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tamingthemuseTitle: a modern myth [1/?]
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 448 – rabies
Warnings: AU. Canon-typical gore.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1130
Summary: The Teen Wolf pilot re-imagined, where Scott isn't the only one to be bitten.
Disclaimer: It's all lies and I own nothing.
-- = --
In all of his years serving on the police force, John Stilinski has never witnessed anything as horrific as the mangled lower half of a female body found in the woods of the preserve. Beacon Hills has seen its fair share of violence, but nothing that ever could have prepared the sheriff for this. Based off of visual evidence, the ME is leaning towards animal attack, but John's not sure what kind of wild animal native to the area could be responsible for such a gruesome death. But they'll need to find the other half of the body to determine anything definitively.
So John and half the department are out in the middle of the night canvassing the woods, trying to locate a young woman's torso. He watches beams from other officers' flashlights cut through the trees as their K9 officer Sam sniffs out a trail leading away from their primary crime scene. Sam's ears flatten a couple of seconds before John hears the snap of a twig only a short distance ahead of them. John switches his flashlight from his right hand to his left so he can reach for his gun. “Come out slowly,” he says, training the flashlight beam and the barrel of his service weapon in the direction Sam's focused.
There's a beat, then a palm is sliding out from behind a wide oak, an arm clad in the sleeve of a maroon sweatshirt, and, finally, the guilty face of one Scott McCall. “Hey, Sheriff.”
John holsters his gun. “Scott. Where's Stiles?”
“Uh... Not here? I, um, I came out here by myself.” Scott's always been a terrible liar. Always gives himself away with the nervous fidgeting and his inability to maintain eye contact.
“I don't know what kind of idiot you take me for,” John tells him, “but the only way you'd be out here – the only way you'd even know to be out here, on tonight of all nights – is because of my son. Where's he at? It's not safe out here.” He pulls out his phone and dials Stiles. It rings and goes to voicemail. “Call me. Now.”
Scott doesn't meet his eye, looks contrite as he shrugs. “We got separated when we ran into the search party. I think he headed for the Jeep.”
“Then that's where you should be heading. I'll walk you.”
“Um... I accidentally dropped my inhaler. My mom's gonna be mad enough about... this,” Scott says, waving one hand around at the trees. “I was trying to find it when I lost my phone.”
John runs his hand over his face and sighs before reaching for the radio at his shoulder and getting an update from the rest of his officers. “And be on the lookout for my bonehead kid,” he tells them. “I'll be 10-6.”
“10-4,” replies Deputy Graeme.
John gestures with his free hand towards the woods behind Scott. Scott turns and starts walking, staying well within the narrow area illuminated by John's flashlight. They make it maybe a hundred yards before Sam's growling and straining at his leash. Scott freezes and waits until John draws up next to him.
In the next moment, John hears what sounds like thunder off in the distance, but it's getting close fast. He barely pulls Scott out of the way in time as a herd of deer stampede through the dense woods, nimbly dodging trees and each other in the mad dash away from something, likely a predator, possibly whatever's responsible for the attack.
But even after the herd's passed, Sam's still behaving strangely. His growls turn to whimpers as he crouches low to the ground, tail practically between his legs.
“What's going on?” Scott whispers, shifting closer to John.
John shakes his head, reaches for his gun again, feeling that strange sensation at the back of his neck that's mirrored in his gut, that foreboding, wrong sense that Stiles sometimes jokingly refers to as his 'Super-Special Sheriff Spidey Sense.'
It's on them before John can get a bead on it; his flashlight is knocked away and he can't get a good look at it in the dark, but it's huge, heavy, has sharp teeth and claws when it shoves him to the ground and bites his side. It's quick, the whole terrifying ordeal over in a matter of seconds. Dog, John thinks uncertainly, but there are no wolves in California, nothing canine that could account for the physical descriptors, the smell. He gathers his wits and the flashlight quickly, searching out Scott, finding him hunched over in the leaves.
“Scott? You okay?”
“I... Yeah,” he wheezes, “I think... It... it bit me.”
“Me, too.” John shuffles over to Scott, Sam suddenly there next to him, stuck to his side. He gets a good look at the bloody bite mark in the fleshy part of Scott's side beneath his rib cage, just above his hip. John can feel the burn of his own in the same spot on the opposite side. As he sweeps the beam from the flashlight around them in a slow circle, it glints off something white and silver – Scott's inhaler.
It takes John a moment to get his feet under him, shaky from their encounter, but retrieves the inhaler and hands it to Scott, who accepts it gratefully and takes two deep puffs if his asthma medicine. “Thanks.”
“Come on,” John says, offering him a hand up before calling in the report of a wild animal. Luckily, his phone's still intact so he's not only able to give a location, but he can determine that they're not far from the preserve entrance where his patrol car is parked. “We should probably get these looked at.”
“We'll hafta get rabies vaccines,” Scott says as they start trudging through the woods again, stilling at every sound. Sam skulks along between the two of them, obviously scared.
“Probably.”
“My mom's gonna ground me for life,” Scott whines.
“You'll be lucky if that's all she does.” He has to chuckle at the uneasy expression on Scott's face. “Don't worry. She'll be happy you're alive.”
“Yeah,” Scott says, “but for how long?”
John laughs outright at that and leads Scott to his Sheriff's Department SUV. Scott gingerly climbs into the passenger side while Sam quickly hops into the back, flattening himself down against the seat. John tries to get a good look at the wound on his side, has to peel away the layers of his uniform and under shirt to be able to see it clearly. When he gets home, he's hugging his kid, then grounding him until he's fifty.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 448 – rabies
Warnings: AU. Canon-typical gore.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1130
Summary: The Teen Wolf pilot re-imagined, where Scott isn't the only one to be bitten.
Disclaimer: It's all lies and I own nothing.
In all of his years serving on the police force, John Stilinski has never witnessed anything as horrific as the mangled lower half of a female body found in the woods of the preserve. Beacon Hills has seen its fair share of violence, but nothing that ever could have prepared the sheriff for this. Based off of visual evidence, the ME is leaning towards animal attack, but John's not sure what kind of wild animal native to the area could be responsible for such a gruesome death. But they'll need to find the other half of the body to determine anything definitively.
So John and half the department are out in the middle of the night canvassing the woods, trying to locate a young woman's torso. He watches beams from other officers' flashlights cut through the trees as their K9 officer Sam sniffs out a trail leading away from their primary crime scene. Sam's ears flatten a couple of seconds before John hears the snap of a twig only a short distance ahead of them. John switches his flashlight from his right hand to his left so he can reach for his gun. “Come out slowly,” he says, training the flashlight beam and the barrel of his service weapon in the direction Sam's focused.
There's a beat, then a palm is sliding out from behind a wide oak, an arm clad in the sleeve of a maroon sweatshirt, and, finally, the guilty face of one Scott McCall. “Hey, Sheriff.”
John holsters his gun. “Scott. Where's Stiles?”
“Uh... Not here? I, um, I came out here by myself.” Scott's always been a terrible liar. Always gives himself away with the nervous fidgeting and his inability to maintain eye contact.
“I don't know what kind of idiot you take me for,” John tells him, “but the only way you'd be out here – the only way you'd even know to be out here, on tonight of all nights – is because of my son. Where's he at? It's not safe out here.” He pulls out his phone and dials Stiles. It rings and goes to voicemail. “Call me. Now.”
Scott doesn't meet his eye, looks contrite as he shrugs. “We got separated when we ran into the search party. I think he headed for the Jeep.”
“Then that's where you should be heading. I'll walk you.”
“Um... I accidentally dropped my inhaler. My mom's gonna be mad enough about... this,” Scott says, waving one hand around at the trees. “I was trying to find it when I lost my phone.”
John runs his hand over his face and sighs before reaching for the radio at his shoulder and getting an update from the rest of his officers. “And be on the lookout for my bonehead kid,” he tells them. “I'll be 10-6.”
“10-4,” replies Deputy Graeme.
John gestures with his free hand towards the woods behind Scott. Scott turns and starts walking, staying well within the narrow area illuminated by John's flashlight. They make it maybe a hundred yards before Sam's growling and straining at his leash. Scott freezes and waits until John draws up next to him.
In the next moment, John hears what sounds like thunder off in the distance, but it's getting close fast. He barely pulls Scott out of the way in time as a herd of deer stampede through the dense woods, nimbly dodging trees and each other in the mad dash away from something, likely a predator, possibly whatever's responsible for the attack.
But even after the herd's passed, Sam's still behaving strangely. His growls turn to whimpers as he crouches low to the ground, tail practically between his legs.
“What's going on?” Scott whispers, shifting closer to John.
John shakes his head, reaches for his gun again, feeling that strange sensation at the back of his neck that's mirrored in his gut, that foreboding, wrong sense that Stiles sometimes jokingly refers to as his 'Super-Special Sheriff Spidey Sense.'
It's on them before John can get a bead on it; his flashlight is knocked away and he can't get a good look at it in the dark, but it's huge, heavy, has sharp teeth and claws when it shoves him to the ground and bites his side. It's quick, the whole terrifying ordeal over in a matter of seconds. Dog, John thinks uncertainly, but there are no wolves in California, nothing canine that could account for the physical descriptors, the smell. He gathers his wits and the flashlight quickly, searching out Scott, finding him hunched over in the leaves.
“Scott? You okay?”
“I... Yeah,” he wheezes, “I think... It... it bit me.”
“Me, too.” John shuffles over to Scott, Sam suddenly there next to him, stuck to his side. He gets a good look at the bloody bite mark in the fleshy part of Scott's side beneath his rib cage, just above his hip. John can feel the burn of his own in the same spot on the opposite side. As he sweeps the beam from the flashlight around them in a slow circle, it glints off something white and silver – Scott's inhaler.
It takes John a moment to get his feet under him, shaky from their encounter, but retrieves the inhaler and hands it to Scott, who accepts it gratefully and takes two deep puffs if his asthma medicine. “Thanks.”
“Come on,” John says, offering him a hand up before calling in the report of a wild animal. Luckily, his phone's still intact so he's not only able to give a location, but he can determine that they're not far from the preserve entrance where his patrol car is parked. “We should probably get these looked at.”
“We'll hafta get rabies vaccines,” Scott says as they start trudging through the woods again, stilling at every sound. Sam skulks along between the two of them, obviously scared.
“Probably.”
“My mom's gonna ground me for life,” Scott whines.
“You'll be lucky if that's all she does.” He has to chuckle at the uneasy expression on Scott's face. “Don't worry. She'll be happy you're alive.”
“Yeah,” Scott says, “but for how long?”
John laughs outright at that and leads Scott to his Sheriff's Department SUV. Scott gingerly climbs into the passenger side while Sam quickly hops into the back, flattening himself down against the seat. John tries to get a good look at the wound on his side, has to peel away the layers of his uniform and under shirt to be able to see it clearly. When he gets home, he's hugging his kid, then grounding him until he's fifty.
