Thought I’d try Officer Stilinski since I did Officer Hale last time…
oh god I really think Stiles should arrest Derek while he’s peacefully protesting for werewolf civil rights and be incredibly gentle when closing the handcuffs around Derek’s wrists, even though the crowd is against him, shouting, roaring, spitting in his face, and the cop’s face is impassive, but he cups his hand protectively over Derek’s head as he folds him into the back of the squad car, and when he catches his eye in the rearview mirror, he grins, and says,
"Well, I think they liked me."
Derek looks out the window; he knows all about this part. Cops pretend to be your friend so you’ll admit to something incriminating, and they’re all really fucking assholes underneath.
Derek was trespassing, it’s true, he violated his probation (probably for graffiti-ing a giant wolf paw on a highway barrier when he was sixteen, he got of with six months of community service and probation). The cop doesn’t say anything else, but at the station he books Derek through quickly, points him down the hall to the phone while he’s signing the paperwork with a ballpoint pen. Derek shrugs. He doesn’t have anyone to call.
"You—then you’ll have to spend the weekend here," the cop says, mouth tucking down into a frown. Derek shrugs again. Officer—Stilinski, he can see now, on the nametag, clicks the pen a few times, and then says, "Okay," and puts him in a cell.
The public defender shows up at 4:53, a young guy in a dark suit who smiles at him on the police station steps and tucks a card into his hand—a card for the most expensive law firm in town.
"I can’t, um, afford," Derek says, and the guy—McCall—waves it off.
"Pro bono," he says. "Favor for a friend."
Derek hesitates; that sounds like there are strings attached. The sun is setting, crimson and purple, and McCall’s eyes glint, reflect, flash red.
"I have a—vested interest, you could say," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, ruining the line of his suit.
Stiles knows he’s treading on thin ice just by calling in Scott, but hey, if there’s nothing being the son of a pretty damn progressive Sheriff has taught him over the years (a good third of the force back home are openly werewolves, and Beacon Hills has never been safer), it’s that people suck and tend to dislike what they don’t understand. Besides, it’s not like Derek’s actually done anything wrong besides trespassing. The guy’s a peaceful protestor, for Christ’s sake, and had been doing nothing more than just sitting on the front lawn of the county courthouse with a bunch of other pro-‘wolf supporters, talking rationally with anyone who had questions.
If it wouldn’t cost Stiles his job (or, at the very least, get him suspended), he would be right there with them, swapping stories and the best way to get rid of unfamiliar scents out of second-hand clothing. As it is, he has to work behind the scenes, helping out where he can. Case in point, introducing Derek to Scott. Maybe some good will come out of it. Besides, it can never hurt to have some powerful lawyers as friends, right? Right.
Stiles sighs, finishes his paperwork, and then heads back out on patrol, ready to keep fighting the good fight, even if it’s not as glamorous as he once thought it might be. He’s learned pretty quickly that while the idea of Justice is nice, what counts the most is safety and peace. They might not be as flashy, but he’ll keep fighting for them for everyone, regardless of who, or what, they might be.