Hey so this is just something I'm trying. If you all want me to continue, please tell me because I'm not sure if to do so.
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf.
My name is Stiles. Just Stiles. It used to be Stiles Dwenner but that's not real either. The Dwenners had stolen me from my real parents when I was a baby and ran away with me. I found out when I was thirteen and I ran from them. Smack straight into some of the craziest, unbelievable stuff ever. And I met some people and we became friends, and then family and then I finally, officially joined the pack. Because that's what they were, a human pack. A group of humans together modeled after a werewolf pack mostly, but a lot more cuddly and fluffy.
A human pack is an interesting non-preternatural addition to the preternatural world, that is accepted by the preternatural world. Human packs are there for medical emergencies for preternaturals, for research if anyone wants it, to point newly turned preternaturals towards packs or seethes ect. If they need it. They're also used as a sort of neutral ground between groups of disputing preternaturals. They're pretty important sometimes and are usually well protected by the groups that use their services. Until of course they're not. Until those groups are too far away for them to help you. Until you're the only one left alive and you're just a bleeding hollowed out shell with just a little too much will to live to just let yourself die even if you want to so desperately.
So I'm Stiles and I had nowhere to go. I didn't know where to go or what to do because the only people in the world I cared about were dead and I just couldn't let myself die and be done with it. So eventually I did what I had originally been planning to do when I first ran from the Dwenners. I went to find my parents.
Which I how I'm here, crossing the Fence and standing on the edge of the town called Beacon Hills. I had laughed my first laugh in weeks, when I found out where I was from because it had seemed so appropriate. I had heard of Beacon Hills even on the other side of the Fence. Who hadn't? The place had a crazy history even though it was rather quiet these days. But now I'm here and going to find the man who was my father and hopefully not give him a heart attack by just turning up out of the blue.
I sighed, watching the town. I didn't know what I was doing here either. I just needed a place to be. I wasn't even nervous about going down. I was still hollowed out and empty except for the times when pain and loss would just fill me up and I would literally double over with how much it hurts. I took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts away from my mind, tossed some adderall down my throat and started walking.
Three days before.
Three days earlier Scott McCall was getting a ride back from his evening job with Sherriff Stilinksi when the sheriff got the dispatch about the body in the woods. It was urgent so the sheriff gave Scott an apologetic look before he turned the car in the direction of the preserve. They arrived at the preserve and Scott was given strict orders to stay in the car and then the Sherriff got out and went through the woods to crime scene. Scott waited obediently in the car for half an hour before he got really tired of sitting in the car and got out. Fifteen minutes later Scott got tired of just standing and made his way over to where the sheriff and the other officers were.
"Scott!" said Sherriff Stilinski "I thought I told you to stay in the car."
"It was getting really stuffy in there," Scott said, giving him puppy dog eyes.
"The windows were down," said the Sheriff, not buying the eyes for a moment.
Scott sighed. "I just got tired of waiting and I've never seen a dead body before." He glanced at the sheet covered body still on the ground.
The Sherriff sighed and relented, saying, "And you still haven't. Now get back to the car, we're leaving now anyway."
Scott pouted and turned to go back to the car when the wind blew and brought the stench from the dead body over to him. Scott gagged and coughed and then found that he couldn't breathe. He pulled out his inhaler and took a puff. He waited for a moment and then took another one. After that his breathing evened out. He hastily shoved the inhaler into his jacket pocket and headed back to the car.
After a few minutes the Sherriff came over and got into the car. He dropped Scott home and said, "Scott, tell your mom I won't be able to make it for dinner tonight. I have to go back out to the preserve."
"Why?" asked Scott, "I mean, didn't you all get all the evidence you need?"
The Sheriff sighed, "Not exactly. What you saw wasn't the whole body."
Scott gaped at him. "It was half a body?"
"And you're going to keep quiet about that," the Sheriff warned him.
"Oh, yeah, sure," said Scott, "Thanks for the lift, Sheriff."
"Not a problem, Scott." Sherriff Stilinski pulled away from the driveway leaving Scott behind.
Scott, determined to make this year different, set about making sure that everything ready for school tomorrow. He finished fairly early, had dinner with his mom and then went upstairs intent on getting a good night's sleep before the first day. After all he had to get into first line this year. He went to shower before going to sleep and it was only when he was halfway undressed that he remembered that he had put his inhaler in his jacket pocket. He fished the jacket of the floor and rooted around in the pockets only to come up empty. Scott stared at the jacket and then stuck his head into his room to see if he had taken it out and put in anywhere. There was no sign of it. With a sinking heart Scott realized where his inhaler must be. Out in the preserve, where he must have missed his pocket and dropped it on the ground. His mom was going to kill him.
Present
It was dark when I finally reached the house where my dad lived. I went up to the door and knocked nervously. After a few minutes the door opened and a thin, middle aged man opened the door. He frowned at me, obviously confused as to who I was and what I was doing there.
"Sheriff Stilinski?" I asked.
"Yes. How may I help you?"
"Well, ahh, that's kind of awkward. But, uh, you had a son, like sixteen years ago. And, he got kidnapped when he was a baby."
"Yes," said the Sheriff, even more confused, even though Stiles could see the pain in his eyes at the mention of the missing child. It was strangely comforting.
"Well, um, that's, uh, the child…"
"What about him?" asked the Sherriff, trying to keep calm.
"He's me," I said.
There was a pause and then the Sherriff said, "What?" very calmly.
"Your son," I said, "He's me. The Dwenners stole me when I was a baby. I found out and did some research and it lead me here."
"You're saying you're my son?"
"Yes. At least I think so."
The Sherriff blinked a few times and said, "I think you better come inside."
Sherriff POV
The Sherriff opened the door and let the strange boy shuffle inside. One part of his mind was watching the boy, analyzing him, while the other part of his mind screamed and whirled. Questions ran through his mind and hope and fear clashed together and then tore apart. The Sherriff decided to pick his rational mind over the emotional one right now. That way he could function.
The boy was of average height for a teenager, pale skinned with light brown eyes. He wore baggy clothes over a rather gangly frame but when he moved the Sheriff noted that he was made up of lean muscle rather than just being thin. He moved awkwardly but always seemed to notice his surroundings. He had a pack on his back and excluded and air of sadness. If he had just seen him on the road the Sherriff would have tagged him both as runaway and future felon.
He stopped just inside the doorway and waited for the Sheriff to tell him where to go. The Sherriff closed the door and led him into the living room. They both sat somewhat awkwardly on the couches and the Sherriff couldn't help but think that awkward was the name of the game today.
"So," said the Sherriff, to break the silence, "What's your name?"
"Stiles," said the boy.
"They named you Stiles?" the Sherriff asked frowning.
"No," said Stiles, "I did."
"Oh," said the Sheriff. "What did they call you?"
"Bryon Dwenner," Stiles replied.
"I see."
"But I don't go by that," Stiles added.
"Okay. So you're saying that you're my son. And you mentioned some research. Do you mind if I asked what research lead you did?"
The Sherriff watched as Stiles tensed a little. "I did a search. For missing babies at the time I was taken. And from area that I was taken. Well as close as I could. The Dwenners didn't want to tell me the exact place. They had baby pictures, I compared them with the pictures you placed up. This was the closest match. "
"I see. That's, that's good."
"We'll still have to check," said Stiles, in the same sort of monotone he had used all evening. The Sherriff watched him carefully and noticed the flash of grief in his eyes. He frowned but said:
"Sure," out loud. "So when did you find out about the Dwenners?" he continued. In his mind he was already hunting down the Dwenners and charging them with everything he could.
"Um," said Stiles, "Thirteen."
Stilinksi sat up and stared at him, took what he had observed and then asked slowly , "Stiles, did you run away from the Dwenners when you were thirteen?"
Stiles stared up at him in shock and then the shock turned to rueful, amused, acknowledgement.
"Yes," he admitted.
"So you've been on your own all this time?" The Sheriff demanded, feeling anger and pain and guilt all rage inside him.
"No!" Stiles shot out and then looked surprised at himself. He closed his eyes and forcefully calmed himself. "No," he said again softly, "But I am alone now." And there was all that grief and pain whirling around him again.
It hit the Sherriff suddenly that his boy had a lot of problems and a complicated past. Of course he would have.
"Stiles," he said gently, "What happened?"
But Stiles just glanced at him, with eyes that had a light, watery sheen and shook his head.
"Did they hurt you?"
He shook his head violently. "No, they didn't. They, " he choked and stopped, "They were my family."
It didn't escape the Sherriff that he was speaking about them in past tense. But he knew he couldn't push. Not today and not with the boy almost a complete stranger. He would bet his jacket that Stiles had already said more than he meant to.
"Well," said the Sherriff getting up, "How about we get some dinner and then you can bed down here for the night if you want to." He secretly prayed that this wasn't some elaborate heist and he would get knifed in the back while he slept. If he slept tonight.
Stiles knuckled at his eyes and then nodded.
R&R Please! I would love the feedback!