Fanfic: Negligent Lycanthropy [Teen Wolf]
Mar. 21st, 2012 01:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
argentum_lsTitle: Negligent Lycanthropy
Summary: Scott's in a world of legal trouble.
Word Count: 1563
Notes: Thanks tofountainxxpenny for help with the story and for supplying a title.
Sheriff Stilinski should have known better than to walk into his son’s room unannounced. There were all kinds of reasons why the father of a teenaged boy knew to let his son have his space, and those were just the normal reasons. Most fathers didn’t have Stiles as their progeny and the hard-earned caution that resulted from that. Stilinski’s defenses were down, his attention focused on the recent string of vandalisms that had been plaguing Beacon Hills. He was ready to drop into bed and sleep for a million years, but he’d decided to detour past his son’s room first and at least acknowledge the kid’s existence. He’d pushed open the door, the question about what to have for dinner already on his lips. “Stiles, what do you want—“
Stiles and Scott both bolted upright. Stiles had been laying stomach down on his bed. He jumped to a sitting position fast enough to make Jackie Chan envious. Scott had been crouched over, his fingers dug in his hair. He stood up, and turned away—but not before Stilinski caught the flash of yellow eyes and the mouthful of fangs in a barely suppressed snarl. He blinked and instantly regretted that he hadn’t stayed at the station a few minutes longer.
“Dad!” Stiles yelled. He made a not-at-all-discrete waving motion with one hand as if trying to urge Scott to escape out the window. It didn’t matter. Scott turned back, his eyes wide and brown, though now his face was burning red and he wore the guiltiest expression.
Sheriff Stilinski sighed, the weariness of his day all pouring into one exhalation. He hadn’t seen what he’d seen, except for the minor point that he had. And he really should have known better. But long experience had taught him to trust his instincts, and right now his instincts were telling him not to make direct eye contact with the werewolf in front of him. “Scott,” he said, speaking carefully so that he didn’t spook the kid. “I hate to say this, but you’re under arrest.” His hand automatically went to his gun, which he hadn’t even gotten as far as putting into the safe for the night.
Scott’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Stiles didn’t make a noise. His eyes were darting back and forth between his father and his best friend, like he was certain that one of them had planned this at his expense. He was gnawing on his lower lip.
“You’re in violation of several Beacon Hills’s town laws.”
Scott threw his hands up in exasperation, obviously at a loss for words. “Which ones?”
Sheriff Stilinski wet his lips, never took his hand off his gun. How he hated needing to do this. Fortunately, he hadn’t had to pull the gun yet. Not that the weapon would make any difference. He fought the urge to roll his eyes toward the ceiling. No matter that this was his son’s best friend, a kid he’d known for most of his life, he still had to be somewhat professional. “It’s against the law to be a werewolf within city limits,” Stilinski explained.
Now both the boys were staring at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He could feel their shock and the crashing pile-up of all the questions they wanted to ask. Stilinski felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. “It’s one of those laws that has been on the books forever and that no one has ever taken seriously enough to remove,” he offered, by way of what little apology he could offer. He certainly hadn’t taken the law seriously. Oh, he’d had a good laugh about it back in the academy, along with all the other cadets. Then he’d promptly forgotten about it until he saw Scott. Even the animal attacks in town hadn’t triggered the connection.
“You mean like the Minnesota law against crossing state lines while carrying a duck?” Stiles asked. His eyes brightened as he discovered yet another realm of useless knowledge that he was suddenly able to employ. “Or like the Wisconsin one about margarine—“
Stilinski cut his son off with a sharp look. “Unfortunately, it is still law, and I am charged with the task of upholding the law.”
“How can there be a law against being a freakin’ werewolf?” Scott protested. He dragged a hand through his hair and dropped his head back, directing his next question at the ceiling. “How can I be a criminal for something I am instead of something I did?” He groaned loudly. “My mom’s going to kill me.”
Stilinski shrugged and held out one hand toward his son. “Your handcuffs, please.”
“Can’t,” Stiles replied. He bounced once on the end of the bed as if to punctuate his refusal. The Chemistry textbook and homework papers spread out around him rustled with the movement.
“Stiles,” Stilinski warned. He was already too tired to deal with this crap. Another second and he’d have to trot out Stiles’s full name, the threat of which already had Stiles’s face scrunching up as if he saw a wrecking ball swinging his way and could do nothing except brace himself for impact.
“I used them. They’re broken,” his son explained. He indicated the empty place on the wall near his bed where the ‘cuffs had previously hung. “Had to lock Scott up to a radiator somehow.”
Stilinski’s eyebrows danced up. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said. “Failure to report a known werewolf is also illegal.”
“So you’re going to arrest me, but not him?” Scott cried. His pitch broke on the last word and he had to clear his throat before shooting an apologetic look at his friend. Stiles didn’t usually need help getting into trouble, and he never needed Scott to lead him there.
“Do you have a concealed carry permit for those claws? What about the fangs?” Stilinski answered. Off Scott’s baffled and affronted expression, he continued, “You’ve broken far more laws than Stiles has. Amazingly.” Stilinski frequently found himself shocked that Stiles had made it this far into his adolescence without a juvenile record. It figured that getting him all the way through without some legal trouble would be too much to ask.
“Hey!” Stiles protested.
“You’ll have to come with me—“
“Wait!” Stiles interrupted, leaping to his feet. The floor shook under the impact. “You can’t do this. It’s discrimination. Scott’s never hurt anyone….” He looked like he was going to say more, probably add an exception that really wouldn’t help the case he was trying to make. He stopped talking when he saw the way Scott was glaring at him.
Stilinski let his hand drop from his gun, let his shoulder slump under his exhaustion. “That’s not for us to decide. I wish I could just let this go, pretend I never walked into the room tonight.”
“Why can’t you?” Scott asked, not unreasonably.
“Because when you get caught—and you will—questions will be asked. I can do more to protect you if I’m the good guy.” He looked imploringly at his son, willing Stiles to get it, to make it make sense someplace other than in his head. Like most cops, Stilinski had gone into police work to be the good guy. All that attitude really did was make the tough decisions even tougher. This was the toughest one he’d ever had to face.
Stiles ran his hand up over the back of his head, his short hair bristling under the gesture. Finally he nodded, tipping his chin up at Scott in a tiny movement that only a decade of friendship imbued with meaning.
“I’ll go with you,” Scott replied, his implicit, unquestioned trust in Stiles making any further discussion moot. “On one condition.” He held up a finger to still Stilinski before the Sheriff could point out that Scott didn’t have any rights to name conditions. Not that he was going to point that out. Legalities aside, this was far from a normal arrest, and Stilinski felt he owed some concession to the boy who was practically his second son. “We stop by my house first so I can tell my mom what’s going on. I don’t want her to find out from the rumor mill.”
Stilinski blinked, once again impressed by Scott’s thoughtfulness.
“I’m going, too,” Stiles chimed in. “Someone needs to keep everyone honest.”
Stilinski swallowed a chuckle. Stiles’s thoughtfulness was a little more suspect, but no less appreciated. “Deal,” Stilinksi replied. He hesitated a little longer on the next part because it contradicted so much of what he’d just said and most of what he stood for. But, he knew Scott and he knew the teen would uphold his end of their bargain, which made bending the rules a little easier to justify to himself. “As soon as school’s out tomorrow, I’ll see you down at the station.”
Without waiting for a response, he stepped back into the hall and shut the door behind him. As for dinner, he’d order the boys a couple subs and two-liters, get them fueled up. He could trust his son to make use of the evening, his new computer, and his mostly-untapped criminal talents. Stilinski smiled as he walked down the hall in search of one of the cordless handsets. The Beacon County Courthouse had no idea what was coming for them.
END
Fulfulls AU Bingo square #11: Criminals
Summary: Scott's in a world of legal trouble.
Word Count: 1563
Notes: Thanks to
fountainxxpenny for help with the story and for supplying a title.Sheriff Stilinski should have known better than to walk into his son’s room unannounced. There were all kinds of reasons why the father of a teenaged boy knew to let his son have his space, and those were just the normal reasons. Most fathers didn’t have Stiles as their progeny and the hard-earned caution that resulted from that. Stilinski’s defenses were down, his attention focused on the recent string of vandalisms that had been plaguing Beacon Hills. He was ready to drop into bed and sleep for a million years, but he’d decided to detour past his son’s room first and at least acknowledge the kid’s existence. He’d pushed open the door, the question about what to have for dinner already on his lips. “Stiles, what do you want—“
Stiles and Scott both bolted upright. Stiles had been laying stomach down on his bed. He jumped to a sitting position fast enough to make Jackie Chan envious. Scott had been crouched over, his fingers dug in his hair. He stood up, and turned away—but not before Stilinski caught the flash of yellow eyes and the mouthful of fangs in a barely suppressed snarl. He blinked and instantly regretted that he hadn’t stayed at the station a few minutes longer.
“Dad!” Stiles yelled. He made a not-at-all-discrete waving motion with one hand as if trying to urge Scott to escape out the window. It didn’t matter. Scott turned back, his eyes wide and brown, though now his face was burning red and he wore the guiltiest expression.
Sheriff Stilinski sighed, the weariness of his day all pouring into one exhalation. He hadn’t seen what he’d seen, except for the minor point that he had. And he really should have known better. But long experience had taught him to trust his instincts, and right now his instincts were telling him not to make direct eye contact with the werewolf in front of him. “Scott,” he said, speaking carefully so that he didn’t spook the kid. “I hate to say this, but you’re under arrest.” His hand automatically went to his gun, which he hadn’t even gotten as far as putting into the safe for the night.
Scott’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Stiles didn’t make a noise. His eyes were darting back and forth between his father and his best friend, like he was certain that one of them had planned this at his expense. He was gnawing on his lower lip.
“You’re in violation of several Beacon Hills’s town laws.”
Scott threw his hands up in exasperation, obviously at a loss for words. “Which ones?”
Sheriff Stilinski wet his lips, never took his hand off his gun. How he hated needing to do this. Fortunately, he hadn’t had to pull the gun yet. Not that the weapon would make any difference. He fought the urge to roll his eyes toward the ceiling. No matter that this was his son’s best friend, a kid he’d known for most of his life, he still had to be somewhat professional. “It’s against the law to be a werewolf within city limits,” Stilinski explained.
Now both the boys were staring at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He could feel their shock and the crashing pile-up of all the questions they wanted to ask. Stilinski felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. “It’s one of those laws that has been on the books forever and that no one has ever taken seriously enough to remove,” he offered, by way of what little apology he could offer. He certainly hadn’t taken the law seriously. Oh, he’d had a good laugh about it back in the academy, along with all the other cadets. Then he’d promptly forgotten about it until he saw Scott. Even the animal attacks in town hadn’t triggered the connection.
“You mean like the Minnesota law against crossing state lines while carrying a duck?” Stiles asked. His eyes brightened as he discovered yet another realm of useless knowledge that he was suddenly able to employ. “Or like the Wisconsin one about margarine—“
Stilinski cut his son off with a sharp look. “Unfortunately, it is still law, and I am charged with the task of upholding the law.”
“How can there be a law against being a freakin’ werewolf?” Scott protested. He dragged a hand through his hair and dropped his head back, directing his next question at the ceiling. “How can I be a criminal for something I am instead of something I did?” He groaned loudly. “My mom’s going to kill me.”
Stilinski shrugged and held out one hand toward his son. “Your handcuffs, please.”
“Can’t,” Stiles replied. He bounced once on the end of the bed as if to punctuate his refusal. The Chemistry textbook and homework papers spread out around him rustled with the movement.
“Stiles,” Stilinski warned. He was already too tired to deal with this crap. Another second and he’d have to trot out Stiles’s full name, the threat of which already had Stiles’s face scrunching up as if he saw a wrecking ball swinging his way and could do nothing except brace himself for impact.
“I used them. They’re broken,” his son explained. He indicated the empty place on the wall near his bed where the ‘cuffs had previously hung. “Had to lock Scott up to a radiator somehow.”
Stilinski’s eyebrows danced up. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said. “Failure to report a known werewolf is also illegal.”
“So you’re going to arrest me, but not him?” Scott cried. His pitch broke on the last word and he had to clear his throat before shooting an apologetic look at his friend. Stiles didn’t usually need help getting into trouble, and he never needed Scott to lead him there.
“Do you have a concealed carry permit for those claws? What about the fangs?” Stilinski answered. Off Scott’s baffled and affronted expression, he continued, “You’ve broken far more laws than Stiles has. Amazingly.” Stilinski frequently found himself shocked that Stiles had made it this far into his adolescence without a juvenile record. It figured that getting him all the way through without some legal trouble would be too much to ask.
“Hey!” Stiles protested.
“You’ll have to come with me—“
“Wait!” Stiles interrupted, leaping to his feet. The floor shook under the impact. “You can’t do this. It’s discrimination. Scott’s never hurt anyone….” He looked like he was going to say more, probably add an exception that really wouldn’t help the case he was trying to make. He stopped talking when he saw the way Scott was glaring at him.
Stilinski let his hand drop from his gun, let his shoulder slump under his exhaustion. “That’s not for us to decide. I wish I could just let this go, pretend I never walked into the room tonight.”
“Why can’t you?” Scott asked, not unreasonably.
“Because when you get caught—and you will—questions will be asked. I can do more to protect you if I’m the good guy.” He looked imploringly at his son, willing Stiles to get it, to make it make sense someplace other than in his head. Like most cops, Stilinski had gone into police work to be the good guy. All that attitude really did was make the tough decisions even tougher. This was the toughest one he’d ever had to face.
Stiles ran his hand up over the back of his head, his short hair bristling under the gesture. Finally he nodded, tipping his chin up at Scott in a tiny movement that only a decade of friendship imbued with meaning.
“I’ll go with you,” Scott replied, his implicit, unquestioned trust in Stiles making any further discussion moot. “On one condition.” He held up a finger to still Stilinski before the Sheriff could point out that Scott didn’t have any rights to name conditions. Not that he was going to point that out. Legalities aside, this was far from a normal arrest, and Stilinski felt he owed some concession to the boy who was practically his second son. “We stop by my house first so I can tell my mom what’s going on. I don’t want her to find out from the rumor mill.”
Stilinski blinked, once again impressed by Scott’s thoughtfulness.
“I’m going, too,” Stiles chimed in. “Someone needs to keep everyone honest.”
Stilinski swallowed a chuckle. Stiles’s thoughtfulness was a little more suspect, but no less appreciated. “Deal,” Stilinksi replied. He hesitated a little longer on the next part because it contradicted so much of what he’d just said and most of what he stood for. But, he knew Scott and he knew the teen would uphold his end of their bargain, which made bending the rules a little easier to justify to himself. “As soon as school’s out tomorrow, I’ll see you down at the station.”
Without waiting for a response, he stepped back into the hall and shut the door behind him. As for dinner, he’d order the boys a couple subs and two-liters, get them fueled up. He could trust his son to make use of the evening, his new computer, and his mostly-untapped criminal talents. Stilinski smiled as he walked down the hall in search of one of the cordless handsets. The Beacon County Courthouse had no idea what was coming for them.
END
Fulfulls AU Bingo square #11: Criminals
