Story Summary: When Sheriff Stilinski stopped Allison, she said "I'm not like this" meaning she wasn't a crybaby. What if it meant something different? What if she didn't buy Kate's justifications, and told the sheriff that Derek Hale was being tortured in the basement of his old house?

Characters: Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent, Chris Argent, Victoria Argent, Kate Argent, Deputy Tara Graeme, Deputy Haigh, Derek Hale, Peter Hale, Scott McCall, OCs
Pairings: None

Rating: PG-13
Content: AU/AR (deviates from canon); references to torture; spoilers for up to 1.11 (Formality). violence; werewolves are revealed; character death; BAMF Sheriff Stilinski;

Disclaimer: I make no claims on the characters, and make no money from this work (unfortunately). This story was written for fun and should be read the same way. If you want to share this story, please link to it back here. If you find it on any site other than AO3 or , please let me know.
Word Count: 18,000

Much love to my betas, alecto_nyx and 0ok4m1.

.o0o.

Stilinski hated night patrols.

He doubly hated rainy night patrols. So when the car passed him doing 75 in a 25mph zone he muttered "Ah hell," but he still turned on the lights and the dash-cam, and called it in to Rita back at the station so she'd know what he was doing.

The car in front of him showed no signs of slowing, and Stilinski upped the risk from "idiot driver" to "impaired idiot driver".

He hated rainy night patrols where people didn't take a taxi home from whatever party at they'd gotten wasted at forcing him to pull them over on deserted roads. It was risky enough being a cop, but being a lone cop stopping a maybe-aggressive-and-possibly-armed drunk driver was more risk than he generally liked. However, he'd known the dangers when he'd taken the job, and if Beacon County was turning out to be (a lot) more dangerous in the past six months than in the previous six years he'd been sheriff, that was just too damn bad.

He blipped his siren, just a couple seconds worth. Hopefully, the noise would get the driver's attention where the lights hadn't. He didn't want to call in some other patrol, but if this turned into a pursuit. He'd do it in a heartbeat. He couldn't risk something happening to him—he still had a son to raise.

His hand was on his radio when the unremarkable sedan slowed and pulled to the curb. One danger down.

He ran the license plate and his eyebrows went up. He'd met Victoria Argent. He'd be hard-pressed to name more unlikely person to drink enough to not be in complete control of herself and her environment. Still, that's what the computer was telling him. It could be stolen. Joyriders or carjackers would explain the out-of-character driving. Carjackers didn't usually pull over though…

What it all came down to, was that he got to exit his dry vehicle to maybe argue with the maybe-aggressive-and-possibly-armed driver, and since it was raining, there was the added bonus of developing pneumonia later on. Oh yeah, he loved his job.

Well. He did actually. Even the cold, rainy parts.

He climbed out, settled his heavy belt more comfortably, and approached the vehicle with caution. He gave the unopened window three sharp taps with his flashlight before shining it at the fogged-over window, hoping to see the driver.

The window eased down and his nebulous fear of nefarious events was erased as soon as he saw the long, dark hair with the loose curls framing a pale face with large dark eyes. "Alison?" He aimed his mag-light to better illuminate the inside of the car, watching her pupils. "You alright?" Now he could see her clearer, her eyes seemed redder than they should. Maybe he was wrong about the intoxicants.

"Sorry, I was going so fast. I didn't realize I–"

Her voice trailed away, and he wondered what she hadn't realized. That she wasn't in any fit state to be driving, because now that he could see her, she looked closer to crying than intoxicated or careless.

"I…" Allison tried again. Suddenly one sob escaped then another, and then she was crying in earnest.

"Oh, no," Sherriff Stilinski shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, alright. Ah… Listen, you weren't going that fast. Just seventy-five in a twenty-five." He sighed and finished it. "In a construction zone."

"I'm not crying to get out of the ticket," she protested, and he believed her. "I'm just, um… I don't want you to think I'm like this."

"No. S'okay," he responded, very uncomfortable. She was so young, and he knew some of her history thanks to Stiles knowing it via Scott. She might as well have been an army brat for all the moving she'd done, and that was never easy. "It's perfectly okay. Um…"

"No, please, write me a ticket," She ordered, voice shaking. "I need you to write me a ticket, okay?"

"Okaaay," he replied hesitantly. He didn't want to write her a ticket—he wanted to give her a hug. "I don't see how that's going to make you feel a whole lot better."

"This is so humiliating. I swear I'm not like this."

"I understand." He murmured because he did. No teenager liked to think they weren't strong enough to deal with everything. "Are you hurt in any way? Are you injured?" He asked the questions, because making her take stock of her physical state might've taken her mind off her emotional one, but it was like she didn't hear him.

"This isn't me," she chanted shakily. "This isn't– This is not me!"

The sheriff revised the possibility of danger—not to himself, but to Allison if she kept banging on the steering wheel like that.. "Woah," he murmured soothingly. "It's okay." he kept saying it until she actually seemed okay.

"This is not me," she stated again, but this time her voice was firm. She took a steadying breath before turning to him. "I'm okay." She cleared her throat, tucked her hair behind her ears. Then she tipped her head and peeked at him sideways.

Stilinski braced himself...

"I'm okay. But Derek Hale needs help."

wasn't what he'd been expecting at all.

.o0o.

Allison shuddered, wishing she didn't know what torture sounded like: electricity into flesh, steel bars crackling... She wished it was yesterday. Or last month. Last month everything had been… It had been better. Great, in fact. Sure, it had been another new school, but there had been Scott, Lydia and Jackson, Danny and Stiles, but mostly Scott, who hadn't cared that she was a year older with weirdly over-protective parents.

Except, maybe they weren't so weirdly over-protective. They'd known—of course they'd known—that werewolves were real. They'd known because they hunted werewolves. Hunting them down, torturing them and killing them. And they'd chosen not to tell her any of it.

"Oh, God." Allison's breath hitched.

The sheriff didn't hear her, which was good. She'd embarrassed herself enough in front of him. Although, when he talked to her, when he'd been looking at her and asking her questions, it had at least taken her mind off where she'd just been, what she'd seen…

It wasn't a beast Kate had chained to the bars. It wasn't the Beast of Gévaudan with its red eyes and long claws. It was Derek Hale. Derek Hale who was surly and a little scary, yes, but he wasn't an animal.

Or at least, Allison would never have suspected he was anything other than a broody loner with a bad reputation. Would never have thought him capable of killing his sister, or the bus driver, or any of the others. But then, she'd never expected her aunt to enjoy torturing a sentient being. They'd stood vigil together, remembering the victims of the Holocaust. She'd signed the petition to free Sea World's orcas, for god's sake.

And yet, Kate had smiled as she ran bolt after bolt of electricity through Derek Hale's body. She'd said it was okay because Derek wasn't human. She'd said it was for a good cause because they needed to find the second beta, but she hadn't even asked him any questions.

Why hadn't Kate asked Derek about the other werewolves, Allison wondered now that she was away from that horrible place?

"How you doing, Allison?" Sheriff Stilinski's voice was so kind, so filled with concern that it was enough to break the dam

.o0o.

"…and then she said she was looking for the other beta, but she didn't ask him any questions. She just turned on the battery and let him scream."

The sheriff listened again to Allison telling him that her aunt, Kate Argent, was currently holding, and torturing, Derek Hale. He had no problem believing her aunt would do something that. After all, he'd discovered an undeniable link between the Hale house fire and Kate Argent. If she'd been willing to kill nine Hales then—some of them children—she sure as hell wouldn't hesitate to torture one of them now.

He could even believe a woman that sick would encourage her niece to join her.

It was the other stuff she was saying that he had problems with…

"She told you he was a werewolf?" he asked, needing it repeated.

Allison gave him a Look. "She didn't just tell me. She turned on the electricity and he… Roared. And his teeth… Fangs." She waved at her face. "And his hair."

"Oh boy," Stilinski muttered. It was bad enough that the aunt would probably argue insanity, but if his main witness backed her up?

Time for plan B.

He waved Allison to silence. "Look, Allison. Legally, I can't question you: you're a minor; you're obviously under a great deal of stress, and your parents aren't here—"

"You can't call my parents," she panicked. "They can't know that I told you."

Not exactly unexpected, but still inconvenient. "I can't let you drive like this." She looked at him with large, pleading eyes. They were very effective, and they would've worked if years of Scott hadn't made him immune.

"How about I call Scott?" he offered. "He can drive you home."

She smiled like he was superhero. "Okay, yeah. I'd like that."

His cell phone rang. He stepped away from Allison to respond. It was Deputy Graeme reporting that she'd pulled in all available units and they'd be leaving the station in 15 minutes.

"If you beat me to the site, make sure they all grab protection, and that they put it on."

Deputies in Beacon Hills were supposed to wear protective vests whenever they were on duty, but it was usually such a quiet town they often didn't. The sheriff let them get away with it, because he hated the vest, too—it was hot, heavy and uncomfortable. And crime-fighting in Beacon Hills rarely needed it. For this, however, he'd told Tara to order everyone into Kevlar and gas masks. He couldn't stop thinking that Kate's family sold weapons. Hell, he'd seen some of Chris Argent's stock—9mm handguns, shot-guns, semi-automatic assault rifles, tear gas and flash-bangs. Kate Argent could have any combination of those items hidden in that basement.

"Copy that, Sheriff," Tara responded. "Just like you ordered." Tara Graeme was a great second-in-command. Years of teaching and trained her to not take anyone's BS and she could organize better than anyone else in the department—even him.

He pulled out his phone and dug out Scott's number. It rang only once.

"Hey, Sheriff. What's up?" Scott sounded stressed.

"You're not in trouble, Scott, and your mom's fine," he said right off."

"Oh. Okay. That's good." Scott's voice lightened.

"I'm calling because I need your help."

"Sure. Anything."

Sheriff Stilinski shook his head. Did the boy have no sense of self-protection? Still, this was the reaction he'd been counting on. "I need you to come to Greenfield Parkway, just east of the resurfacing, and drive Allison home."

"Allison!" It sounded like Scott jumped to his feet. "Is she okay?"

"She's a little shaky. Bad enough that I don't think she should be driving."

"Alright. I'll be right there."

"Make sure you use the light on your bike," the sheriff cautioned. "I don't want you getting hit because some driver couldn't see you."

"I'll be really careful, Sheriff. Promise."

The sheriff didn't completely believe Scott, but it was the best he could do. He went back to Allison, and told her Scott was on his way. She looked stupidly reassured by that—more than the sheriff thought she should anyway (and he'd known Scott longer)—but they were in love and that topped reality. He'd felt the same way about Claudia before... Even after, after everything, he'd never stopped loving her.

He sighed away the memories, and pushed down the regrets. At least the rain had stopped.

He called the front desk at the station and ordered Rita to find an ambulance to be on standby.

"You think someone's gonna get hurt?" He knew Rita assumed it was a meth lab they were going after, because that's what he'd wanted her to assume. He said nothing to break that assumption.

Things were in hand for the operation. He needed to get over there. He needed to be on-site to supervise his people. Let them know that Kate Argent would likely see them as a supernatural threat and would have no hesitation about killing them. As long as Scott didn't take too long getting here, he'd have plenty of time to be at the Preserve before his people, make sure they suited up like he told them to.

Behind him, he heard Allison muttering. "Oh, God." She seemed back on the verge of another breakdown.

He immediately stuck his head in her window. "Hey, hey, don't worry. We're going to get Derek out of there," he said hurriedly. "And we're going to make sure your aunt gets the help she needs."

Allison clutched at his arm. "You'll be careful, right?"

"We're going to be plenty careful." He patted her hand in reassurance. "All you need to do is to let Scott take you home. I'll be by to take your statement tomorrow." She was shaking her head before he was halfway finished. "What?"

"I can't go home," Allison said, panicking. "They won't understand. They'll never forgive me for turning her in."

The sheriff stopped. He didn't know much about the Argent family. He knew Kate was Chris' sister, not Victoria's. He knew they travelled the country demonstrating and selling weapons and protective gear. He knew they hadn't joined any local organization other than the PTA. He knew Scott was completely infatuated with Allison, and Stiles had forgiven her for stealing his "bro time". He didn't know if they were the type to hush up family scandals. Given that uncertainty, he couldn't just blithely tell Allison it would be okay.

He bent back down. "You don't have to tell them," he said. "I'm not writing a ticket. No one has to know I stopped you. It'll be an anonymous tip."

"You'd do that?" She sounded surprised.

He gave her a smile. "Treat you like a confidential informant? Well, that's what you are, right?"

Her smile this time had dimples, so he figured the crisis had been averted. Before it could come again, he heard the uneven growl of a very familiar engine. He stood up with a growl of his own.

The Jeep had barely stopped moving before Scott jumped out. "Allison!" She was only moments slower. "Scott!" The sheriff sidestepped to avoid being run over. They held each other and peered into each other's eyes like they were Romeo and Juliet. The sheriff turned to give them some privacy and was reminded that there was someone else at this party.

"Hey, Dad. Dad, daddy-o. What's up?"

"Why are you here?" Stalinski asked, even though he knew it was a stupid question.

"I was just chillin' with my bro when he got your call," Stiles said. "I couldn't let him venture into the dark and dangerous night alone!"

"You were curious," the sheriff translated.

"I would never delve into police business." Stiles made a hurt face. The sheriff raised his eyebrow. Stiles slumped. "Again. I wouldn't do it again. At least, not without permission."

Stilinski knew his kid well enough to let it go—a friend in need and a chance to know more? Of course Stiles was going to come, it would've been like dangling a feather before a cat, but overall he was a good kid despite the bumps.

For the first time, the sheriff wondered if some of the craziness that had invaded his town and surrounded his son wasn't a run-off from Kate and her belief in werewolves. If the woman honestly believed Derek Hale was the Wolfman, maybe she thought Stiles was mini-Dracula? He certainly spent enough time out of the house at night.

"When we're done here you're going straight home."

"Why? What's up?" Stiles asked, completely ignoring the order. "Is Allison okay?"

"Allison is fine." Stilinski answered but he could see his son's next question (and the next) already forming. He needed to give Stiles—give all of them—something. He shifted to include the pair entwined behind him. "Listen up. All of you." They all turned towards him. "I need you all to stay quiet about this little… Meeting here."

Allison tensed, and Scott's "Sure thing, Sheriff" overlapped with Stiles' "What did you do?"

The sheriff assumed an embarrassed pose. "I broke regulations," he said, looking down and away. "I didn't write Allison a ticket—"Absolutely true. "And I'm not going to file a report about this stop—" Also true. "Officially," he said with emphasis, "this stop never happened."

"Dad—" Stiles took a step forward, in shock or upset, the sheriff couldn't tell. He held up a hand to stop whatever Stiles had been going to say.

"If anybody finds out… Well, they could accuse me of incompetence—" All three teenagers protested. It was kind of nice. "Or favoritism. The first would be false. The second…" He huffed out a breath, put his hands on hips. "So I need you three to not say a word to this to anyone."

He looked at them in turn. Allison looked relieved and grateful—neither of which was suspicious in the circumstances. Scott looked earnest and upright. "Honestly, who else would I tell?" he asked, which was a good point. As usual, it was Stiles who made him worry. Stiles, who gave him a narrow-eyed look filled with suspicion.

"Stiles?" he asked gently, and Stiles jumped as if startled from thought. His face cleared, and he nodded too fast and too long. "Yeah. Right. No worries. We're all… Mum. Secrets to the grave, etcetera."

It was the kind of babble that gave the sheriff his own suspicions about what his son was planning, but he couldn't ask him about it without getting some very penetrating questions back. Besides, he needed to get them out of here before Tara checked in.

He shuffled Scott and Allison back to her car, made sure they used their seatbelts and waved them away.

"What's going on, Pop?" Stiles was still, watching him with far too more intelligence than the sheriff wanted to see right now.

"Nothing." Denial wouldn't work. It never worked, but he always hoped. He sighed; better to direct the fall-out than to be completely blindsided later. He waited until Stiles gave him an exasperated look. "Fine. Doing all the paperwork would make me late for an operation we have planned for tonight."

Stiles perked up. "An operation? Like SWAT stuff? What's the target? Is it dangerous?" With the final question, Stiles' excitement drained and worry took its place.

"It's just rumors," the sheriff said. "Some kind of group operating in the woods."

"Illegal stuff? You mean like a meth lab?" Stiles' voice reached the supersonic register. "Those things explode!"

"Yes they do," the sheriff agreed. He draped his arm over Stiles' shoulders and steered his son back to the jeep. "Which is why I'm going to be very careful, and you're going to go back home so that I don't have anything more to worry about."

"I've done some research on how to neutralize—"

"So has Deputy Graeme. And Deputy Lassiter. Cordova even has that BA in chemistry. We're not unprepared for this." All true. It wouldn't be the first time drug operations had been set up in Beacon County. It was an easy drive into the city for supplies and marketing, plus criminals too often thought 'rural' meant unobservant or corrupt. Sheriff Stilinski hated those stereotypes.

"Okay. Anything else I can do then?" Stiles asked.

"You can go home." The sheriff opened the driver-side door. He stood and waited for Stiles to climb in. he closed the door carefully, giving it that small lift it needed to latch properly. "Go home," he repeated. "Try not to worry. I'll call you when it's over." He stared at his son until Stiles gave a little nod. He stepped away as Stiles started the jeep and drove off.

He gave it thirty minutes before his son talked himself out of obedience.

He notified Deputy Graeme to be on the lookout for Stiles' jeep and to make the other deputies aware of it. They'd all been pretty good at not shooting his son at crime scenes. Hopefully, that lucky streak would last one more night.

.o0o.