So I saw a post on Tumblr ( post/57764195509/dylanships-prompt-by-the-amazing- briecheesie) and fell in love with the idea. So I wrote what went through my mind. Well, I'm writing it.

In this AU :

The Hale Fire was unsuccessful. Kate Argent was killed that night by Talia Hale for the attempted Murder of the Hale Pack. Gerard was killed a few months later when he attempted to avenge his daughter by murdering Talia Hale. As all of this was against the Code, Chris Argent chose not to intervene, deciding the matter done, and the Werewolves in the right.

Stiles attended Beacon Hills High with Scott, Isaac, Danny, Jackson, Allison, Lydia, Erica, Boyd and Cora Hale. He was best friends with Scott but hasn't spoken to any of them since he left the day after graduation. He returned at the insistence of his father.

The first thing Stiles did when he graduated from the illustrious Beacon Hills High School was to punch Jackson Whittemore square across the jaw. The second thing he did was to climb into his Jeep and drive for seven hours and fifty-three minutes to Los Angeles. Stiles had never returned to Beacon Hills before today.

Stiles Stilinski was twenty-one soon to be twenty-two, on April eighth. He was Hollywood's brightest rising star. He had a star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame. He was the youngest nominee for an Academy Award, and if things went well, he would be the youngest to win one next year. He had clause-specific contracts that no one argued on. And every single movie, TV show and piece of art he was in featured him with an apple product. He should not have to drag his sorry carcass back home – as his father, Sheriff John Stilinski had so eloquently put it – like a teenager with a curfew when his father called him, damn it.

And yet, with all these achievements, and more, which he didn't want to mention, because he had some humility – a house worth an estimated three million, another one in Hawaii so he could visit Danny's home, a McLaren F1, to name a few – here he was, being driven back to Beacon Hills like a chaperoned and rebuked teenager.
The only way this could get more humiliating, and humorous – if he were inclined to look at it that way – would be if he were being driven back in a squad car. Stiles snorted at the thought, and then waved the driver off at his questioning look.

"How much longer, Steven?" Stiles asked the driver, whose name was actually Chris, but Stiles had jumped at the chance for his driver to be Captain America, or Thor, so he alternated the two names every time he needed to speak to the driver.

"Just two more hours' sir," Thor answered, glancing in the rear view mirror. Stiles wore a pair of large, dark shades. Jeans, a red t-shirt and a striped hoodie over it. He was sunken back into the leather of the car in an altogether strange mixture of depression, resignation and mortification. "We just left Sacramento half an hour ago."

Stiles groaned, the sound of a man condemned for a crime he didn't commit. Stiles could see why his father wanted him to come home. Well, he'd half listened to his old man's complaints on the other end of the line while opening his new iPhone 6. He was justified, the phone was third in line to be released next year, and he already had his baby. The condition was, of course, no one could see it. But he was the first person to get to use any new tech the company came up with. It was the reason for his in-clause contract that stated the company's latest releases had to be included with his character costume.

So he'd been a little distracted when his father had asked – read, demanded – he come home for a few weeks to reassess his outlook on life. Stiles snorted, he was perfectly happy with the outlook he currently had, thank you very much. But his father had threatened, bribed, and ultimately, guilted him into agreeing to a few short weeks at home. He had fought valiantly, of course. But in the end, he'd resigned mournfully, and with the air of a martyr, had watched Emily – trustful, reliable, what would he do without her Emily – to pack his bags for the long journey home.

He'd wanted to fly, he'd intended on flying. But flying was just so much, faster, than driving. And Stiles, like the petulant teenager he became when speaking to his father, would come and visit him like the obedient son, oh yes, but he would take his damn sweet time doing it.

In hindsight, that wasn't his brightest moment. How much he'd had to spend on gas and food on the way notwithstanding, his legs were paining. And he just didn't do well with sitting still for extended periods of time. Which was anything longer than five minutes. Oh, he could react the same scene fine hundred times to get it perfect and not say a word, as long as he moved. So far, he'd been in the car for over five hours. He was not happy.

Stiles woke up when Steven called to him that they were thirty minutes out of town.

"Jesus, Thor," Stiles muttered, half asleep but still functioning enough to use the wrong name for his driver, "Wake me up when we're there." Stiles tried to fall back asleep, but Emily – who could be as sharp as Lydia, Danny and Isaac together, had been – nudged him sharply with her heel that could rival Miranda Priestley's, and told him to look presentable.

Stiles complied purely out of the primal instinct of self-preservation. This turned out to be a rather good instinct, because as it turned out, a police cruiser was flickering for them to pull over. Stiles decided to let Steven deal with it.

Steven did not, as it turns out, deal with it very well.

"Sir are you the owner of this vehicle?" The police officer asked Steven.

"Uhm, does he look like the owner of this vehicle," Stiles peered at the name tag, "Officer James? The owner would be me." Stiles leaned out of the car window in the backseat.

"Then you're also the owner of the four month expired registration on this car, sir?" The officer told Stiles. "Sir, would you please climb out of the vehicle."

"Whoa there," Stiles said, but complied with the officer, living with the Sheriff his whole life had ingrained a few things in him he hadn't been able to shake. "I wouldn't exactly call it 'expired', I mean, as far as these things go, four months is simply, just passed its sell by date, right?"

Emily had rolled her eyes, Thor had looked positively appalled.

And after nearly four years of perpetually avoiding Beacon Hills and its residents, Stiles found himself being escorted into Beacon Hills and straight to Beacon County Sheriff's Office in the back of his father's old cruiser to be questioned by John Stilinski, the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.

All constructive criticism is welcomed and repaid with warm, perfectly baked cookies, apple crumble, chocolate cake or a combination of all three. You can also find me on Tumblr here: