Fanfic: Gettin' On [Teen Wolf]
Apr. 20th, 2012 11:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
argentum_lsTitle: Gettin' On
Word Count: 686
Notes: kid!fic, written for the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fan_flashworks challenge: genre
Summary: Sometimes you need to be someone else to get by.
Sheriff Stilinski strode down Main Street, his imaginary spurs clanking with every confident step. He kept one hand on his holster in case he had to make a quick draw; the other arm swung freely by his side. This was his town and everyone knew it. From directly overhead poured the harsh rays of the noonday sun, a fitting accompaniment to his presence.
“You’re doing it again, Dad,” piped up a young voice.
“Doing what?” Stilinski—Sheriff Stilinski—asked. He peered down at the curly-haired boy padding along next to him. His son’s t-shirt was too large for his thin frame and was dulled from its original vibrant red through repeated washings and the cloud of dust that seemed to exist in a symbiotic relationship with him.
Stiles came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. He squeezed his eyes nearly shut and thrust his chin out, as if daring a world that thought it knew what it was in for to come and find out otherwise. He held the expression for a moment to make sure his father saw it, then said, “That one.”
Stilinski chuckled and gave his son’s head a quick tousle. He noted that both of them were overdue for haircuts. “How you see the world effects what there is to see,” he responded, trying not to the notice the pitying looks being cast at the pair of them from the passers-by. None of those looks were meant for him to see, though no one was quite effective at hiding them. They were part of a reality he still hadn’t figured out how to negotiate.
“That’s how you see the world?” Stiles mulled this revelation over for barely the time it took to draw a breath, then passed judgement on it with an exaggerated neck roll. “Boring!”
“You think that’s boring?” Stilinski asked. His childhood had been formed on Lone Ranger and Zorro re-runs, which had early cemented his passion for the Wild West. That Beacon Hills, California in the early 21st century didn’t count was hardly the point. “Well, how do you see the world?”
Stiles’s answer was immediate. He struck a stance with his legs slightly spread, his knees bent. “Zap, zap. Zap, zap, zap,” he called, throwing his arms around like lasers were shooting out of them at the hundreds of enemies that surrounded him.
Stilinski raised his eyebrows and stepped back from one particularly wild sweep. “You want to be a space cowboy?”
Stiles jerked to a stop, obviously affronted. He pulled himself to his full height and puffed his chest out, planting his arms akimbo. “Superhero,” he replied, clearly appalled at his father’s inability to figure that out on his own. “I was shooting webs.” He frowned. “Or maybe lightning bolts.”
“That’s my son,” Stilinski replied with an indulgent smile. “You’re definitely a superhero.” With all the kid had gone through in the past year, there was no way that Stilinski could suggest otherwise.
Stiles puffed up even further at his father’s validation. His chest stuck out so far that he looked like he was about to topple over backwards.
Stilinski clapped a hand on his son’s back, pushing him back up and urging him forward. “What do you say we keep going, Captain S.?”
“Sure thing, Dad,” Stiles replied. He started walking again, his hands still on his hips, his chest still out. His imaginary cape billowed behind him, caught in the fingers of breeze that slipped through the afternoon heat. All who saw him would know that they had nothing to fear.
Stilinski fell into step beside him, his boots back to kicking up dust on the one-horse town he’d ridden into so long ago. He tugged down the front of the cowboy hat he wasn’t wearing and set off with his superhero companion to conquer the villains, corral the bad guys, and bring some Law to the untamed territory of the grocery story.
Word Count: 686
Notes: kid!fic, written for the
fan_flashworks challenge: genreSummary: Sometimes you need to be someone else to get by.
Sheriff Stilinski strode down Main Street, his imaginary spurs clanking with every confident step. He kept one hand on his holster in case he had to make a quick draw; the other arm swung freely by his side. This was his town and everyone knew it. From directly overhead poured the harsh rays of the noonday sun, a fitting accompaniment to his presence.
“You’re doing it again, Dad,” piped up a young voice.
“Doing what?” Stilinski—Sheriff Stilinski—asked. He peered down at the curly-haired boy padding along next to him. His son’s t-shirt was too large for his thin frame and was dulled from its original vibrant red through repeated washings and the cloud of dust that seemed to exist in a symbiotic relationship with him.
Stiles came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. He squeezed his eyes nearly shut and thrust his chin out, as if daring a world that thought it knew what it was in for to come and find out otherwise. He held the expression for a moment to make sure his father saw it, then said, “That one.”
Stilinski chuckled and gave his son’s head a quick tousle. He noted that both of them were overdue for haircuts. “How you see the world effects what there is to see,” he responded, trying not to the notice the pitying looks being cast at the pair of them from the passers-by. None of those looks were meant for him to see, though no one was quite effective at hiding them. They were part of a reality he still hadn’t figured out how to negotiate.
“That’s how you see the world?” Stiles mulled this revelation over for barely the time it took to draw a breath, then passed judgement on it with an exaggerated neck roll. “Boring!”
“You think that’s boring?” Stilinski asked. His childhood had been formed on Lone Ranger and Zorro re-runs, which had early cemented his passion for the Wild West. That Beacon Hills, California in the early 21st century didn’t count was hardly the point. “Well, how do you see the world?”
Stiles’s answer was immediate. He struck a stance with his legs slightly spread, his knees bent. “Zap, zap. Zap, zap, zap,” he called, throwing his arms around like lasers were shooting out of them at the hundreds of enemies that surrounded him.
Stilinski raised his eyebrows and stepped back from one particularly wild sweep. “You want to be a space cowboy?”
Stiles jerked to a stop, obviously affronted. He pulled himself to his full height and puffed his chest out, planting his arms akimbo. “Superhero,” he replied, clearly appalled at his father’s inability to figure that out on his own. “I was shooting webs.” He frowned. “Or maybe lightning bolts.”
“That’s my son,” Stilinski replied with an indulgent smile. “You’re definitely a superhero.” With all the kid had gone through in the past year, there was no way that Stilinski could suggest otherwise.
Stiles puffed up even further at his father’s validation. His chest stuck out so far that he looked like he was about to topple over backwards.
Stilinski clapped a hand on his son’s back, pushing him back up and urging him forward. “What do you say we keep going, Captain S.?”
“Sure thing, Dad,” Stiles replied. He started walking again, his hands still on his hips, his chest still out. His imaginary cape billowed behind him, caught in the fingers of breeze that slipped through the afternoon heat. All who saw him would know that they had nothing to fear.
Stilinski fell into step beside him, his boots back to kicking up dust on the one-horse town he’d ridden into so long ago. He tugged down the front of the cowboy hat he wasn’t wearing and set off with his superhero companion to conquer the villains, corral the bad guys, and bring some Law to the untamed territory of the grocery story.
