Chapter 1

There are three defining instances in Stiles' life before he even makes it through puberty.

The first is his mom's illness.

Her death shortly after his eighth birthday transforms his cotton-candy happy childhood into misery as he loses his mom - first mentally, then physically - and effectively his father as well, when the Sheriff turns to the bottle in his grief. Most days his dad can barely even look at him, much less actually exchange so much as a sentence with him. The Stilinski household turns absolutely silent.

Stiles learns to loathe loneliness.

The second instance is when Stiles is twelve and his dad gets shot during a gas station shoot out.

In the three days it takes the Sheriff to wake up after his surgery, Stiles refuses to move from his bedside. He is utterly terrified of losing his dad.

He throws the mother of all tantrums when a nurse actually suggests getting child protective services involved, but his dad's deputies come through for their boss beautifully. They make sure that nothing of the sort is so much as mentioned again.

It's loyalty. And Stiles adores it from that day on.

Having spent several days and nights clinging to his father's hand - desperately praying to any deity he could think of - the fear of losing his dad never really leaves Stiles again.

Even more so because as soon as the Sheriff is up and walking again, he immediately returns to his old ways. His dad seems utterly unable – or unwilling - to let go of the bottle, continuing to go to work at the very least slightly inebriated, unable to get over his wife's death and completely irreverent to his own safety.

Stiles starts having nightmares. Sometimes they are of his dad lying in that hospital bed and simply not waking up, sometimes the nightmares are gruesome as he is forced to watch the Sheriff bleed out at a random gas station in the middle of nowhere because help never arrives, sometimes they are of his dad simply not coming home and Stiles just knowing that something is wrong, that his dad is in trouble somewhere, that the Sheriff needs help.

But no matter the nightmare, no matter the scenario, Stiles is always unable to move, unable to call for help, unable to do anything.

So, first Stiles tries to make his dad realize that other people can actually tell that the Sheriff is drinking on the job. If only because some days his dad kind of reeks of alcohol. Seriously, his dad's breath could be classified as a room disinfectant on some days.

Stiles starts wrinkling his nose in his dad's presence before immediately offering him a breath mint.

The deputies catch on quickly and all of them join Stiles in 'The Great Breath Mint Attack of 2007'.

They also try to help in their own way.

Dina Moore who more often than not mans the front desk at the Station tends to force his dad out of his office – where his not so secret liquor stash is hidden – to drink coffee under her watchful eyes in the break room. Jordan Parrish starts carrying around small water bottles to offer to the Sheriff at any given opportunity to at least counteract some of the alcohol. And Paul Carter - the huge bear of a man that he is - simply tells the Sheriff straight up that he can't drink around Paul because his newly pregnant wife would surely smell it on him and there would be hell to pay. And everyone in their right mind is afraid of Missy Carter.

It still takes the Sheriff about a week to catch on that the people around him are trying to tell him something. But instead of stopping, he starts carrying a pack of chewing gum around with him wherever he goes. The drinking doesn't stop.

After that, Stiles makes various attempts at getting his dad away from drinking, each more absurd than the last.

He fails every single time to make his dad realize that he is drinking himself into a stupor at best and early grave at worst. His failures start to haunt him in his nightmares as well.

In his last attempt to curb his dad's drinking, Stiles starts sneaking into the kitchen at night to pour away some of the alcohol in the liquor cabinet, trying to make his dad believe that he drank more than he really did. Stiles figures it might shock his dad into reconsidering his drinking habits, if he thinks he actually drinks more than half a bottle of hard liquor every night.

It doesn't.

His dad just buys more and more bottles, apathetic to the amount of alcohol he now buys on a weekly basis and completely indifferent to the pitying looks he garners from the supermarket's cashiers whenever he buys yet another two or three - or five - bottles of Whiskey.

With a good chunk of his dad's paycheck now going towards alcohol and with the rumors around town getting even worse, Stiles stops pouring the liquor away.

This last attempt however shows Stiles that there simply isn't anything he can do to get the Sheriff to stop on his own accord. He gives up on curing his dad's alcoholism.

As a result, his nightmares get even worse and more often than not keep him awake for most of the night, after an hour of restless, nightmare-plagued sleep.

Thing is, Stiles needs his dad to be at least generally alright, needs someone to at least sometimes come home to. He needs his dad to be safe.

He doesn't have anyone else.

So, in his complete helplessness of watching his remaining parent wasting away – the only person he really cares about - Stiles gets into the habit of sneaking after the Sheriff on the job whenever he isn't at school. To make sure his dad is safe. It's not like he is sleeping anyways.

Admittedly, he hadn't thought that entirely through – because what would Stiles be able to do if his badass Sheriff father couldn't handle it – but he blames it on his at this point completely sleep deprived mind.

Of course, a thirteen year old sneaking after his crime-fighting father without so much as a clue as to what is actually going on, is just asking for trouble.

And trouble answers.

Just about a year later Stiles is taken hostage during a robbery, while cluelessly wandering into a stand-off between the bank robber and the Sheriff's deputies.

In the end, Stiles gets away with nothing but a bruised shoulder which actually hurts less than his bruised ego.

But it's the third defining instance of Stiles' life, because when they get home from the hospital – Stiles with his arm in a sling and a little loopy due to the painkillers – his dad barely lets him get through the door before rounding on him.

He grounds Stiles indefinitely, calls him irresponsible for sneaking after the Sheriff, tells him how disappointed he is in Stiles, demands that he never again follow him on his job, takes away his TV rights, his gaming station, his laptop, his phone and who cared what else.

The Sheriff is yelling, utterly furious, his nostrils flared, veins in his neck standing out, red in the face. And his breath smelling of alcohol.

Stiles stopped listening some time after his TV rights were revoked.

His dad doesn't ask once, why Stiles thought it might be a good idea to follow him on the job, seems utterly disinterested in anything that Stiles might have to say.

And maybe that's fair after the stunt Stiles pulled. It still doesn't hurt any less that this is the most his father has spoken to him in weeks.

Stiles just takes the scolding silently - keeping his head bent to hide the tears he is desperate not to let fall.

His dad's rant finally tapers off, finally running out of things to include into Stiles' punishment.

There is a slightly awkward pause. And then, of the many many things the Sheriff could do in this moment – asking Stiles a question, waiting for Stiles' response, sending him to his room, anything - the Sheriff just huffs angrily and turns around to reach for one of the Whiskey glasses on the counter.

And seeing that, Stiles just can't help himself anymore.

"You don't care." His whisper almost seems to echo in the silence left by his dad's rant.

But there is no reaction from the Sheriff who is already making his way towards the liquor cabinet in the living room, glass in hand.

And even as loopy as he is from the painkillers, Stiles knows he sounds like every whiny teenager complaining about being misunderstood by their parents.

Still.

"You don't care." He repeats, his voice slightly louder, cracking at the end. "You don't care if you die."

His dad stops cold.

Stiles doesn't look up to see his face, doesn't want to see it, doesn't want to see whether his dad will ignore him again as he has been tending to do ever since his mom's death.

"You haven't cared ever since… ever since…" He can't bring himself to finish the sentence. Instead he forges on, well aware that if he doesn't get it out now, he will probably never say it and he has to make his dad understand.

"You drink. To forget. E-every morning you drink before work and every night you just keep drinking. Just so you won't remember. A-and… and you don't. You don't remember." A pause. Then barely audible, "Sometimes… you don't even remember me."

Blood rushes in his ears, he can't hear anything. Stiles isn't even entirely sure his dad is still standing in the same room. But the dam has broken and the words just keep coming, tumbling out.

"And you don't care. And one day you won't come back and I can't… I… I can't."

Still no reaction - the silence stretching between them - and Stiles feels the last of his hope deflate that his dad would listen, that he might be enough to keep his dad here, to make his dad want to stay. For their family. For Stiles.

His last whisper is barely audible, but in the deafening silence of their house it sounds like a scream.

"You are all I have."

There is a choked sound from his dad. Stiles still doesn't raise his head, completely exhausted. He simply doesn't have the strength to face his dad's dismissal.

But suddenly there are arms around him.

It takes Stiles a few moments to realize that his dad is actually hugging him - something that he has missed desperately ever since his mother's illness took a turn for the worse.

He sags against his dad's chest like his strings have been cut, burying his suddenly tear-streaked face in his dad's shoulder. The arms around him just tighten further.

They don't speak, just standing there in the entrance of their house for what feels like hours, clinging to each other.

But Stiles clearly understands what his dad isn't saying out loud.

Noah will never forget the day his son broke down, having to remind his own father that he was still here.

From that day forward, there are three new, unspoken but unshakeable rules in the Stilinski household: One, Noah doesn't drink. Two, Stiles doesn't sneak after him on the job. And three, they eat dinner together.

Noah really tries his best to make it home for dinner every day, but more often than not his son comes to the station instead, bringing take-out and - with the years more and more often - home-cooked meals.

Amusingly enough, once his deputies get used to the changes they seem to almost be waiting for Stiles to enthusiastically flail his way into the break room around dinner time. Before faithfully migrating after his son to join them. Especially, Dina, Jordan and Paul have almost become fixtures during dinner time. Sometimes they are even joined by some of their own family members.

And Noah Stilinski feels nothing but utter relief at finally seeing his son smile again, playing pranks on his deputies, pulling faces for little Cathy – Dina's two year old – or helping Jimmy – Paul's seven year old – with his homework.

Noah has a lot to make up for. He had been so far gone in his grief that he hadn't given his son much of a thought ever since his wife drew her last breath. Noah could even admit that on some days he had actively avoided his son – because Stiles had his mother's eyes and Noah simply didn't have the strength to so much as look at him. The reminder of what he had lost hurt too much.

But far more damaging was that at some point between Claudia falling ill – with Stiles doing his utter best to draw even the slightest smile out of her – and that day - seeing his son being held at gun point by a bank robber – Stiles had stopped smiling altogether.

And Noah hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed that his son was falling apart.

He had only realized the changes in his son after Stiles had finally broken down in front of him.

They don't speak of that day again – the day his son actually had to remind him that with Claudia's death Stiles had also lost the bright, beautiful center of his world, that he was just as devastated and just as lonely, but that he was still there and that he needed his father to be there as well.

The utter desperation in his son's eyes that day continues to haunt Noah for a long time afterwards.

It certainly had been a brutal wake-up call. But he is ever so grateful for it.

That particular memory also made it surprisingly easy to pour away every drop of liquor in the house and to never so much as touch another bottle of alcohol again. It was more than worth the tremulous but bright smile on his son's face when he saw the multiple empty bottles in the trash.

That night, after putting his son to bed – who had been desperately trying to fight the pull of the painkillers and his own exhaustion, barely keeping his eyes open but unwilling to let go – but fallen asleep before Noah made it all the way out of the room, Noah had watched his son sleep from the door for a while, suddenly desperately thankful that he still had his son, still had that part of his family. No thanks to himself.

Then and there, Noah swore to himself that he would never let his attention slip like that again. He would do anything in his power to never see that sort of helpless desperation in his son's eyes again.

And ever since then, they - both of them - had been doing better.

Stiles knows that it isn't easy for his dad. Sometimes he still finds the Sheriff sitting on the couch staring into nothing, his eyes vacant, lost in mourning and memories of his wife.

But now, he lets Stiles sit next to him, lets him share in his grief, both of them thinking silently thinking of the happy times passed. And Stiles loves that they have finally found a way to acknowledge his mom's existence.

But he also desperately hates seeing his dad hurting.

Stiles would do literally anything to lift some of the weight off his dad's shoulders.

Thus, he does his best to make the Sheriff's life a little easier. He attends school, stops sneaking after his dad on the job. And makes sure the Sheriff is safe from a distance.

Which is what ultimately leads to him joining the hacking community.

The internet – with all its quirks and the quirkiest of characters skulking about - becomes his best friend.

Or rather, his only friend.

When his mother was still around he had tried to make friends. If only because she was entirely convinced that Stiles is about the coolest person to ever grace the face of this earth. He totally agreed with her, still does.

But sadly, no one else did.

Being too weird, too loud, too smart and far too brutally honest – all things his mom used to love about him, so there was no chance of him ever even so much as attempting to change any of it – means that Stiles doesn't have a single friend his own age in the entirety of Beacon Hills.

And having no one to hang out with or get into trouble with, Stiles spends almost all of his free time either at the Station or at home researching his dad's cases.

Just so he can sometimes add a little note into his dad's files, pointing at something that might just coincidentally help them close their case a little faster and a little safer.

To make sure that there would never be another case, where his dad had to go in blind and Stiles had to sit at his bedside, desperately begging some higher power he had never believed in to please please don't take my dad as well.

At this point the Sheriff was certainly a pro at pretending not to notice Stiles slipping additional notes into his files.

Actually, whenever Stiles came by the station to 'check in' on his dad, all the deputies immediately seemed to be conveniently distracted - some of them just fixedly staring at the ceiling - while he added a few papers to a current case. They even had a nickname for their 'secret' tipper, even though his dad still refused to tell him what that nickname was.

Stiles was getting the feeling it might not actually be all that complimentary to his stealth skills.

So what, if he had once dropped the files that he was adding to while in full view of the entire station? That could have happened to anyone!

Stiles was a fucking ninja, alright?

Right.

And his fourteen year old self feels utterly vindicated at his hacker ways, when he figures out that a hit-and-run driver was actually part of the LA Russian mob in hiding due to some mob-internal conflict.

Who knows what would have happened if his dad had just sent in two of his deputies for a simple arrest.

The mobster had even been under FBI surveillance.

Stiles had promptly let the FBI know that the Sheriff was about to arrest the mobster, to get them to intervene. But the FBI hadn't lifted a damn finger to warn his dad about the danger his deputies were about to walk into.

Stiles really hadn't appreciated that.

He took care of getting the tip to his dad himself. And then he let his disapproval be known via a virus that crashed every single piece of personal technology of every agent who had been even remotely involved in that particularly asinine decision.

For weeks.

No matter how many new phones or laptops or fucking i-pods they bought.

Not that Stiles actually knew how to make a virus like that. But having spent several years rooting around the darkweb, before going past that into the realm of places that barely existed at all, he knew enough other hackers who certainly did know and were more than willing to trade him for a favor.

Afterwards lotorr had actually thanked him gleefully for the excellent idea, having had enormous amounts of fun screwing with the agents. Apparently, lotorr had been getting bored recently.

Stiles had long since suspected that his friends Yils and lotorr – Yils actually being the first to take Stiles under her wing during his early hacker days – actually belonged to one of the many alphabet soup agencies.

Because their tips on how to circumvent government firewalls were far too effective.

Of course, it takes him a while to perfect the art of google-fu, but after several years of delving deeper and deeper into the tempting abyss of the internet - making friends with the quirkiest of oddballs to be found online as well as some people who seem suspiciously normal, considering the sites they apparently frequent - there isn't much he can't find once he puts his mind to it.

Which is how he starts making a name for himself in certain circles.

Because any hacker can find information - Stiles knows there are a number out there who are much better than him at hacking into things - but the skill is in knowing what to look for and where to search for it, then integrating it with any clues you already had, before going to look for the next tidbit of relevant information.

Stiles' main strength lies in finding - in following barely existing trails of invisible breadcrumbs, in unearthing knowledge hidden away in little dark corners of the web, in digging up tidbits of information supposedly erased from existence.

And in putting all of that together into a complete picture, into reliable information backed by as much proof as he needs or is planning to pass on.

For a price of course.

All in all, Stiles adores everything about being a hacker.

Ever since his hacking reached a certain level of proficiency, the boredom he had been continuously plagued with as a child has been a thing of the past.

There are always more things to find, to dig up, to research on the internet.

Because the world wide web is their playground.

Normal people have no idea just how vast and unified a network the hacker community truly is. Or how dangerous it can be.

And they never will.

Because loyalty between hackers isn't a question of morality but of necessity. Because in their circles, betrayal brings immediate retaliation.

Nobody likes snitches.

Especially, in a group that lives entirely outside of the law.

Offenders are immediately ousted from their midst, utterly ruined by their best and spat out with nothing and no one to rely on.

Stiles thought there was a certain wild west charm to the whole thing. And the only thing that counted was your skill.

And he loved everything about it.

Admittedly, he is far better at hacking into things than at keeping others from doing the same to him. Honestly, his skills at protecting his tech are laughable when considering what sort of information he enjoys digging around in.

But, being one of the best at finding information that shouldn't exist, means he has favors he can call in.

And Stiles loves searching out other hackers for conversation - sometimes under the cover of banal tumblr threads and sometimes on platforms hidden so far in the recesses of the web only a handful of people are even capable of finding their way there at all.

Because there is always at least someone there who was willing to discuss even his most obscure findings or whom he could trade for some new tidbit of politically lurid information or who would argue with him about his newest theories on how the country of Luxembourg would start the zombie apocalypse in the year 2025.

...

Well, anyways.

Point is, at sixteen Stiles cares about very few people - his dad very much at the top of the list and only followed by the deputies that have worked with the Sheriff for years now.

And his friends he only knows by their online personas, most of whom were at the very least weird ranging all the way to the utterly insane.

But spending most of his life researching through even the most hidden nooks and crannies of the internet, digging up secrets, debating obscure finds and theories with people just as obsessed with knowledge as him, Stiles has stumbled across most of the weird shit there was to find on the web.

Including mentions of the supernatural – and hadn't that been an utterly fantastic researching binge once Stiles realized that all those recurring references to supernatural creatures and magic couldn't possibly be coincidental.

He had gotten lost in that subject for weeks!

Thus, Stiles is very much aware of the things going bump in the night.

And when bodies - supposedly mauled by huge-ass animals that had no business stalking around central California - start turning up in Beacon Hills, it only takes him a little while to figure out what was actually happening.

Werewolves.

He immediately feels kind of giddy at the thought of werewolves in Beacon Hills.

Although, his enthusiasm abruptly cuts off once he realizes that the first line of defense against the supernatural in Beacon Hills was the Sheriff Station.

Those furry fuckers better keep their shit contained.

He knows that the supernatural world has its own set of rules and governance and everyone involved in it does their best to keep away from any normal law enforcement for fear of being revealed.

So, if there is laws then there should be law enforcement.

Stiles goes digging and comes up with the number and official references of a 'Tribunal' that is apparently responsible for keeping the supernatural away from ordinary citizens – their cover of 'Wildlife Experts for Dangerous and Endangered Animals' really isn't that hard to figure out.

He scribbles a quick note to slip into his dad's files and is just on his way out the door when the hospital calls.

Stiles' blood runs cold.

The doctor at the other end of the line tells him that his dad was attacked by a wild animal – a wolf apparently – and is in surgery right now.

Stiles stands frozen in the entrance, only distantly hearing the doctor trying to get his attention.

Then, suddenly two of his dad's deputies are there, Dina taking the phone still clutched to his ear and Parrish pressing a glass of water into his hands – to help with the shock, Stiles thought distantly – forcing him to take a few sips, before leading him to their car outside.

Stiles can't hear anything – his ears seemingly stuffed with cotton - even as they enter the hospital, walking passed anyone trying to hinder their progress, all the way to the surgical floor.

Dina immediately sits Stiles in a chair - talking to him soothingly, trying to help him past the utter terror freezing the very blood in veins - while Jordan and Thompson take positions in front of them, shielding them from anyone so much of thinking to approach them.

Stiles doesn't know how long it takes for him to come back to himself, but when he finally responds to one of Dina's questions her relief is obvious and some of the tension finally releases from the other deputies' shoulders.

Clarke - having joined the others together with Miller in their silent stare down of the loitering busy bodies - immediately goes to get their entire group something warm to drink, while Miller is typing on his phone. He is probably keeping the rest of the Station updated.

It seems like seconds - and at the same time hours - until Clarke presses a paper cup into Stiles' hands.

He curls his hands around the truly terrible coffee - no need to actually taste it, he knows from experience - using the almost painful heat to keep himself anchored.

Then, a doctor appears at the end of the hall and immediately honed in on their group - not difficult considering the number of uniforms gathered in one spot.

He approaches them, "Mr. Stilinski?"

Stiles nods, barely keeping himself from squeezing the paper cup in his hands in his trepidation. Dina takes the cup, setting it to the side.

"I am your father's doctor. Would you mind stepping aside with me?" The doctor is holding his own admirably, considering the death glares he is getting from several rather impressive individuals standing around Stiles.

It takes Stiles a moment to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, before shaking his head minimally, "We're all family."

The doctor nods.

"Your father's surgery went well. The bullet only grazed his femoral artery but in combination with the bite wounds on his arm and side, the blood loss was quite severe. He…"

Thompson cuts off the doctor with a growl, asking dangerously, "Bullet?"

The atmosphere shifts dramatically and Stiles feels like all breath has been knocked out of him.

There is a pause, the doctor clearly not prepared for that question, although he quickly gathers himself. "Yes, when Sheriff Stilinski was brought in he suffered from a gunshot wound to his right leg as well as severe bite wounds on his left arm and side."

Clearly the gunshot wound is news to everyone.

The surprise finally pulls Stiles out of his lethargic state, his mind picking up speed again, already running through various scenarios.

And always returning to the note still in his own pocket that would have warned his dad and the deputies of additional danger lurking in the woods surrounding Beacon Hills.

Before Stiles can contemplate further, the doctor continues. "Additionally, he suffered from a dislocated shoulder and two broken ribs, one of which punctured his lung. However, we were able to stabilize him and the surgery went very well considering the severity of his injuries. At this point he mainly requires rest to recover and heal properly, but we will have to watch out for infections due to the nature of the wounds."

Then the man hesitates.

Stiles feels like he can breathe again. His dad had made it past the worst of it.

He continues to watch the doctor, clearly something else was coming.

"Unfortunately, we cannot allow you to visit your father at this point in time as we cannot be certain whether the animal that attacked him might have been infected with rabies or something similar. We will have to keep him in quarantine until we make sure. Same with Deputy Carter."

Stiles' eyes widen at the mention of the bear of a man that was one of his dad's most trusted deputies.

"Paul? What happened to Paul?" His thoughts immediately turn to little Jimmy who was currently at the height of his 'my-daddy-is-my-hero' phase.

Jordan speaks up, cutting off the doctor. "Paul was patrolling with the Sheriff. According to the paramedics there weren't any wounds on him except for a few scrapes and a head wound. They said he probably fell badly during the initial attack."

Stiles feels immediate relief at that, although his anger only continues to increase.

He turns back to the doctor, who actually looks somewhat annoyed at having been cut off by Jordan but immediately loses his irritated expression when faced with the focus of their entire group.

The man coughs. "Well, yes. As far as we could tell, there were no bite wounds on Deputy Carter, but we would rather make sure in case the animal was infected."

Stiles barely keeps from gritting his teeth.

Oh, that 'animal' had certainly been 'infected'.

Just not with rabies.

Fucking werewolves.

Sitting in the hall across from his dad's room - after the nurse had assured him that they would uncover the window once his dad was awake, so he could at least see his son waiting for him - Stiles is glad to have found some of his calm again.

His dad is past the worst of it. He will make it.

But if Stiles is correct and not everything he has dug up on the supernatural was actually a hoax, there is a very real chance that the Sheriff might actually be turning into a werewolf some time soon.

And just how ridiculous is that?

Stiles' research on the supernatural hadn't gone deep enough to figure out at which point in time after a bite a person will actually turn, whether there is a specified time line or maybe a moon phase or something ludicrous like that involved.

He doesn't even know whether every person who was bitten turned. Or what happens if someone doesn't turn.

He is gritting his teeth at his own helplessness, aching for his setup at home or at the least for his laptop, so he could check his information. But there is simply no way he is leaving his dad to deal with this on his own.

Stiles at least has some sort of idea what is going to happen, while he is utterly certain that the Sheriff has never so much as considered the possibility of there being anything even remotely related to the supernatural in the real world.

And the Sheriff shouldn't have had to, shouldn't ever even have come into contact with the supernatural.

And Stiles is angry. So very fucking angry.

Jordan, who is sitting in the chair next to him - clearly just as unwilling to move from his boss' side as Stiles - glances at him before returning his focus to the still covered window on the opposite side of the hall.

The mention of the gunshot wound had instantly put everyone on edge. Because being attacked by a wild animal could just be bad luck, but in combination with a bullet wound the entire situation immediately turned into something else entirely.

After the doctor's update, the other deputies had quickly left and less than thirty minutes later, Miller sent a text that there had been no bullets fired from either Paul's or the Sheriff's weapon.

So, that precludes the possibility of the Sheriff being wounded unintentionally by either of their weapons going off in the struggle.

Jordan showed Stiles the message and has not moved an inch from his side ever since.

Stiles knows that by unspoken agreement, in a few hours another deputy will show up to release Jordan from his post as the Sheriff's protection. And Stiles knows that this protection extends to him as well.

The Sheriff's deputies were nothing if not loyal.

And two of their own had been attacked.

Which still left Stiles sitting here, gritting his teeth in fury.

When he had figured out that the supernatural had come for a visit, Stiles had even felt somewhat enthusiastic about the idea, but he had had no intention of actually getting involved. Well, beyond keeping the Sheriff department away from it.

He would have been fine with calling in the proper authorities to take the problem off their hands. As he has been doing for several years now.

He lives and breathes information brokering.

But now, not only has his dad been attacked by one of those fanged and clawed whatevers but he has also been shot.

Everything Stiles has read on werewolves told him that they simply do not use guns. Ever. They simply have no use for them.

But the Tribunal's executive arm certainly does.

And according to his information, there are more than a few corrupt branches of that executive arm.

Which means there are hunters in Beacon Hills.

Hunters, who hadn't announced themselves to the local law enforcement as is custom, who had proceeded to start a hunt in his dad's territory without informing anybody.

Now his dad has somehow gotten caught in the middle, has been attacked by the creepy crawlies they were hunting and gotten shot by one of those hunters who were strutting around Beacon Hills.

And then both parties had left his dad to bleed out on the forest floor.

Stiles' fury slowly gives way to cold, simmering wrath, as he finally puts together some sort of picture on how his dad had ended up in the hospital.

He couldn't give less of a fuck about who was ultimately at fault either. They had left his dad behind to die.

And Stiles' mind starts whirling, turning towards how to make them - all of them - pay. Because Stiles doesn't need actual weapons or supernatural powers to tear every single one of them to the ground.

No, he has a completely different sort of arsenal at his disposal.

His eyes open to slits, almost seeming to glow slightly in the dim light of the hallway as they meet Jordan's in the reflection of the still covered window hiding his dad from view.

The man calmly holds his stare.

Stiles is sure that with an entire County's law enforcement on his side, he could do whatever he pleased and would never run out of alibis.

Let's see how well the supernatural coped when dragged onto his side of the playing field.

How they handled feeling like they were the ones being hunted, how well they did when all technology turned against them, how they managed when their misfortune followed them wherever they went and befell whoever they got in contact with.

Because, these days, everything relies on technology.

And that is Stiles' playing field.

Those fuckers really shouldn't have messed with his dad.

Because boy, is Stiles going to get involved now.

A/N: So, I don't know yet whether I'll continue this in any way...