Teen Vamp

Prologue - Some Of Us Make Mistakes

Fueled by his morning coffee, Sheriff John Stilinski was about to head out of the house in the morning, but first he needed to check on his son.

Until now, he hadn't realized vampires were not, by default, nocturnal. That is, if Stiles counted as a vampire. He'd had to drink a real live vampire's blood almost a month ago in order to save his life, and John greatly regretted having not been there to defuse the situation before it got so dangerous and borderline-lethal.

The sun was rising outside, and unfortunately, Stiles' room had an eastern exposure. If not for John coming in early and pulling up the sheets over his son's peacefully dozing form, he would wake up every morning with some level of burns on his arms. Or, worse, his face. No need for that. What Stiles needed was rest. (It certainly helped that, according to the vampire girl who had turned him, he had yet to develop fangs, which meant he was at least partially immune or something to that effect.) So, rest, and hopefully, no more action for the rest of the summer.

Of course, this was Beacon Hills. Lately, supernatural phenomena seemed to happen at the drop of a hat, and that was when Stiles, along with his friends, would get involved. John hated being "normal" and, therefore, seemingly unable to help - not that that had stopped Stiles - but still, he felt useless when the problems occurring under his watch left the realm of rationalism and the laws of physics. Under normal circumstances, the most worrying thing he would have to deal with over the upcoming Fourth of July weekend (after Coach Finstock playing Independence Day at maximum volume and yelling along to President Whitmore's speech) would be moron teenagers violating Beacon County's fireworks ban. (It was being strictly enforced this year - the ongoing drought had raised the usual threat of wildfires to apocalyptic levels.) And the most worrying thing he would deal with regarding Stiles would be the possibility of him getting into drugs or sex or whatever new and unusual vice his teen generation would have come up with.

If only all the single-dad parenting manuals had chapters on how to cope when your son was irretrievably turned into a supernatural creature. Funnily enough, on Lydia's advice (not from her counselor mother, though - she'd just read it in a book somewhere), Stiles had used a "how to come out to your parents" pamphlet as a template to explain his vampirism to his father. (Incidentally, he'd added, "Yeah, I'm also bi. Like, for real." His tone had been joking, trying to cover the mental anguish he was experiencing, but he and John both knew it was just as genuine a confession.)

John spent a few more seconds watching Stiles doze away, then he leaned down and kissed him goodbye, as he'd done every morning for almost sixteen years now. As usual, Stiles gave no reaction. Despite his tendency to talk in his sleep, he always remained suspiciously silent for this.

Two minutes later, John was on the road, driving to his office. However, he quickly found himself diverted after being alerted to a freshly-called-in crime scene somewhere on the road to Hill Valley. He arrived at the scene within five minutes, almost exactly at the stroke of six. Outside a small house stood a young man, early- to mid-twenties. He must have been the one who called it in.

As John emerged from his SUV, the young man perked up, his piercing silver eyes widening as he recognized him. "I got the Sheriff himself? Who knew this was that important, huh?"

"It was on my way," John lied. "And you are...?"

"Jordan Parrish," said the man. He shook hands with John, then added, "So...well, this wouldn't have been the first time Blue's gone and partied hard all night, then not come back till dawn, totally sh..." He paused.

"It's all right," John said. "'Shit-faced.' That's what you were gonna say, right?"

Parrish cracked a smile. "Yeah, swearing in front of authority figures, that's something I'm a little conditioned against. Not so much Blue, though. He was always getting in trouble for that in Afghanistan."

"Afghanistan?" John repeated. Parrish nodded once. "Well, thank you for your service."

"It was a rough time for us both," said Parrish. "But we were pretty well-adjusted...lucky us, I guess." He led John to the actual crime scene at last - the body of a second young man, most likely Blue, lying near the steps in front of the house's back door. As John knelt to give the corpse a cursory examination, he heard Parrish sniff loudly behind him. "Poor son of a bitch," he said. "I mean...who would've done this? And who would've been strong enough to overpower him?"

It didn't take John long to spot something promising, a potential COD. And now he knew that it was more than just a coincidence that he was the one investigating this crime. "I think I have an idea," he said to Parrish, "but you wouldn't like it."

"R-Really?" Parrish asked. "Blue needs justice. I wanna know."

"Trust me, you don't." John's lips curled as he looked down at Blue again, wondering if perhaps he'd been looking too hard. But as he looked more closely, he realized he was seeing it for real. A pair of large puncture marks on the side of Blue's neck, dark red with congealed blood.

Maybe he knew too much about what to look for, but knowing that he had a vampire in his house, John couldn't keep it out of his mind. That woman, Skylar, she couldn't be the only one of her kind. And, more than likely, she was an unusually nice one.

There just had to be a more dickish one in Beacon Hills sooner rather than later.