ʙᴇᴇᴛʟᴇ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ | ᴛᴍʀ ᴏɴᴇ sʜᴏᴛs

F63.9 [crossover; Newt / Stiles Stilinski]

Word count: 4k

"I don't like him. I don't like him at all."

"You already said that."

"I know."

He saw him. A couple of times, actually, somewhere in school. What he was doing there was completely incomprehensible, but this disgusting smile which Stiles received made him suppress gagging. He's walking here, waving his blond hair, sniffing around. He's always into everything. His curious nose traveled to every corner of the school, to every locker, every bag.

Stiles didn't mind. Well, at first.

It was his territory. His place. But he was ready to let this narcissistic asshole search everything here. Each floor. What he was looking for - Stiles didn't have the faintest idea. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to know.

Everything was okay. For a while.

Stiles wasn't angry, because Scott forbade it. Stiles wasn't angry, because he didn't find a good reason for aggression. Stiles didn't trust this strange fellow, but Scott said that he smells normal, no deaths, no blood, and even more so, no wolfsbane. Nothing suspicious, there was no reference to something that can kill them. But this look, this fucking abnormally-soft smile. Stiles didn't need any wolfish things that his friend could boast of, no. He believed he only needed one look at this blond boy to say - "guilty."

Does this guy know about werewolves? Damn, Stiles was ready to bet anything to prove it, but Scott was ready to bicker day after day without a break just to prove innocence of a stranger. Stiles didn't stick his head out, because Scott said that he would definitely expose their pack. Disgustingly, he had to be patient and shove his suspicions away.

And he was patient.

He put up with these looks on himself, tolerated these stupid smiles, glance of a stranger which he was bumping into more and more often. He didn't know whether this suspicious nutjob attended classes, but Stiles hadn't even tried to find out something. Scott forbade it. Forced him to stay down. Not even poke a finger in the direction of a stranger.

Stiles was patient.

He really was. Gritted his teeth so that they creaked. Peered at blond's back as he passed by. Showed his middle finger and rolled his eyes when Scott was teasing him about excessive excitement.

What? No. He wasn't worried. No. Not at all.
Nonsense.
If only a little bit. And even then, for security reasons. It was allowed, it was normal.
Stiles was patient.

Well, until that moment when he saw this fucking sniffer dog in police station next to his father. They talked about something, and father never said about what exactly. Then Stiles began to move and his best friend couldn't stop him.

And everything went to hell.

A record, he was looking for it. Tried to sneak into a bag. Tried to spy on. He tottered around the school, watched a dozen spy movies, reread a couple of detective books to set himself up for long and hard work of catching the criminal. Stiles ran after him like a dog, dragging Scott along, because he wanted to hang the tag "Guilty. I don't know for sure, but maybe he's a werewolf? Kitsune? Coyote? Druid? Pikachu? Some kind of uncanny supernatural crap that staggers around the school and wants to kill us?" Yes, the tag turned out to be a long one, it's just that Stiles didn't have much success and there was nothing to cross out from the list.

In first week of investigation, he decided to stay at home, because he realized that it's impossible to follow someone who's watching you.

Spy game has come to a dead end.
Newt. His name is Newt.