2 – Welcome to the ...

Despite the fact that Stiles had been lying for some time on the dew-damp ground, thus making his clothes soaked, he still felt good.

"I could use a change of clothes though," the boy concluded, looking at the traces of grated mud on his pants.

"Damn, Dad must be worried about me!" A sudden realization came to Stiles, which made him almost grab his head.

He knew his father's temper, and he was sure he'd already pulled all the strings just to find his son.

"I hate to admit it, but I'm a terrible son," he muttered mournfully, casting a sullen glance at the wet asphalt, "And a terrible friend..." Stilinski said even more sadly.

It's hard to pretend that you don't care. It's especially hard when you're just a normal person who's been hanging around the supernatural.

Gloomy thoughts began to plunge the teenager's mind into the darkest corners of his consciousness, straight into the abyss, making a situation that seemed not so dire become quite deplorable. In the truest sense of the word.

Because of the incessant flow of thoughts, Stiles stopped watching the road and almost fell under the wheels of a car. The car had gotten its bearings in time and turned the steering wheel to the right, but it kept beeping as it sped away.

"Yep, still no cars have stopped. Do I really look that sloppy?" Stiles said, as if mocking himself.

Suddenly the klaxon sounded again from behind. Stilinski turned back on instinct and saw a red-orange truck coming toward him, slowing down, obviously preparing to stop.

"Are you all right, son?" When the truck stopped in front of him and the driver's side window rolled down, a middle-aged man stared at him with concern on his face. Not young anymore, but far from old.

"I..." Stiles was struggling with conflicting emotions inside himself, he wanted to say that everything was fine and good, even if it was a barefaced lie, but he had too much on his plate lately, "No, it's not."

"Do you need help?" The man got out of the car and approached the boy, and only now he noticed the condition he was in, "God, you're freezing, run and get in the truck!"

Stilinski had no time to blink before he was mercilessly shoved into the car, a rather old one, he said to himself. He immediately thought of his jeep, and his mood began to plummet again.

"How did you end up here? Did you have a fight with your parents?" The man asked sympathetically, knowing and understanding the temper of modern teenagers. He often had to deal with them because of his line of work.

"I don't know, no," Stiles answered both questions with an unpleasant wince, and why he had accepted the man's help. If the one hundred percent will start asking him questions that Stilinski simply can not give an intelligible answer.

"If you don't want to talk about it, we'll leave that part of the conversation for later," the man said understandingly, and smiled: "By the way, I forgot to introduce myself, I'm Charlie Swan, chief of police of a small town."

"It's nice to meet you," the boy said, and he wasn't lying. He was really glad to meet a man who reminded him of his father in his good-naturedness, "My name is Stiles".

"How old are you, Stiles?" Charlie's cop instincts kicked in involuntarily, trying to gather as many facts about the teenager as possible. Profiling people like him was the norm.

"Seventeen," Stiles answered without hesitation and continued, "And how long have you worked at the police station? Since you got to such a high position, it must have been a long time, right?" The young man asked with interest, his condition gradually calming down and returning to normal.

"Great, my daughter is the same age. By the way, I'll tell you a secret, this "monster" I bought from an old friend especially for her!" Charlie smiled at the corner of his lips, "And as for your question, you're absolutely right. I've given this town my whole youth, and I don't regret it."

"I think she'll like it," Stiles appreciated the truck, "You remind me of my father, he's been a police officer for as long as I can remember,' he finished warmly and smiled sadly."

"Then your father is a good man," said Mr. Swan, confidently.

"Yes, you're right, Mr. Swan," Stilinski agreed, "Um...welcome to Forks?" the second part of the sentence was barely audible as the boy read the sign for the town.

"Yes, although our town doesn't have sunny weather every day, but you should know how beautiful the views are," Charlie said proudly, when he heard the teenager's words, "And you can just call me Charlie," the policeman smiled amicably as he made another turn in the car.

"Okay, Charlie," Stiles smiled visibly, finally relaxing.

"Whoa...to be honest, it was a bit of a surprise, but I'm glad you agreed to call me that, heh-heh," Mr. Swan grinned awkwardly, "Usually teenagers your age don't really go for people like me."

"Don't forget, Charlie, my father's the sheriff of the police department, and you can't count the number of times I've spent in his precinct," Stiles replied, looking at the streets of the town the truck was passing.

"That's right!" Charlie nodded vigorously, and, keeping the atmosphere light and cheerful, tapped his forehead theatrically a couple of times, "Stiles, would you like to come over for breakfast?"

"Hm..." the guy pretended to think about it, though in fact he was hungry, because lately he couldn't remember the last time he ate, "I'd love to, but my clothes and lack of money don't allow me to...."

"Don't worry about that, we'll go to my house, I'll find you something to change into, and I'll pay for your breakfast, and I'm not going to lose money from feeding one teenager," Charlie insisted.

"I...okay, thanks, Charlie," Stiles nodded gratefully, and turned away awkwardly, not knowing where to put himself. But, damn it, he was hungry, and if it was so actively offered, it was a sin to refuse.

"You're welcome, Stiles, because I'm the chief of police, and it's my duty to help ordinary citizens!" Mr. Swan said solemnly, "And it's not hard on me, really. Who am I not to come to the aid of a young man who's lost his way? Aren't I?"

"Not every policeman is a policeman, just as not every civilian is a civilian," Stiles replied intricately.

"You're right, unfortunately, some people go into the police force not only out of a pure desire to help people, but also to help themselves," Charlie understood Stiles' words a little differently. "Here's my house," he pointed along the street to a particular house, which was not much different from the others nearby.