Teen Wolf drabble
Title: Trigger Finger Stiles
Author: Reyn
Rating: G
Pairing: pack fic
Universe: canon
Word Count: ~600
Warnings: takes place after season two
A/N: This idea completely stemmed from how, in my headcanon (and Derek's apparently), I automatically expect Stiles to be an expert with guns and shooting, all because his dad is sheriff. But, really, I totally feel it can be hilariously argued whether or not his dad would actually trust him with a weapon.
Not a moment of reprieve was given as the hunter slid to the ground, her eyes blank and dull as blood trickled from her mouth.
Pulling his bloodied hand out from her stomach, Jackson wheeled back, tripping over nothing and falling to the ground in his haste to get away from what he had just done.
"I-I…I…"
"You saved your friend’s life. Now get up. Hurry!" Derek snapped when Jackson failed to obey the order.
Crouching over the body, he pulled the gun out of the unresponsive fingers and straightened, shoving it into Stiles’ chest.
"Use it."
"Whoa, what?" Stiles cringed away, taking the gun and holding it out between two fingers. "You’re giving me a gun?"
"There’s more of them out there." Derek’s finger went up and pointed in the general direction where he had caught the scent of at least two other hunters earlier. "If you see one, I want you to use it on them before they can use it on us."
At the idea of his life still being in danger, Stile adjusted his grip into something a bit more reassuring, but not by much. “You can’t give me a gun!” He held it out towards Derek. “Take it back!”
Scott, who had immediately caught on to Derek’s fairly obvious train of thought shook his still wolfed-out head. “Keep the gun, Stiles, you’re going to need it to protect yourself.”
Stiles did an abrupt half turn to face his best friend. “Dude! How am I supposed to protect myself with this thing! I don’t know how to use it!” he hissed.
"Your dad’s the sheriff!" Derek reminded him none-too-patiently, hand now motioning to the gun.
Stiles’ arms flew out and his shoulders rose in a shrug. “So? Scott’s mom is a nurse, but that doesn’t mean I’d trust him with anything more than basic first aid!”
"Your dad never taught you how to use a gun?" Scott asked, his tone disbelievingly gentle over Derek’s explicit "Jesus fuck."
Looking between the two werewolves with his mouth open in unprepared defense, Stiles finally shrugged again. “No! No, alright? He thought about it, but my mom was always against it. And then-” he paused and licked his lower lip, looking down at the gun in his hands. “For a while after mom died, I was kind of teetering on the edge of going off the deep end.” He looked back up, his eyes wide and forcefully bright. “So, in exchange for not trusting me with a gun, he gave me a police radio scanner and here we are today. Remind me why I can’t just put my life in all of your hands? Claws?”
Derek scowled, hauling Jackson to his feet. “Because if your position had been switched with him, you would want the ability to return the favor instead of having to deal with the consequences.”
Stiles’ eyebrows shot up as he understood the point loud and clear.
"C’mon, man, it can’t be too different from the movies, right?" Scott encouraged, nudging Stiles with his knuckles.
"Yeah." Stiles looked away from Derek and down at the gun. "Yeah, sure, no problem. Easier than riding a bike. This is the safety, right?"
The gun went off, the echo of its shot piercingly loud as a bullet lodged itself in the ground near the dead hunter.
Hands over their ears, everyone stared incredulously at Stiles, who was in turn staring at the smoking hole in the ground.
"Great." His voice came out several octaves too high. "So, first thing tomorrow, I’m going to start convincing my dad I’m completely sane and deserve some father/son time at the shooting range."
THE END.