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laniew1I’m sorry, more on Sunday.
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
TITLE: Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD
RATING: PG-13 (for now)
PAIRING: Gen – but Stiles/Clint (eventually)
AUTHOR: Melanie
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Marvel, MTV, etc own everything but the idea to mesh them..
FEEDBACK: Please?
Stiles Stilinski, Agent of Shield 8/?
It seems near impossible that Christmas is coming up as fast as it is. Stiles doesn’t have time to worry about it though, other than the periodic phone calls home where Lydia and Scott both remind him that he has promised to return this year.
He doesn’t have time to worry because he’s been mostly focused on SHIELD and his activities there but he’s also got two semesters of college left. The classes that he has left are mostly ones that he left for the end because they’re the interesting ones.
He’s been taking the courses through correspondence, something that his professors and SHIELD had agreed upon. He does the reading when he goes back to his room at night, works on the papers that he needs to submit in the hour of spare time that he has on Sundays and tests during his lunch on alternate Thursday’s.
“You know SHIELD is not going to fire you if you decide not to finish, right?” Crawford asks when he comes back from lunch by himself to find Stiles staring at his computer screen blankly.
“There’s supposed to be a test,” Stiles says, he waves a hand at his computer which is refusing to allow him to log in and take it.
And he does have to take the test, he does have to finish college because he’d started it and he hates leaving things half done and besides, he wouldn’t have even got hired by SHIELD if not for the fact that he was in college in the first place.
******************************************************************************
“What does everyone want for Christmas?” Stiles asks, he’s asking Danny because Lydia would focus on herself, Jackson would focus on himself, Derek would growl at him about the holidays, Scott would shrug and say ‘I don’t know’ and Allison would want to give everyone weapons (which is not necessarily a bad thing but also not very personal).
Stiles doesn’t have a problem getting everyone weapons, he just isn’t going to be able to put them in his luggage which means he would have to ship them, which means that he should have been asking that question of Allison about a month ago.
“I’ll send you an e-mail with a link to everyone’s wishlists,” Danny says.
“Did everyone fill one out?” Stiles asks, he’s actually kind of shocked but not really. Danny had threatened to make everyone fill out holiday wish lists two years prior. “How did you manage that?”
“I asked, and also maybe threatened them with matching Christmas sweaters with their names embroidered on them and nothing else. Isaac actually has that on his list but everyone else bowed down.”
“Huh.”
“I’ll warn you that Lydia’s list is filled with really expensive crap, Allison’s is loaded down with weapons and Derek for some reason wants a Keurig.”
“That’s because no one can agree on coffee at the pack meetings,” Stiles says, he remembers hearing Erica mutter something about it the last time he’d talked to her. “I call the Keurig, or at the very least an assortment of flavored and non-flavored coffees.”
******************************************************************************
He sets his leave request on Coulson’s desk prior to the Thursday 14:30 meeting.
Coulson doesn’t say anything or pick it up, he probably already knows what it is, he probably knew that Stiles was filling it out when he did so because all the offices have cameras in them. (He’s been assured that personal quarters don’t have surveillance but he’s not sure how willing he is to believe that).
“You’ll miss Stark’s Christmas party,” Coulson says finally and Stiles sort of shrugs, he’d got the invitation in inter-office mail. A very expensive envelope, a handwritten card in handwriting not Tony’s, so probably Ms. Potts.
“I promised I’d go home for Christmas, Lydia has a list of vile and horribly painful things that she’ll do to me if I skip out,” he says. He’s gone home every year since he went away for school, that doesn’t mean that he spends every last waking second with the pack.
He’s got his own demands for his visit home this year, this year they’re going to tell dad. He thinks that sharing the existence of werewolves (and all the other supernatural shit that is out there) is just going to make life that much simpler for everyone involved.
“Besides, the Avengers might miss the party as a whole if things don’t settle down for them,” Stiles says. Coulson inclines his head to concede the point.
The Avengers are somewhere that is above Stiles’ pay scale (though Clint had come to wave goodbye at him, he’d been on the phone at the time on hold with IT), they haven’t sent him any requests so he’s assuming they’re fighting just regular, standard villains of the terrorist sort and not the kind that come with extra accessories like fangs or claws or fairy dust.
******************************************************************************
When he gets bored with the papers he’s slowly sorting through he goes to the books, 95% of them aren’t in English. He finds the one that looks like a Hunter’s Journal after doing some digging looking for something that talks about demon dogs.
He keeps finding references to Hellhounds but no one source can seem to agree on where they come from and who commands them.
The book is old, there’s a date at the front that indicates that someone had been writing in it in 1936. The handwriting is all the same throughout the color of ink changes and there are crude sketches every ten pages or so.
It’s fascinating and he wonders if Allison’s family does this. If Chris Argent has his own journal of the creatures that he fights and kills, if he’s teaching Allison to keep track of the same thing.
“Hello,” Allison says.
“You ever heard of a Hunter family named Dreymona?” Stiles asks, he’s got the book open in front of him. The language doesn’t look familiar in the least. He thumbs through a few pages.
The name is the only thing written in the front. Like a journal or a diary, the handwriting looks slightly feminine in its curves but Stiles knows that doesn’t mean anything because Jackson has handwriting that is similar.
“It sounds Romany,” Allison says. “It doesn’t sound familiar though, so not a family my family has interacted with. Why?”
“Just a name I read somewhere,” Stiles says. He can’t give her any more than that without breaking a bunch of different regulations.
“I can ask my dad when he gets back; he’s still got some feelers out in the Hunter community. Someone might recognize the name if was a Hunter family.”
“That would be awesome, thanks Allison.”
“You’re coming right? Because you know how Lydia gets, and she’s not the only one this time. I think Scott and Isaac have a calendar counting down the days.”
“How do they even know when I’m coming in?” He hasn’t sent his itinerary out to anyone, but only because he just bought his tickets that morning.
Allison is silent for a second before she clears her throat.
“Tell him that he needs to stop doing that shit if he doesn’t want people to take notice.”
“Derek put him up to it, and so did your dad, so it wasn’t just him checking to keep Lydia from having a mental fit. It was you know, all of them.”
Stiles sighs, he’s an adult, he’s sure of this. But sometimes he thinks they all think of him as the seventeen year old human kid that kept fucking up.
“Hey, how are you coming on the anti-vampire arrowheads, any luck?”
“Some,” Allison allows him to change the subject. “I should have a rough prototype to try out in the next couple of days, the trick is the head and the fact that the body needs to be stable enough to withstand being shot and hitting and not breaking apart prior to doing so because it actually needs to penetrate the skin, but strong enough to be a through and through. Why?”
“I was thinking belated Christmas present for Clint,” Stiles says. He can hear the smile in Allison’s laughter.
“Hey now that you’re all buddy, buddy with the Avengers how about an introductions for those of us that couldn’t go into pack territory?”
“I’m not buddy, buddy with the Avengers,” Stiles states firmly. “They just…” ‘keep hanging around even though they’ve really got no reason to continue doing so’ he doesn’t say, because if nothing else he owns his lousy self-esteem, but he also knows when not to put in on display for others to see.
“Still,” Allison says.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
******************************************************************************
“I need to go Christmas shopping,” Stiles says at breakfast, he and Crawford are both working through the Rosetta Stone in Arabic and working (slowly) through four books simultaneously. There’s some really awesome drawing of Ogre’s as well as two eye witness accounts detailing their encounters and subsequent dispatches.
“Big stuff, little stuff?”
“Stuff that I can carry on an airplane,” Stiles says, he’d already bought the Keurig for Derek and shipped it to his dads, and bought the calculator that Lydia had on her list followed by six exclamation points and shipped that as well.
“You’re not spending Christmas here?” Crawford says, he sounds and actually looks disappointed.
“I think my family might actually kill me if I decide to skip out, or possibly hunt me down and drag me home but my non-existent hair.”
He certainly doesn’t put it past any one of them.
“We can take a transport down into the city, I guess,” Crawford says, he tears his toast into shreds and uses it to sop up the egg yolk left on his plate. “What are we looking for?”
“I’ve got a list,” Stiles assures him, it’s folded up in his wallet with stars next to the items he’s getting for people, “I know exactly what I need.”
Danny’s wishlist idea had been helpful and really user friendly, he’s already marked off the items that he’s getting so no one else purchases them. Though two of a couple of the items probably wouldn’t be a bad thing.
They’re already in civilian clothes so they deposit their trays at the window and head towards transportation. On the weekends there’s always a shuttle set aside to ferry people back and forth unless they’re in the middle of an operation or the ocean. This close to the Christmas season, they’re sticking pretty close to land unless circumstances dictate the need to do otherwise.
The shuttle is full when they get there, everyone packed in like sardines and it’s probably not safe by any stretch of the imagination. Stiles is sure there are points where his feet aren’t actually touching the ground and he’s held up by the people around him.
They all spill out of the shuttle in a loud boisterous mess, Crawford catches his arm so they don’t get separated and they get pulled along by the mess of people heading for the stairs instead of the elevators.
“Where to first?” Crawford says when they hit the street, his cheeks are red and he’s winding his scarf tighter around his neck as Stiles goes to pull his wallet out of his pocket to get his list.
That’s what he remembers going forward. Crawford’s cheeks red from the cold, eyes shining and happy, the bustle of people around him and then…
And then Crawford’s eyes going wide, other hands, hard and unforgiving and definitely not known, pulling at his arms and Crawford yelling and trying to dart forward.
Someone lunges forward at him, a streak of blurred motion and Stiles’ panicked mind thinks ‘not human’ even as he watches in horror as Crawford goes down in a heap blood on his face.
Stiles yells, he thinks he yells, he’s positive; he’s sure that ‘no’ and ‘Crawford’ and other noises come out of his mouth. The hands on his arms are pulling and he’s struggling, dragging his feet trying to get traction to keep from being moved back but the hands are strong, and he stumbles back almost going down on his ass when he hits a curb.
He feels the prick in his neck, right on the side and it hurts, burns and his vision goes hazy almost immediately and the ‘help’ that he was going to yell dies in his throat as it all goes dark.
******************************************************************************
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
TITLE: Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD
RATING: PG-13 (for now)
PAIRING: Gen – but Stiles/Clint (eventually)
AUTHOR: Melanie
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Marvel, MTV, etc own everything but the idea to mesh them..
FEEDBACK: Please?
Stiles Stilinski, Agent of Shield 8/?
It seems near impossible that Christmas is coming up as fast as it is. Stiles doesn’t have time to worry about it though, other than the periodic phone calls home where Lydia and Scott both remind him that he has promised to return this year.
He doesn’t have time to worry because he’s been mostly focused on SHIELD and his activities there but he’s also got two semesters of college left. The classes that he has left are mostly ones that he left for the end because they’re the interesting ones.
He’s been taking the courses through correspondence, something that his professors and SHIELD had agreed upon. He does the reading when he goes back to his room at night, works on the papers that he needs to submit in the hour of spare time that he has on Sundays and tests during his lunch on alternate Thursday’s.
“You know SHIELD is not going to fire you if you decide not to finish, right?” Crawford asks when he comes back from lunch by himself to find Stiles staring at his computer screen blankly.
“There’s supposed to be a test,” Stiles says, he waves a hand at his computer which is refusing to allow him to log in and take it.
And he does have to take the test, he does have to finish college because he’d started it and he hates leaving things half done and besides, he wouldn’t have even got hired by SHIELD if not for the fact that he was in college in the first place.
“What does everyone want for Christmas?” Stiles asks, he’s asking Danny because Lydia would focus on herself, Jackson would focus on himself, Derek would growl at him about the holidays, Scott would shrug and say ‘I don’t know’ and Allison would want to give everyone weapons (which is not necessarily a bad thing but also not very personal).
Stiles doesn’t have a problem getting everyone weapons, he just isn’t going to be able to put them in his luggage which means he would have to ship them, which means that he should have been asking that question of Allison about a month ago.
“I’ll send you an e-mail with a link to everyone’s wishlists,” Danny says.
“Did everyone fill one out?” Stiles asks, he’s actually kind of shocked but not really. Danny had threatened to make everyone fill out holiday wish lists two years prior. “How did you manage that?”
“I asked, and also maybe threatened them with matching Christmas sweaters with their names embroidered on them and nothing else. Isaac actually has that on his list but everyone else bowed down.”
“Huh.”
“I’ll warn you that Lydia’s list is filled with really expensive crap, Allison’s is loaded down with weapons and Derek for some reason wants a Keurig.”
“That’s because no one can agree on coffee at the pack meetings,” Stiles says, he remembers hearing Erica mutter something about it the last time he’d talked to her. “I call the Keurig, or at the very least an assortment of flavored and non-flavored coffees.”
He sets his leave request on Coulson’s desk prior to the Thursday 14:30 meeting.
Coulson doesn’t say anything or pick it up, he probably already knows what it is, he probably knew that Stiles was filling it out when he did so because all the offices have cameras in them. (He’s been assured that personal quarters don’t have surveillance but he’s not sure how willing he is to believe that).
“You’ll miss Stark’s Christmas party,” Coulson says finally and Stiles sort of shrugs, he’d got the invitation in inter-office mail. A very expensive envelope, a handwritten card in handwriting not Tony’s, so probably Ms. Potts.
“I promised I’d go home for Christmas, Lydia has a list of vile and horribly painful things that she’ll do to me if I skip out,” he says. He’s gone home every year since he went away for school, that doesn’t mean that he spends every last waking second with the pack.
He’s got his own demands for his visit home this year, this year they’re going to tell dad. He thinks that sharing the existence of werewolves (and all the other supernatural shit that is out there) is just going to make life that much simpler for everyone involved.
“Besides, the Avengers might miss the party as a whole if things don’t settle down for them,” Stiles says. Coulson inclines his head to concede the point.
The Avengers are somewhere that is above Stiles’ pay scale (though Clint had come to wave goodbye at him, he’d been on the phone at the time on hold with IT), they haven’t sent him any requests so he’s assuming they’re fighting just regular, standard villains of the terrorist sort and not the kind that come with extra accessories like fangs or claws or fairy dust.
When he gets bored with the papers he’s slowly sorting through he goes to the books, 95% of them aren’t in English. He finds the one that looks like a Hunter’s Journal after doing some digging looking for something that talks about demon dogs.
He keeps finding references to Hellhounds but no one source can seem to agree on where they come from and who commands them.
The book is old, there’s a date at the front that indicates that someone had been writing in it in 1936. The handwriting is all the same throughout the color of ink changes and there are crude sketches every ten pages or so.
It’s fascinating and he wonders if Allison’s family does this. If Chris Argent has his own journal of the creatures that he fights and kills, if he’s teaching Allison to keep track of the same thing.
“Hello,” Allison says.
“You ever heard of a Hunter family named Dreymona?” Stiles asks, he’s got the book open in front of him. The language doesn’t look familiar in the least. He thumbs through a few pages.
The name is the only thing written in the front. Like a journal or a diary, the handwriting looks slightly feminine in its curves but Stiles knows that doesn’t mean anything because Jackson has handwriting that is similar.
“It sounds Romany,” Allison says. “It doesn’t sound familiar though, so not a family my family has interacted with. Why?”
“Just a name I read somewhere,” Stiles says. He can’t give her any more than that without breaking a bunch of different regulations.
“I can ask my dad when he gets back; he’s still got some feelers out in the Hunter community. Someone might recognize the name if was a Hunter family.”
“That would be awesome, thanks Allison.”
“You’re coming right? Because you know how Lydia gets, and she’s not the only one this time. I think Scott and Isaac have a calendar counting down the days.”
“How do they even know when I’m coming in?” He hasn’t sent his itinerary out to anyone, but only because he just bought his tickets that morning.
Allison is silent for a second before she clears her throat.
“Tell him that he needs to stop doing that shit if he doesn’t want people to take notice.”
“Derek put him up to it, and so did your dad, so it wasn’t just him checking to keep Lydia from having a mental fit. It was you know, all of them.”
Stiles sighs, he’s an adult, he’s sure of this. But sometimes he thinks they all think of him as the seventeen year old human kid that kept fucking up.
“Hey, how are you coming on the anti-vampire arrowheads, any luck?”
“Some,” Allison allows him to change the subject. “I should have a rough prototype to try out in the next couple of days, the trick is the head and the fact that the body needs to be stable enough to withstand being shot and hitting and not breaking apart prior to doing so because it actually needs to penetrate the skin, but strong enough to be a through and through. Why?”
“I was thinking belated Christmas present for Clint,” Stiles says. He can hear the smile in Allison’s laughter.
“Hey now that you’re all buddy, buddy with the Avengers how about an introductions for those of us that couldn’t go into pack territory?”
“I’m not buddy, buddy with the Avengers,” Stiles states firmly. “They just…” ‘keep hanging around even though they’ve really got no reason to continue doing so’ he doesn’t say, because if nothing else he owns his lousy self-esteem, but he also knows when not to put in on display for others to see.
“Still,” Allison says.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I need to go Christmas shopping,” Stiles says at breakfast, he and Crawford are both working through the Rosetta Stone in Arabic and working (slowly) through four books simultaneously. There’s some really awesome drawing of Ogre’s as well as two eye witness accounts detailing their encounters and subsequent dispatches.
“Big stuff, little stuff?”
“Stuff that I can carry on an airplane,” Stiles says, he’d already bought the Keurig for Derek and shipped it to his dads, and bought the calculator that Lydia had on her list followed by six exclamation points and shipped that as well.
“You’re not spending Christmas here?” Crawford says, he sounds and actually looks disappointed.
“I think my family might actually kill me if I decide to skip out, or possibly hunt me down and drag me home but my non-existent hair.”
He certainly doesn’t put it past any one of them.
“We can take a transport down into the city, I guess,” Crawford says, he tears his toast into shreds and uses it to sop up the egg yolk left on his plate. “What are we looking for?”
“I’ve got a list,” Stiles assures him, it’s folded up in his wallet with stars next to the items he’s getting for people, “I know exactly what I need.”
Danny’s wishlist idea had been helpful and really user friendly, he’s already marked off the items that he’s getting so no one else purchases them. Though two of a couple of the items probably wouldn’t be a bad thing.
They’re already in civilian clothes so they deposit their trays at the window and head towards transportation. On the weekends there’s always a shuttle set aside to ferry people back and forth unless they’re in the middle of an operation or the ocean. This close to the Christmas season, they’re sticking pretty close to land unless circumstances dictate the need to do otherwise.
The shuttle is full when they get there, everyone packed in like sardines and it’s probably not safe by any stretch of the imagination. Stiles is sure there are points where his feet aren’t actually touching the ground and he’s held up by the people around him.
They all spill out of the shuttle in a loud boisterous mess, Crawford catches his arm so they don’t get separated and they get pulled along by the mess of people heading for the stairs instead of the elevators.
“Where to first?” Crawford says when they hit the street, his cheeks are red and he’s winding his scarf tighter around his neck as Stiles goes to pull his wallet out of his pocket to get his list.
That’s what he remembers going forward. Crawford’s cheeks red from the cold, eyes shining and happy, the bustle of people around him and then…
And then Crawford’s eyes going wide, other hands, hard and unforgiving and definitely not known, pulling at his arms and Crawford yelling and trying to dart forward.
Someone lunges forward at him, a streak of blurred motion and Stiles’ panicked mind thinks ‘not human’ even as he watches in horror as Crawford goes down in a heap blood on his face.
Stiles yells, he thinks he yells, he’s positive; he’s sure that ‘no’ and ‘Crawford’ and other noises come out of his mouth. The hands on his arms are pulling and he’s struggling, dragging his feet trying to get traction to keep from being moved back but the hands are strong, and he stumbles back almost going down on his ass when he hits a curb.
He feels the prick in his neck, right on the side and it hurts, burns and his vision goes hazy almost immediately and the ‘help’ that he was going to yell dies in his throat as it all goes dark.