Written in 7 chapters, this fic is set before the beginning of the series, and thus before Scott's werewolf powers and all that supernatural goodness.

Summary: Near the end of their freshman year, Stiles and Scott pull off a prank so glorious their names should be recorded in the jokester hall of fame. But when he gets in trouble for the prank, Stiles realizes there are serious consequences for his actions, especially between him and his dad. When Sheriff Stilinski loses his patience with his son, Stiles decides to take off for a few days, and finds himself in a dangerous situation.

Rated T (for Teen) for later chapters.

Enjoy! If you read, please review.

Runaway

Chapter One: Impractical Jokes

"C'mon, Scott. It'll be awesome. Trust me."

"How come every time you say those words, I end up regretting it?"

Fifteen year old Stiles Stilinski spun the dial of his lock in one fluid motion, his long fingers nimble and familiar. He didn't even need to recite the combination under his breath anymore. "Don't be such a stickler, man," he declared, opening the locker door. "Live a little. Aren't you tired of being a nobody? This is going to rocket us into high school fame."

"Or get us suspended. My mom's stressed enough as it is."

Stiles dismissed his friend's concerns with a wave of his hand. "You worry too much. Besides, when have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Do you really want me to answer that question?"

"Don't be a smart ass. Here, take this, would you?" Stiles pulled a bulging, black back-pack from his locker and shoved it at Scott. Scott tested its weight; it was remarkably light. He unzipped the top and peeked inside, brushing hair out of his eyes as he did. He could just discern plastic and white styrofoam before Stiles zipped the bag shut again. He glanced around to ensure no one had seen.

"What's in the bag?"

"You'll find out." Stiles waggled his eyebrows mischievously, an impish grin plastered on his face. He clapped a hand on his best friend's shoulder, and slammed his locker shut. "Relax, okay? This is going to be fun." They watched as Lydia Martin sauntered down the hallway, her hips swaying in time with the click of her high heels. Stiles looked after her longingly. "We're going to be legends."

Scott had no understanding of Stiles' grand scheme or purpose. He wasn't sure Stiles himself knew. There were several complicated elements to his prank, which included live animals, saran wrap, shaving cream, cherry jello, and four thousand paper cups. Stiles assured him the plan was genius; Scott called it chaos.

"We'll meet in front of the locker room, okay?" Stiles instructed, pausing in front of Scott's homeroom before they parted ways. "Remember, in order for this to work, we're gonna need the whole hour. You'll need to skip out on third period." Stiles eyed him knowingly.

"What?"

"Promise me you'll be there."

"We're going to get in so much trouble."

"Look, during recess, all you have to do is hide out in the bathroom until everyone's in class. This close to the end of term, teachers never take attendance."

"This is ridiculous."

"Just promise."

"Fine. Third period. I'll be there." Stiles grinned from ear to ear, and pumped his fist in the air. Glee was written all over his face.

"This is going to be awesome!"

Oh great, Scott thought, what have I gotten myself into? He knew this wouldn't end well. But if they were going to go down, they may as well go down together – and have fun doing it. So he went along with Stiles' plan, like he always did. Like he knew he always would.

Halfway through third period, they realized an hour was not enough time to complete each element of Stiles' brilliant plan. They had successfully filled each shower head in the boys' locker room with jello, and most of the door knobs and thresholds in the main hallway had been greased with shaving cream and some weird slippery concoction Stiles had brought in plastic bottles. But they didn't have a good method for filling the paper cups with water – which was the entire point of the cups. They had intended to fill the entire hallway in front of the principal's office with the cups, but so far had only managed to cover several feet. He still didn't know what the saran wrap was for.

"This isn't going to work," Scott declared. "We should have snuck in last night and set everything up."

"Would you stop being such a pessimist? It'll be so much funnier this way. No one will be expecting it." Stiles checked his wrist watch and stood up. "Unfortunately, we're not going to get to the saran wrap. I need to meet the farm guy out in the parking lot now. You keep filling the cups. Ten minutes before the bell rings, clear out, okay? We don't want you getting caught."

"What will you be doing?"

Stiles smiled slyly, reached into his bag, and extracted what looked like three Beacon Hills High lacrosse jerseys, only smaller. Much smaller. The only players those would fit would have to be no bigger than fourth grade children. The jerseys were numbered 1, 2 and 4. "I'm going to finish the best part."

"How do you even get these things?"

"I know some guys."

"Yup, we're definitely getting suspended."

"Don't worry, Scotty boy. After this, everyone will know our names." Scott knew that by "everyone" Stiles meant Lydia specifically.

"In juvenile detention maybe."

"Hey," Stiles punched his shoulder playfully, "sarcasm is my thing. Just keep filling those cups." Stiles disappeared, and Scott sighed. He wondered how his best friend always managed to suck him into these kind of things.

It was a long, tedious, and boring process without Stiles there to help him. But for the next twenty minutes Scott continued to place the cups in rows down the hallway. He had figured out that by only half filling them, he could work faster and place more cups, while still accomplishing the same purpose as filling them to the brim. This was working so well that he had almost filled the entire hallway when his phone chirped.

A text from Stiles read: GO TIME. GET IN POSITION. NOW.

Scott abandoned the remainder of the empty cups, scattering them on the floor, grabbed his book-bag, and ran for the side entrance. He opened the door wide, and Stiles – hair and shirt dishevelled, his face slick with sweat – herded three jersey-clad pigs into the school just as the bell rang. The already timid swine panicked at the loud noise and the sudden crowds that started to pour from doorways left and right. They squealed frightfully and took off in separate directions. Scott hadn't realized pigs could run so fast.

Almost immediately, the screaming started. Teachers burst from classrooms, slipping on the mess in front of their doors, trying to grab the knobs for support, only to find their hands slip right off. Mr. Harris landed in a pile of shaving cream, squishing it down the back of his suit jacket. Students and staff were running and yelling, chasing after the pigs. Coach was blowing his whistle – as usual – and commanding the seniors from the lacrosse team to grab the animals.

The silky material of the jerseys made them difficult to catch. Stiles and Scott were roaring with laughter, watching the chaos unfold in front of them. Scott felt a strange pride in his friend, and was delighted to have been part of such a hilarious joke. Stiles put an arm across Scott's shoulders and led him towards the principal's office. "Let's see how Principal Thomas is dealing with his predicament, shall we?"

They heard the yelling before they even reached the hallway. Principal Thomas was soaked to the ankles, a dozen spilled cups at his feet. One of the pigs darted past them just as the boys reached the office. They watched in hysterics as Thomas plowed through the remaining cups, sending them flying in all directions, as he chased the pig. "Someone grab that pig!" he shouted, slipping in a puddle and landing on his backside. "Susan!" he screamed at his secretary, who was cowering in the doorway of the office, her hand covering her mouth. "Get the janitor here, now! And call animal control! Call the police! Call a butcher! Get someone here now! I want these pigs out of my school!"

Stiles was laughing so hard he was crying. He wiped a few stray tears from his eyes, and offered his fist to Scott for a congratulatory bump. Scott touched it with his fist good-naturedly. "You, my friend, are a genius."

"Why, yes. Yes, I am. We'd better get to class, so we don't look suspicious."

Teachers were struggling to get students calmed down and into classrooms. Any faculty members with free periods were called to pig duty, along with a few seniors, the janitors, and the mousy librarian who spoke only in whispers. An animal catcher had arrived, with nets in tow. Scott and Stiles were still laughing when they took their seats in Math.

"We're home free," Stiles whispered, opening his textbook to page 394. "No one ever takes any notice of freshmen. The teachers will never know it was us." Scott was beginning to think he was right. They had gotten away with it; they were going to be okay; they were the best pranksters in the history of Beacon Hills. He was starting to relax and enjoy the triumph of their prank when the classroom door opened.

"Stiles Stilinski." Mr. Thomas was red faced and wet. The veins in his neck were jutting out, throbbing with each pulse of his already elevated blood pressure. He didn't even acknowledge their teacher, but searched the students' faces until he found Stiles. "My office. Now."

Stiles glanced at Scott and shrugged, but he could see the anxiety creeping into his friend's eyes. Should I come with you? Scott asked with a look, but Stiles shook his head. They didn't know yet how much the principal knew. It could be a false alarm. Stiles stood, picked up his belongings, and followed the principal out. Everywhere he looked, he could see remnants of his prank: traces of shaving cream and puddles, tiny piggy tracks. He wondered how many of his bacon buddies were still on the loose. He smiled to himself, making sure Thomas didn't see. He had no regrets.

The principal didn't say anything until they were seated in his office. Thomas perched on the edge of his desk, his massive bulk inches from Stiles. "You probably think you're pretty clever, don't you Stilinski?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

The man's cheek twitched as he tried to keep a handle on his emotions. "I don't know how you did it, I don't know why – and I don't care. I'm a reasonable man, I have a sense of humour. I will tolerate a few practical jokes now and again. But this, this was complete anarchy. Those pigs made a complete zoo out of my school. I will not indulge something of this calibre. Make no mistake: I don't care how funny you think it was; I don't care that you're a freshman; I don't care if this is your first offence. I don't care that your father is sheriff. Action needs to be taken. You need to be punished."

"With all due respect, sir, you're making a lot of assertions considering you can't prove I did this."

Principal Thomas's lips curled in a Grinch-esque smile. "I'll ignore your smug insubordination, but only because I can, without a doubt," he leaned forward, "prove you were behind this." Stiles couldn't keep the surprise off his face, momentarily letting his composure slide. Thomas chuckled, taking this as an admission of guilt. "Mrs Hatfield was outside in her car near the end of third period. And whom did she happen to see, but you?"

Stiles was prepared this time. He swallowed his momentary panic, and when he spoke next, he tried to regain the upper-hand: "Outside sneaking a cigarette again, was she?" He smirked. "Smoking is a really disgusting habit, and I believe it's prohibited on school grounds. You should talk to her about that."

The principal's eyes narrowed. "The fact remains, Mr. Stilinski, that you were seen outside with a suspicious character, squeezing pigs into lacrosse jerseys."

"Quite the image, isn't it, Principal Thomas?"

"There's only one problem with this little image: you couldn't have done this on your own. I don't care who you got those pigs from, but there is no way you had time to get those pigs and create the soggy booby-trap in front of my office."

"Maybe I'm just that good."

"Or maybe you just have friends, as shocking as that seems. Give me their names, and I'll consider giving you a more lenient punishment."

"And share all the credit?"

"Laugh now, boy. I have a feeling you won't be laughing in a minute." As if on cue, someone knocked on the office door. The principal smiled coolly. "Come in!" Without turning to look, Stiles already knew who he would find standing in the doorway, wearing his police uniform, hand hovering over his gun holster. "Ah, Sheriff Stilinski."

His father looked tired and impatient. He collapsed heavily into the chair beside his son, but didn't speak to him.

"Now, Stiles," Thomas continued. "I'd like you to consider my question again, before you answer. Who helped you pull off this prank?" Stiles shifted awkwardly, and tried to ignore his father, who fixed him with a parental stare.

"No one," he responded, his voice even. "I did it alone."

"Very well," the principal sighed, but Stiles knew the man was enjoying himself. "Stiles Stilinski, effective immediately, you are suspended."

To Be Continued...