Oh, What A Night (Beacon Hills, 2011)

[whatisastiles]

Stiles and the damn fools that follow him back to Beacon Hills step into an ordinary looking teenage boy's bedroom. There's the usual furniture—bed, desk, dresser, bookshelf—and decorations—band posters, telescope, pile of smelly lacrosse gear. It doesn't look like much in the way of a werewolf investigative headquarters.

"Welcome to mi casa," says Stiles. "Dad's not home, thank God, so he won't notice we're here."

Add 'weird people traveling in through my closet' to the many things Stiles would rather not have to explain to his father.

"I need to talk to Scott," he say, punching the speed dial on his phone at the same time. He pauses for a moment listening to the phone ring, ring, and finally go to voicemail before hanging up. "And he's not picking up, so I'm going to go see if he's at home. You staying here or coming with?"

Comments

[headed4hell]

Grace steps into the room and immediately begins snooping. When you're a detective, it's easy to call habitual nosiness a necessary job qualification.

Stiles dials; Grace picks up his lacrosse stick and cradles as she looks around.

"Really?" she mouths, pointing at one of his band posters, ignoring his question.

[mnt_raph]

Raph's hands go up in surrender.
Don't look at me, says his expression to Grace's silent questioning.
If it's not Classic Rock or Heavy Metal...it sucks, as far as he's concerned.

"There any beer in the fridge?"
Because if there is, that could play heavily into Raph's decision.

[whatisastiles]

Whatever. Teenage boys are supposed to listen to pop punk. Adults that don't get it... well, isn't that half the point?

"Probably not," Stiles answers. "Dad's more of a whiskey man."

And this isn't a bar. That's, you know, the place they just left. What kind of crack team is this?

[headed4hell]

"Whiskey man and a cop?"

Grace grins at her young friend. Honestly, though: what did he expect?

"Scott. This way?" she asks, heading out into a hallway without waiting for confirmation. "Cop man, whiskey man, gotta be a picture hangin' around somewhere."

Isn't Stiles glad he brought his friends home to play?

[whatisastiles]

Oh hell naaahhh. Sheriff Stilinski is off limits.

This might've been a terrible plan. But for better or for worse, he's following Grace out of the room, probably not quickly enough to pull down every family picture in the hall.

"You wouldn't like my dad, Grace. No sense of humor. And these look?" he says, motioning hopelessly at his face. "All from my mom."

He flashes Raph a help me out here look and prays the dude understands. Throw the sad orphan a bone here.

[mnt_raph]

Raph casts the room with one more withering glare before following the pair out of the room and into the hallway. The only sound comes from the bedroom door as he clicks it closed behind him.

Sometime soon the Triplets are going to have culturally equivalent rooms, and it breaks Raph's heart a little.
Kids shouldn't be allowed to grow up, is his new stance. And it's from this new place of understanding that Raph catches Stiles' expression.

"It's the kid's dad, Grace," he reminds her. "No one needs to think 'bout that."

He turns his attention back to Stiles.

"Just you an' your dad?"

[whatisastiles]

Thank you says Stiles's relieved expression.

"Yep, just the two of us guys!" His positive tone can't hid the slightest waver, one he hopes his companions won't notice.

It's been just the two of them for seven years now, and not much has changed about the house in the interim. The paint could use some retouching, and the fabric on the living room upholstery is wearing thin in places. But hey, it's cozy, it's... home.

"We do okay."

[headed4hell]

Grace might not hesitate to tease the kid about his hot dad, but the way she pulls up short at the waver in his voice -- totally caught, sorry Stiles -- suggests she's not completely unfeeling.

Rather the opposite, actually.

She blinks at him. "'Course you do," she says, gruffly. "This place is great. He sounds like an awesome dad."

This time without the leering.

"So what's the plan? Find this Scott guy?"

[mnt_raph]

Raph doesn't know first hand what might cause that catch to his tone, but he's heard it before. From April, before Milliways, and from countless friends and family after.

"Certainly a shit-ton nicer than the literal shit-hole i grew up in, that's for damn sure," he says quietly with a genial nod in Stiles' direction.

Because...it kind of was a literal shit-hole.
The peeling paint and threadbare carpet would have been living the highlife for them prior to Stockman's robots chewing a hole through their cinder block walls.

"Where do we look for'im first?"

[whatisastiles]

Stiles checks the time on his phone, then shoves it back in his pocket.

"First stop is Casa McCall. Scott had a date tonight, but it's almost his curfew. He'll be home soon."

And he probably rode his bike, so it's not as if he'll be held up dropping Allison back home.

"Lemme grab my keys."

[headed4hell]

"His girlfriend know about his little lupine problem?"

Grace is watching Raph now.

Watching him closely.

Mike didn't mention that his gruff brother was kind of a teddy bear under all the snarling.

"Hey, want me to drive?" she calls after Stiles, grinning.

[whatisastiles]

"You're kidding me, right, Grace?" asks Stiles. He lifts up a pile of mail and yesterday's newspaper from the kitchen table and unearths the keys to his Jeep.

"Her Dad is a werewolf hunter."

Did he fail to mention that before? Oops.

"He shot Scott in the arm. With an arrow."

What is this, like, medieval times?

"Also, no. Absolutely not."

He can see that gleam in her eyes. He knows it. He does the same thing. It's not to be trusted.

[mnt_raph]

While Grace and Stiles discuss their next move, Raph bides his time by giving the living room a closer inspection.

That is until he realizes he's being watched by Grace. That's about the time he turns, makes and holds eye contact, all the while keeping his expression as purposefully neutral as he can.

Raph's a giant marshmallowy lug of a man once you get to know him, but...it's not something he shouts from the rooftops.

"Silver heads on the arrows?" he drawls?

[headed4hell]

Good question.

Grace tucks her chin in and snickers.

"I was a teenage girl, man. Sometimes goin' against Daddy's wishes is part of the appeal."

Beat.

"That don't explain Scott's choice to date the daughter of a werewolf hunter, but hey. Live and live dangerously."

Oh, that's not how the phrase goes? Too bad.

[whatisastiles]

"I don't know about the arrows. Derek pulled the arrow out and they just ran for it."

Maybe they should've stopped to ask?

Grace has a point about rebellion, and it's not necessarily unique to teenage girls either.

"He didn't know Argent's a werewolf hunter until after he fell for Allison."

Whether her dimple's would've had less power over Scott if he already knew? Eh... doubtful, honestly.

Stiles leads his new posse out to a luxurious aging Jeep CJ5 parked in the driveway. The doors aren't locked. They don't really do that.

[mnt_raph]

"Smart," he mutters with regards to the kids actually running from the badguy, rather than towards. And from the sounds of it he means that.

Raph doesn't even blink before he heads towards the driver's seat of the Jeep, but pauses just as he's about to put his hand on the door to get in.

It's been a damn long time since he's driven anything with more than one horse power, and even then...he was walking along side the horse.

"It's probably best I don't drive."

[headed4hell]

Grace snorts and lets out a loud "Ha!"

Just before she grabs shotgun.

You snooze, you lose.

"Yeah, the fastest thing he's been drivin' comes in ponypower, not horse."

[mnt_raph]

That's quite all right. Take shotgun. That leaves the entire back of the Jeep for Raph to sit in, which works just fine for him, thankyouverymuch.

If there was an insult to be had by her statement, he ignores it.

[whatisastiles]

It's good that Grace and Raph resolved that one their own. It saves him the explanation that nobody else is driving Roscoe. She's temperamental.

Stiles climbs in after his companions get settled and starts up Roscoe's engine. The transmission makes a strange noise as Stiles shifts into her into reverse.

He prepares himself for the disparagement of his Lady's character that are sure to follow.

[headed4hell]

...Roscoe?

Grace can't say anything, though. Her porsche is named Connie.

"So."

Grace is hanging on to the top of the door, watching Stiles. If her eye twitches during that shift, well, it's not like she comments on it.

Some things are sacrosanct.

"Are we stoppin' for snacks? It's not a road trip without snacks."

Grace realizes they are going somewhere else in the same town. She doesn't care.

[whatisastiles]

Stiles rejects your gender norms in car naming conventions. So there.

He also thinks he literally just had this "we just came from the bar" conversation in the narration not ten minutes ago. What is with these people?

"Sure, 7 Eleven it is," he says, rolling his eyes.

It's actually not on the way and will make this trip at least twice as long, but whatever. Gotta feed your partners.

[mnt_raph]

There's no schooling of Raph's expression. Not when the kid's motor sounds like that, and not with the way he drives.

Though...to be honest, Raph doesn't really approve of anyone's driving but his own.

He's just about to make a recommendation that Stiles take his truck to Donnie for a tune-up when 7-11 gets mentioned.

Raph hasn't seen a 7-11 in quite literally years.

"No shit, really?"

It's like Christmas, but with Slurpees!

"They still got them corndogs on the rollers under the heat lamps?"

[headed4hell]

Grace lets out a moan that would make most people blush.

"Hell yes. Wash 'em down with a coke slurpee?"

Which would, of course, get spiked with Jack Daniels under normal circumstances. Given their mission here, however, she might make do with a 40.

"Also they've got these churros now. I tell you what, those things are goddamn delicious," Grace blasphemes cheerfully.

[whatisastiles]

Stiles driving isn't bad so much as he drives like a 16 year old boy in a vehicle held together with duct tape and force of will.

But it sounds like these two won't complain so long as he delivers them to the flickering fluorescents of the local 7 Eleven.

(He's never introducing them to Dad. No way can the Sheriff think Stiles condones eating that kind of crap.)

"Don't forget those sausages wrapped up in pancakes," says Stiles. "It's like the breakfast version of a corndog."

Look what you've been missing Raph!

[mnt_raph]

"The fuck you say," says Raph...who doesn't quite believe that such things exist. At least not in the realy real world where he can eat them.