Sheriff Stilinski aka "Dad" (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reallyproudofyou) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2014-05-02 10:53 pm
reallyproudofyou) wrote in muserevival2014-05-02 10:53 pm
Entry tags:
066.6. Misc/Random
"We'd remember tonight for the rest of our lives." (Wings, Birdy)
CONTAINS TRIGGERING CONTENT
John shot awake abruptly and groggily reached to switch his lamp on. He hadn't been sleeping the best lately, and most nights it was lightly so he could keep an awareness on his son in case he needed him. Nights seemed to be the worse. When it was dark, when Stiles mind seemed to kick into overdrive the most. He was sure it was the sound of someone crying that roused him. Maybe he dreamt it, but maybes weren't enough for him to base anything on right now.
That night, Stiles was in his room alone. Scott had invited both him and Isaac over to watch movies with a couple of other guys while his mom was at work and Lydia was out with her friend. Stiles hadn't wanted to go out, but he had coaxed Isaac to go, promising - even insisting - he would be fine and Isaac should go and have fun. Stiles just 'wasn't in the mood' for hanging out with friends. After Isaac left, Stiles watched some TV with John before getting up off the sofa and giving him a goodnight hug saying he was tired and wanted to hit the sack early.
All-in-all, it seemed to be a better night than the last one. When he looked in on Stiles when he went to bed himself, his son was sleeping, lying on his stomach with his feet sticking out the end of the covers and, as per usual since everything, the light in the corner on low. John grabbed his alarm clock and turned the illuminated screen towards him to see the time. It was after midnight and the rain was pouring down outside. Maybe it had just been sounds that came with bad weather like this that woke him. He pushed the covers (that still smelled like Melissa's perfume) back and got up. Chances were, it was either the weather or Stiles having a nightmare that woke him.
Pulling the door of his bedroom open, though, there was absolutely no mistaking it as crying. It was a sob and John bolted up the hall to Stiles room, only to find the door wide open and Stiles bed empty. His stomach shot right up into his throat and that chill of terror sliced through him. "Stiles?!" he called out, shooting across the hall to the bathroom. The door was shut, and when he tried the handle, found it to be locked too. "Stiles, open up!" he shouted through it but he didn't wait for the response. He just moved back a couple of steps and kicked it down, knowing the lock was flimsy, at best. For privacy more than for security.
He would come to beyond count his blessings that he did too. The sight he was met with would never leave him. Stiles was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, back against the bath tub and legs splayed out in front of him with a mess of scattered pill bottles around his bare feet. That wasn't what almost caused John to have a heart attack on the spot, though, and it would be sheer adrenaline that got him through the next moments of his life. Stiles had the pistol John kept in a drawer in his room for safety (in easy reach, considering the events of late) in his hand and held to his head while he sat there sobbing. The sobs were wracking his body and only his eyes turned to his father when he burst into the room. "I'm sorry, Dad. I-I'm so sorry--" were the tearful, shaky words.
John just reacted. Any parent would. Any parent who gave a damn about their kid and wanted to spare them pain, not cause them more. There was no time to think on what he was supposed to do here, and this wasn't something you could plan in advance. It wasn't something you even wanted to fathom from your own flesh and blood, and it would be nauseating and chilling inside to really pause and think on what you would do if ever faced with it. He just jumped at Stiles, grabbing his forearm to pull the gun away from his head, at the very least. But as he did, Stiles pulled the trigger, and it had to have been just a split second where it could have all gone horrifically wrong. The bullet hit the mirror and shattered it, John throwing himself over Stiles to protect him from the shards of glass. It all happened so quickly that it was like an horrific nightmare. Please, dead god, could this all just be a terrible nightmare he was about to wake up from?!
It wasn't a nightmare. The glass stopped spraying down on them and the bathroom seemed to go deathly silent. For an awful moment or two, John feared Stiles might have succeeded in what his mind made him intent on doing here. He pulled back, and Stiles head dropped to the side, limp like the rest of him. "Stiles? STILES!" he shouted, giving him a small shake. He didn't know what was going on, whether maybe Stiles had hit his head on the edge of the bath tub when John had lunged at him to protect him from the glass. The pistol and dropped out of Stiles hand and to the floor, and upon looking at it, John's eyes fell to the pill bottles again and his blood felt like it turned to ice. "God, no. No, fucking hell, kiddo! You didn't do this... you didn't," he said through his own panicked sob.
He had Stiles face cupped in his hand and he gave his cheek a soft slap, trying to rouse him. Stiles was so deathly pale, his complexion was greying, and the heavy dark rings looked just as bad as they had in the wake of the nogitsune. It was an incoming call on Stiles' cell phone that was lying on the floor beside him that illuminated the screen and caught John's attention. It was Isaac, a picture of the kid making a kissy face staring back at him from the screen. John grabbed up the phone to decline the call, immediately calling 911 instead. His other arm, cut from some of the shards of glass and bleeding, cradled his son's limp form against him. Thank god Melissa would be at the hospital tonight. They had been going to have dinner together, but took a raincheck when Melissa got called into work after a bad car crash caused by the rain. This wouldn't at all be how she saw her shift that night turning, though...
That night wouldn't be one any of them forgot as long as they lived.
Sheriff John Stilinski || Ten Wolf
John shot awake abruptly and groggily reached to switch his lamp on. He hadn't been sleeping the best lately, and most nights it was lightly so he could keep an awareness on his son in case he needed him. Nights seemed to be the worse. When it was dark, when Stiles mind seemed to kick into overdrive the most. He was sure it was the sound of someone crying that roused him. Maybe he dreamt it, but maybes weren't enough for him to base anything on right now.
That night, Stiles was in his room alone. Scott had invited both him and Isaac over to watch movies with a couple of other guys while his mom was at work and Lydia was out with her friend. Stiles hadn't wanted to go out, but he had coaxed Isaac to go, promising - even insisting - he would be fine and Isaac should go and have fun. Stiles just 'wasn't in the mood' for hanging out with friends. After Isaac left, Stiles watched some TV with John before getting up off the sofa and giving him a goodnight hug saying he was tired and wanted to hit the sack early.
All-in-all, it seemed to be a better night than the last one. When he looked in on Stiles when he went to bed himself, his son was sleeping, lying on his stomach with his feet sticking out the end of the covers and, as per usual since everything, the light in the corner on low. John grabbed his alarm clock and turned the illuminated screen towards him to see the time. It was after midnight and the rain was pouring down outside. Maybe it had just been sounds that came with bad weather like this that woke him. He pushed the covers (that still smelled like Melissa's perfume) back and got up. Chances were, it was either the weather or Stiles having a nightmare that woke him.
Pulling the door of his bedroom open, though, there was absolutely no mistaking it as crying. It was a sob and John bolted up the hall to Stiles room, only to find the door wide open and Stiles bed empty. His stomach shot right up into his throat and that chill of terror sliced through him. "Stiles?!" he called out, shooting across the hall to the bathroom. The door was shut, and when he tried the handle, found it to be locked too. "Stiles, open up!" he shouted through it but he didn't wait for the response. He just moved back a couple of steps and kicked it down, knowing the lock was flimsy, at best. For privacy more than for security.
He would come to beyond count his blessings that he did too. The sight he was met with would never leave him. Stiles was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, back against the bath tub and legs splayed out in front of him with a mess of scattered pill bottles around his bare feet. That wasn't what almost caused John to have a heart attack on the spot, though, and it would be sheer adrenaline that got him through the next moments of his life. Stiles had the pistol John kept in a drawer in his room for safety (in easy reach, considering the events of late) in his hand and held to his head while he sat there sobbing. The sobs were wracking his body and only his eyes turned to his father when he burst into the room. "I'm sorry, Dad. I-I'm so sorry--" were the tearful, shaky words.
John just reacted. Any parent would. Any parent who gave a damn about their kid and wanted to spare them pain, not cause them more. There was no time to think on what he was supposed to do here, and this wasn't something you could plan in advance. It wasn't something you even wanted to fathom from your own flesh and blood, and it would be nauseating and chilling inside to really pause and think on what you would do if ever faced with it. He just jumped at Stiles, grabbing his forearm to pull the gun away from his head, at the very least. But as he did, Stiles pulled the trigger, and it had to have been just a split second where it could have all gone horrifically wrong. The bullet hit the mirror and shattered it, John throwing himself over Stiles to protect him from the shards of glass. It all happened so quickly that it was like an horrific nightmare. Please, dead god, could this all just be a terrible nightmare he was about to wake up from?!
It wasn't a nightmare. The glass stopped spraying down on them and the bathroom seemed to go deathly silent. For an awful moment or two, John feared Stiles might have succeeded in what his mind made him intent on doing here. He pulled back, and Stiles head dropped to the side, limp like the rest of him. "Stiles? STILES!" he shouted, giving him a small shake. He didn't know what was going on, whether maybe Stiles had hit his head on the edge of the bath tub when John had lunged at him to protect him from the glass. The pistol and dropped out of Stiles hand and to the floor, and upon looking at it, John's eyes fell to the pill bottles again and his blood felt like it turned to ice. "God, no. No, fucking hell, kiddo! You didn't do this... you didn't," he said through his own panicked sob.
He had Stiles face cupped in his hand and he gave his cheek a soft slap, trying to rouse him. Stiles was so deathly pale, his complexion was greying, and the heavy dark rings looked just as bad as they had in the wake of the nogitsune. It was an incoming call on Stiles' cell phone that was lying on the floor beside him that illuminated the screen and caught John's attention. It was Isaac, a picture of the kid making a kissy face staring back at him from the screen. John grabbed up the phone to decline the call, immediately calling 911 instead. His other arm, cut from some of the shards of glass and bleeding, cradled his son's limp form against him. Thank god Melissa would be at the hospital tonight. They had been going to have dinner together, but took a raincheck when Melissa got called into work after a bad car crash caused by the rain. This wouldn't at all be how she saw her shift that night turning, though...
That night wouldn't be one any of them forgot as long as they lived.
Sheriff John Stilinski || Ten Wolf