"Beacon County Sheriff’s Department," a gruff voice answers.
Stiles stops and looks at the phone in surprise, still bouncing Hannah on one hip. That…is definitely not his dad. Fuck. He must have accidentally called the station instead of his dad’s personal line. Again.
"Uhm. Hi," he says lamely.
There’s a pregnant pause before the voice on the other end says, “Hello.”
"Can you patch me through to Sheriff Stilinski?" he tries. He doesn’t immediately recognize the voice, but there’s a good chance he’s met whoever it is at least once.
Another pause. “Is this an emergency?”
Yes, Stiles wants to say, but he’s not exactly sure how to justify needing his dad’s patented diaper rash remedy as an emergency. Hannah’s rash isn’t even that bad, but Scott’s been calling him every half hour to ask him to check on it, and drop totally unsubtle hints about how his mom said the sheriff might be able to help.
"Kind of," he settles on. "Uh. What’s your name?"
There’s a huff, like the guy on the other end is losing his patience, which, rude. “My name is Deputy Hale. What’s the problem, sir?”