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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 10/?
There’s pain, periodically there’s light and sometimes, very infrequently there’s a pain free time, but mostly there’s just pain.
When he wakes finally, he’s not chained to a chair in some dark dank place; he’s in a bright room, with white sheets and beeping machines. There’s an IV in his hand and if he twists his head to the right he can see his father sleeping with his head at an angle that means his neck is going to be killing him. To the left Clint is sitting in a chair backwards staring very intently at a wall.
At the foot of the bed Scott has his head pillowed on one arm, and the hand of the other is wrapped around his ankle. Like he needs the physical proof that Stiles is very much alive and here.
Clint moves and Stiles blinks at him, there’s nothing else and it takes him a moment to realize that Clint isn’t actually staring at the wall; he’s sleeping with his eyes open.
His hand moves and Scott’s head lifts, eyes blinking at him blearily, a smile crossing his face when he sees that Stiles is awake.
“Hey,” he whispers and Stiles goes to say hey back and can’t. He coughs a bit and Scott is on his feet, cup of water in hand and straw being directed towards his mouth. He takes a few sips.
“What are you doing here?” he manages and Scott just looks at him in disbelief.
“Really? That’s what you’re going with?”
“Um.”
“You were kidnapped! By a crazy werewolf, of course we came.”
“Scott, let him be,” his dad says, he wraps a hand around Stiles’ and squeezes. Clint is standing when he looks back over there, leaning out to probably summon a nurse or a doctor.
“Crawford?” he asks, because all he remembers is Crawford with blood on his face, lying in a crumpled heap on the streets of New York.
“He’s okay, broken arm, some stitches.”
“Do we know who?”
“Ferris Dreymona.”
“I know that name,” Stiles murmurs, he closes his eyes and thinks for a second, a minute. “There was a journal; Allison was going to check on the name for me.”
“They used to be a family of Hunters, the last surviving member was apparently bit in 1937 and then had kids, Ferris Dreymona is a descendant,” his dad says.
“So, uh,” he looks over at his dad who apparently is now in the know on werewolves and Hunters. He’s actually kind of sorry he missed the explanation and not just because if he’d been there he wouldn’t have been chained to a chair getting the shit beat of it him. “Werewolves are real?”
His father rolls his eyes at him. “Really? Is that what the hair and fangs and claws mean?”
******************************************************************************
Agent Coulson visits him while he’s still in the infirmary. Clint stays with him which he finds a little odd, but no one else does so he probably missed a conversation or three while he was off being kidnapped.
“So let’s talk about Ferris Dreymona,” Coulson says.
“He was a werewolf from a Hunter line,” Stiles says. “That’s what Scott said.”
“Yes, that appears to be the case, what was his interest in you?”
Stiles blinks at him, “Um, it didn’t have anything to do with SHIELD.”
“He grabbed you off a sidewalk in front of a SHIELD building, while surrounded by SHIELD employees…”
“It was sort of… kill a bunch of birds with one stone,” Stiles says.
“What do you mean?”
“He takes me, right? Because he knows if he grabs me that my pack is going to respond with force, he was… hoping that Derek and the others would come in full steam ahead to find me, he beats me up because he hopes that the smell of the blood, my blood will force them to respond first and think about things after.”
“He would have died.”
“He didn’t care, bunch of birds, one stone. One crazy werewolf from a Hunter line that hates what he is and wanted to make sure the werewolf line of his Hunter family didn’t continue. If he could take a bunch of other werewolves, weaken a bunch of packs in the process, all the better.”
“What?” Clint is straightening by the door and Coulson’s arms are crossing over his chest.
“If Derek had killed him, it would have broken the treaty with Darren’s pack. It would have been an open declaration of war between the packs; Darren would have had no choice but to respond with force.”
“Is that why you stopped Hale from killing him?”
“Yeah,” Stiles has issues with Dreymona trying to turn Derek into an assassin by provocation.
“So how do we handle this? The Director wants to throw the book at him.”
“Give him back to Darren,” Stiles says, Coulson blinks at him and Clint scowls. “Give him back to Darren’s pack and allow them to mete out his punishment. Trust me it will be more severe than anything that we could do to him; packs don’t take kindly to situations like this. If Darren wants to maintain his treaty with Derek he’ll…”
Well they’ll probably kill him, Stiles doesn’t say that though. He thinks that Agent Coulson and Clint can both read between the lines enough to determine it.
******************************************************************************
His injuries, while painful are not life-threatening so he manages to cajole a doctor into grudgingly allowing him to leave.
He’ll be better when he’s back in his own bed, in his own room, he says. He hates hospitals, always has, it is in no way restful for him to remain there.
He finds though that he’s not going back to his room on the Helicarrier, he’s been assigned a temporary room at the SHIELD building in the city.
The temporary room turns out to be temporary rooms that he’s apparently sharing with the pack, or the pack has moved in while he was being held captive by the medical staff, he’s not really sure.
He just knows that he’s really tired, and he forewent his pain meds because he needed to be clearheaded when he left the hospital. All he really wants to do is climb into bed, his real one, a temporary one, any bed would be good at this point.
Except he walks into the room, his father and Scott right behind him and finds that the pack has shoved all the furniture out of the way and made a pile of blankets and pillows in the middle of the room.
He sighs.
“Don’t give me that look,” Derek mutters, he’s in the middle of the pile on the floor, Isaac on one side Lydia on the other.
“I just want a bed,” he says, it’s not a whine, though Lydia shoots him the look that indicates that he’s being a whiny bitch and that he should just suck it up.
“It’s comfortable,” Isaac says, he’s looking at him with the wide puppy eyes which Stiles hates. Those eyes are hard to say no to, it’s why Derek normally has Isaac (or Scott) pull them out whenever they need to cajole one of the others into doing something.
He sighs again and allows Scott to maneuver him around into the center of the group, Derek is at his back and Isaac curls up next to him, growling a little when Scott goes to take his normal spot.
“I don’t see how this is going to be restful,” Stiles grumbles, there’s hands on him and he’s been in enough puppy piles by now that having Derek tight against his back and Isaac curled up in front of him doesn’t even turn him on.
“Shh,” Derek murmurs, his hand is against Stiles’ hip, breath warm against his neck.
They’re all touching him, Derek and Isaac, Allison lying between Isaac and Scott, her and Scott’s arms jointly touching his side. By his feet and legs Jackson and Boyd have hands wrapped around his ankles, Danny and Lydia’s on his calves.
He blinks his eyes open and his father is standing there with an expression that he can’t identify on his face.
He closes his eyes again and lets the warmth of his pack surround him, he sleeps.
******************************************************************************
The sound of the door opening and closing isn’t what wakes him. What wakes him is the growl coming from Derek and the way that his arm tightens around his waist.
He blinks away sleep and Clint and Steve are standing there, eyes wide. They’ve probably never seen the werewolf version of a puppy pile.
“It’ll take him a few minutes to extricate himself,” his father says with the wisdom of someone who watched Stiles try to get out of the middle of the pile to go to the bathroom hours earlier. “How about some coffee while you wait?”
They both murmur their acquiescence and follow, Stiles begins the long process of shifting himself away from his pack. Derek’s arm is always the last to be shifted because he’s normally awake by the time Stiles manages to get everyone else’s hands off him.
Stiles pats him on the head and smirks, Derek growls at the implied ‘good boy’. He’d said that once and Derek had smirked right back at him then tugged him back into the pile, it taken him 45 minutes additional minutes to get himself out again and he’d been late for curfew.
He’d never done that again.
There’s a small kitchen in this set of rooms that he’s apparently to call his own until either the pack leaves or he’s allowed back on the Helicarrier. At the table is father is holding a coffee cup, Steve’s is sitting on the table in front of him untouched and Clint’s is sitting empty on the counter next to where he’s leaning.
He brushes a hand over his head and wishes that he was wearing something other than track pants and a t-shirt that’s seen better days.
“Sorry to drag you away from your orgy,” Clint mutters, he doesn’t make eye contact and Stiles looks down at himself.
Maybe this is one of his ‘go to school and find out you’re naked’ dreams.
Except no, he’s standing there in his track pants and a t-shirt that he’s had since high school and his father is sitting there with an eyebrow cocked at an angle.
“Clint, didn’t you read any of the stuff that Tony gave us on wolf packs and their dynamics and how some of their behaviors may be mirrored by the werewolf packs that we encounter?” Steve sighs.
“Puppy pile,” Stiles inputs helpfully, “it helps the wolves feel secure in a strange places.”
It also helps them protect injured pack members from further attack, it’s why they had him in the center, he’s sure.
******************************************************************************
Apparently Stiles has bodyguards, which he doesn’t think is warranted. Those bodyguards are the Avengers for the moment which Stiles thinks is kind of like throwing a nuke on an anthill.
Just a little bit of overkill.
“We volunteered for it, you only got noticed by Dreymona because of the Avengers,” Steve says, all sensible voice and earnest face. “It’s only right that we make sure you stay safe.”
“Okay, but I was just planning on lying around and not doing much of anything,” Stiles says. “Also, no one is going to attack me while I’m in the middle of room of werewolves.”
“Director Fury wants you to come in and brief him on the Dreymona situation and our options,” Steve says.
“Didn’t I already do that? With the talk debrief with Coulson?” Stiles looks over at Clint who shrugs at him and doesn’t look in anyway apologetic about the orgy comment.
“Director Fury would like to hear it directly instead of through a third party.”
“So he wants me to climb into my uniform and come deliver a report that I’ve already delivered?”
Redundancy, thy name is SHIELD.
“Actually civilian clothes will probably suffice,” Clint says. “Though probably not what you’re currently wearing.”
“Well no, because these are my sleeping clothes and if I’m going to be sitting across from Director Fury and telling him that we need to hand Ferris Dreymona over to his pack for punishment then I’d like to at least shower first and have on clean underwear.”
His dad chokes on his coffee, Clint’s lips actually turn up into a sort of smile and Stiles only turns a little bit red at having said underwear in front of Captain America.
******************************************************************************
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 10/?
There’s pain, periodically there’s light and sometimes, very infrequently there’s a pain free time, but mostly there’s just pain.
When he wakes finally, he’s not chained to a chair in some dark dank place; he’s in a bright room, with white sheets and beeping machines. There’s an IV in his hand and if he twists his head to the right he can see his father sleeping with his head at an angle that means his neck is going to be killing him. To the left Clint is sitting in a chair backwards staring very intently at a wall.
At the foot of the bed Scott has his head pillowed on one arm, and the hand of the other is wrapped around his ankle. Like he needs the physical proof that Stiles is very much alive and here.
Clint moves and Stiles blinks at him, there’s nothing else and it takes him a moment to realize that Clint isn’t actually staring at the wall; he’s sleeping with his eyes open.
His hand moves and Scott’s head lifts, eyes blinking at him blearily, a smile crossing his face when he sees that Stiles is awake.
“Hey,” he whispers and Stiles goes to say hey back and can’t. He coughs a bit and Scott is on his feet, cup of water in hand and straw being directed towards his mouth. He takes a few sips.
“What are you doing here?” he manages and Scott just looks at him in disbelief.
“Really? That’s what you’re going with?”
“Um.”
“You were kidnapped! By a crazy werewolf, of course we came.”
“Scott, let him be,” his dad says, he wraps a hand around Stiles’ and squeezes. Clint is standing when he looks back over there, leaning out to probably summon a nurse or a doctor.
“Crawford?” he asks, because all he remembers is Crawford with blood on his face, lying in a crumpled heap on the streets of New York.
“He’s okay, broken arm, some stitches.”
“Do we know who?”
“Ferris Dreymona.”
“I know that name,” Stiles murmurs, he closes his eyes and thinks for a second, a minute. “There was a journal; Allison was going to check on the name for me.”
“They used to be a family of Hunters, the last surviving member was apparently bit in 1937 and then had kids, Ferris Dreymona is a descendant,” his dad says.
“So, uh,” he looks over at his dad who apparently is now in the know on werewolves and Hunters. He’s actually kind of sorry he missed the explanation and not just because if he’d been there he wouldn’t have been chained to a chair getting the shit beat of it him. “Werewolves are real?”
His father rolls his eyes at him. “Really? Is that what the hair and fangs and claws mean?”
Agent Coulson visits him while he’s still in the infirmary. Clint stays with him which he finds a little odd, but no one else does so he probably missed a conversation or three while he was off being kidnapped.
“So let’s talk about Ferris Dreymona,” Coulson says.
“He was a werewolf from a Hunter line,” Stiles says. “That’s what Scott said.”
“Yes, that appears to be the case, what was his interest in you?”
Stiles blinks at him, “Um, it didn’t have anything to do with SHIELD.”
“He grabbed you off a sidewalk in front of a SHIELD building, while surrounded by SHIELD employees…”
“It was sort of… kill a bunch of birds with one stone,” Stiles says.
“What do you mean?”
“He takes me, right? Because he knows if he grabs me that my pack is going to respond with force, he was… hoping that Derek and the others would come in full steam ahead to find me, he beats me up because he hopes that the smell of the blood, my blood will force them to respond first and think about things after.”
“He would have died.”
“He didn’t care, bunch of birds, one stone. One crazy werewolf from a Hunter line that hates what he is and wanted to make sure the werewolf line of his Hunter family didn’t continue. If he could take a bunch of other werewolves, weaken a bunch of packs in the process, all the better.”
“What?” Clint is straightening by the door and Coulson’s arms are crossing over his chest.
“If Derek had killed him, it would have broken the treaty with Darren’s pack. It would have been an open declaration of war between the packs; Darren would have had no choice but to respond with force.”
“Is that why you stopped Hale from killing him?”
“Yeah,” Stiles has issues with Dreymona trying to turn Derek into an assassin by provocation.
“So how do we handle this? The Director wants to throw the book at him.”
“Give him back to Darren,” Stiles says, Coulson blinks at him and Clint scowls. “Give him back to Darren’s pack and allow them to mete out his punishment. Trust me it will be more severe than anything that we could do to him; packs don’t take kindly to situations like this. If Darren wants to maintain his treaty with Derek he’ll…”
Well they’ll probably kill him, Stiles doesn’t say that though. He thinks that Agent Coulson and Clint can both read between the lines enough to determine it.
His injuries, while painful are not life-threatening so he manages to cajole a doctor into grudgingly allowing him to leave.
He’ll be better when he’s back in his own bed, in his own room, he says. He hates hospitals, always has, it is in no way restful for him to remain there.
He finds though that he’s not going back to his room on the Helicarrier, he’s been assigned a temporary room at the SHIELD building in the city.
The temporary room turns out to be temporary rooms that he’s apparently sharing with the pack, or the pack has moved in while he was being held captive by the medical staff, he’s not really sure.
He just knows that he’s really tired, and he forewent his pain meds because he needed to be clearheaded when he left the hospital. All he really wants to do is climb into bed, his real one, a temporary one, any bed would be good at this point.
Except he walks into the room, his father and Scott right behind him and finds that the pack has shoved all the furniture out of the way and made a pile of blankets and pillows in the middle of the room.
He sighs.
“Don’t give me that look,” Derek mutters, he’s in the middle of the pile on the floor, Isaac on one side Lydia on the other.
“I just want a bed,” he says, it’s not a whine, though Lydia shoots him the look that indicates that he’s being a whiny bitch and that he should just suck it up.
“It’s comfortable,” Isaac says, he’s looking at him with the wide puppy eyes which Stiles hates. Those eyes are hard to say no to, it’s why Derek normally has Isaac (or Scott) pull them out whenever they need to cajole one of the others into doing something.
He sighs again and allows Scott to maneuver him around into the center of the group, Derek is at his back and Isaac curls up next to him, growling a little when Scott goes to take his normal spot.
“I don’t see how this is going to be restful,” Stiles grumbles, there’s hands on him and he’s been in enough puppy piles by now that having Derek tight against his back and Isaac curled up in front of him doesn’t even turn him on.
“Shh,” Derek murmurs, his hand is against Stiles’ hip, breath warm against his neck.
They’re all touching him, Derek and Isaac, Allison lying between Isaac and Scott, her and Scott’s arms jointly touching his side. By his feet and legs Jackson and Boyd have hands wrapped around his ankles, Danny and Lydia’s on his calves.
He blinks his eyes open and his father is standing there with an expression that he can’t identify on his face.
He closes his eyes again and lets the warmth of his pack surround him, he sleeps.
The sound of the door opening and closing isn’t what wakes him. What wakes him is the growl coming from Derek and the way that his arm tightens around his waist.
He blinks away sleep and Clint and Steve are standing there, eyes wide. They’ve probably never seen the werewolf version of a puppy pile.
“It’ll take him a few minutes to extricate himself,” his father says with the wisdom of someone who watched Stiles try to get out of the middle of the pile to go to the bathroom hours earlier. “How about some coffee while you wait?”
They both murmur their acquiescence and follow, Stiles begins the long process of shifting himself away from his pack. Derek’s arm is always the last to be shifted because he’s normally awake by the time Stiles manages to get everyone else’s hands off him.
Stiles pats him on the head and smirks, Derek growls at the implied ‘good boy’. He’d said that once and Derek had smirked right back at him then tugged him back into the pile, it taken him 45 minutes additional minutes to get himself out again and he’d been late for curfew.
He’d never done that again.
There’s a small kitchen in this set of rooms that he’s apparently to call his own until either the pack leaves or he’s allowed back on the Helicarrier. At the table is father is holding a coffee cup, Steve’s is sitting on the table in front of him untouched and Clint’s is sitting empty on the counter next to where he’s leaning.
He brushes a hand over his head and wishes that he was wearing something other than track pants and a t-shirt that’s seen better days.
“Sorry to drag you away from your orgy,” Clint mutters, he doesn’t make eye contact and Stiles looks down at himself.
Maybe this is one of his ‘go to school and find out you’re naked’ dreams.
Except no, he’s standing there in his track pants and a t-shirt that he’s had since high school and his father is sitting there with an eyebrow cocked at an angle.
“Clint, didn’t you read any of the stuff that Tony gave us on wolf packs and their dynamics and how some of their behaviors may be mirrored by the werewolf packs that we encounter?” Steve sighs.
“Puppy pile,” Stiles inputs helpfully, “it helps the wolves feel secure in a strange places.”
It also helps them protect injured pack members from further attack, it’s why they had him in the center, he’s sure.
Apparently Stiles has bodyguards, which he doesn’t think is warranted. Those bodyguards are the Avengers for the moment which Stiles thinks is kind of like throwing a nuke on an anthill.
Just a little bit of overkill.
“We volunteered for it, you only got noticed by Dreymona because of the Avengers,” Steve says, all sensible voice and earnest face. “It’s only right that we make sure you stay safe.”
“Okay, but I was just planning on lying around and not doing much of anything,” Stiles says. “Also, no one is going to attack me while I’m in the middle of room of werewolves.”
“Director Fury wants you to come in and brief him on the Dreymona situation and our options,” Steve says.
“Didn’t I already do that? With the talk debrief with Coulson?” Stiles looks over at Clint who shrugs at him and doesn’t look in anyway apologetic about the orgy comment.
“Director Fury would like to hear it directly instead of through a third party.”
“So he wants me to climb into my uniform and come deliver a report that I’ve already delivered?”
Redundancy, thy name is SHIELD.
“Actually civilian clothes will probably suffice,” Clint says. “Though probably not what you’re currently wearing.”
“Well no, because these are my sleeping clothes and if I’m going to be sitting across from Director Fury and telling him that we need to hand Ferris Dreymona over to his pack for punishment then I’d like to at least shower first and have on clean underwear.”
His dad chokes on his coffee, Clint’s lips actually turn up into a sort of smile and Stiles only turns a little bit red at having said underwear in front of Captain America.