body.

"At Allison's," she told her brother. She tried to walk past him but he sidestepped into her. She gave him a dirty look. "Don't mess with me. I'm tired and cranky."

"Little sister, I've known you for nineteen years," he said, making her roll her eyes, "I know when you lie to me."His eyes drifted to the bag in her hands. She sighed.

"What's in there?" he asked while trying to reach out to grab it.

"Go away, Jake," she grumbled, pushing him to the side. "Seriously. Move."

"Were you with a boy?" Jacob questioned, wiggling his eyebrows.

Lydia scoffed. "God, no."

He paused for a slight second. "Were you with a girl?"

Lydia reached up into the small space where she slept. It was a tiny compartment with a bed, barely big enough for her. It hung over the kitchen area. She pulled off a pillow and threw it at his head. It hit his glasses and bounced onto the floor. Jacob fixed his glasses, pushing them farther up the bridge of his nose.

He threw up his hands and gave a shrug. "Hey, hey, I don't know what you're into."

Lydia threw her bag up first and the sound of her aluminum cans bouncing off of each other echoed throughout the mobil-home. She climbed into bed after them.

"What do you have in there?" he asked, setting down his water. He reached up and tried to grab the bag once again. Lydia, who was fast with her reflexes, snatched it before he did.

"Go to bed! Jesus, you're annoying as all hell!" she yelled.

The small room towards the back of the trailer opened and another red haired woman, Natalie, their mother, stood in the doorway. Her hair was tousled and misshapenly, sticking up in every which way. She rubbed her eyes.

"Why are you two fighting?" she asked, her voice groggy and hoarse. She lifted her wrist, realizing that she still had her watch on. Her eyes widened slightly. "Seriously? It's almost one in the morning! You know that Elias has school tomorrow!" As if on cue, Elias, Lydia and Jacob's brother who was only nine, walked out of the room beside their mother's.

"Sorry, Mom," Jacob and Lydia muttered in unison.

Their mother sighed and looked at Elias, whose gold hair was disheveled from sleep, just like hers. "Eli, go to bed, Sweetheart." Elias sighed and shut the door behind him.

She looked back at her other two children. "Both of you, bed, now." And with that, she went back into her room and closed the door.

"Lyds–"

"Go to bed Jacob. Seriously."

"Lyd–

"Jacob. Mom's got a lot of shit going on right now, give it a rest and do as she says," Lydia exasperated.

Jacob's mouth opened to speak but he abruptly shut it. "You know, sometimes I feel like you all left along with Dad. All of you are so fucking different now, it's beyond me." He walked away and into the room he shared with Elias.

Lydia's face warmed and she felt her eyes begin to burn with tears. Their father's abandonment wasn't new, he had been gone for years, but Jacob's words were like daggers. Her father's departure still hurt, and there were times where she actively broke down about it. Some wounds just refused to heal.

And Jacob was right. A piece of each Martin had left with their father as he walked out of the front door that one summer night. None of them were the same after that.

They were all a little broken.