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“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“Ummmm, so there’s a wolf in the street.”
“A wolf? Like, the animal?”
“Yeah, like the animal. With like, fur and teeth and everything, and it’s just walking down the street.”
“And where is this wolf?”
“Uhh, Corner of Sunset and Supulveda.”
***
“Excuse me, a what?” Hen asks, in complete disbelief.
“A wolf, apparently.” Bobby replies, trying not to let the skepticism in his voice show too much. He doesn’t blame Hen, he did a double take when he got the call from dispatch too.
“That can’t be right,” Chim says. “Aren’t they extinct in California?”
“Technically, California has two wolf packs, but they’re both up near the border with Oregon.” Buck corrects, always the fountain of trivial knowledge.
“Huh, the more you know.”
“Why are we the ones responding?” Hen asks.
“Because we were in the area, and animal control is unavailable,” Bobby explains, because it’s a fair question. Animal calls aren’t usually their purview. “And dispatch didn’t seem too convinced it’s actually a wolf.”
Eddie doesn’t seem too convinced, either. “It’s probably just a dog, and someone got spooked in the dark.”
“I mean, it is a full moon tonight,” Chim says. “It could be a werewolf.”
Laughter breaks out in the cabin as they continue the slow drive down Sunset, looking for the subject of their call. The lights and sirens are off, in an attempt to not spook the animal.
Not that Bobby thinks they’re gonna find anything.
Suddenly, Chim swears. “Holy shit, there it is.”
“Oh my god, it is a wolf.” Buck and Eddie say, at the exact same time a moment later.
Bobby turns to see what they’re looking at, and then blinks his eyes a few times for good measure. Because sure enough, there it is. A huge wolf, with black fur and piercing red eyes, calmly strolling down the street. Beside it is a young man, either in his late teens or early twenties, in a zip-up red hoodie, totally calm in its presence.
“Huh.” Is the best he can come up with.
“Do we have to get out?” Chim asks.
“No,” Bobby answers. He’s never going to risk his team unnecessarily. And, if he’s being honest, he had no idea that wolves could get that big. “Not if we don’t have to.”
They stop the engine next to the kid, and Bobby lowers the windows. The kid turns to him - he has buzzed-short hair and a UCLA shirt, confirming Bobby’s earlier estimates to his age.
Beside the kid, the wolf stops too. It’s head easily reaches his waist.
“Hey,” The kid says, completely nonchalant. “Can I help you guys?”
“We got a call about a loose wolf in the street, and were sent to investigate.” Bobby explains, rather patiently.
“And?” The kid replies, as if he has no clue as to how that involves him. As if there isn’t a large terrestrial predator standing right next to him.
“Kid, that is a wolf.” Bobby states, pointing at the creature beside him. It’s a rather blunt comment, he’ll admit, but he really doesn’t know what else to say.
“Wolves? In California? Pfft,” The kid says, his tone flippant. “Nah, he’s just my mutt.”
“Cap, that thing is direwolf size.” Chim comments, and yeah, he can see that.
“Those are extinct,” Buck says, as he reads through a Wikipedia article and rapidly compares photos on his phone. “A gray wolf maybe? But like, this one’s way bigger than they usually get.”
“It’s not gray though,” Eddie points out. “And direwolves were real?”
“Yeah, they went extinct like ten thousand years ago,” Buck explains. “And contrary to their name, gray wolves can also be white or black."
Bobby, meanwhile, changes tact. “What’s your name?”
“Stiles,” The kid – Stiles – answers, before gesturing to the wolf beside him. “This is Sourwolf.”
‘Stiles’ has to be a nickname or alias, and the “dogs” name isn’t exactly reassuring either, but Bobby will work with it. “Okay Stiles, would you like to explain how and why you’re walking the streets of Los Angeles with a wolf?”
“He’s not a wolf,” Stiles insists. “He’s just a dog. We’re out for a walk.”
Bobby glances at the digital clock on the dashboard. “At two in the morning?”
“I mean, it’s not like I have to worry about being robbed, not with Sourwolf here.” Stiles says, sounding almost smug.
Bobby tries not to sigh. He can’t tell if this is real, if Stiles is just messing with him, or if this is all just some kind of elaborate prank. Beside Stiles, the wolf takes a seat, staring up at them intently like he’s actually listening to their conversation. It’s almost disconcerting, but at least he’s trained.
“Well, what breed is he then?” Bobby asks after a moment, because he sure as hell doesn’t look like any dog he’s ever seen.
“He’s a mix.” Stiles quickly replies.
“A mix of what?”
“…two very large dogs.”
Bobby gives him a look. It’s too late at night for this.
“Honestly, we’re not entirely sure,” Stiles continues, after a moment. “Part malamute maybe? There’s probably some German Shepherd or husky in there as well. He was a stray when I got him, living all by himself in the ruins of a burnt down house in my hometown. It was very sad.”
The wolf huffs, unimpressed. Bobby will be honest, he wasn’t aware that was an emotion that wolves or dogs could have. The wolf clearly has personality, he’ll give them that.
“Where’s the lie, Sourwolf?” Stiles says, his tone teasing. The wolf, meanwhile, somehow rolls his eyes and stares up at Bobby, as if to say ‘can you believe I have to deal with this?’
It’s certainly strange.
If Bobby is being honest, he’s not sure what to do here. He’s not at all convinced that the animal isn’t a wolf - he has eyes, after all. But the wolf is well behaved, obviously trained, and isn’t actually causing any trouble.
“Should we get animal control?” Eddie asks.
Buck frowns. “Do we have to? I mean, he’s not hurting anyone.”
“It is surprisingly well behaved.” Hen agrees.
“He’s my service dog,” Stiles pipes up. “My emotional support animal.”
“Shouldn’t he be in one of those vests?” Buck asks, because apparently he’s decided he’s part of this conversation now. He’s leaning out the window, and Bobby would be worried about him trying to climb out and pet it, if not for Eddie’s white knuckle grip on the back of Buck’s turnout.
“Well, he’s not working now.” Stiles replies.
“You have the paperwork for that?” Bobby asks.
“Not the originals, but I have a scan of it on my phone,” Stiles replies. “I got him registered a while back.”
“That’s fine, let me see.”
Stiles quickly pulls up the documents on his phone and hands it up to Bobby. Next to him, Sourwolf begins to growl, a low timbre that reverberates through his chest.
As intimidating as it is, Sourwolf doesn’t sound angry. If Bobby had to pick a word, he would choose affronted — almost indignant, even.
“Dude, I literally did this for this exact situation,” Stiles says, ostensibly to Sourwolf. “Would you rather go to the pound?”
Sourwolf just continues to grumble. This time, it’s Stiles who rolls his eyes. “Drama Queen. Scott didn’t complain nearly as much when he found out I registered him.”
Bobby can only assume Scott is another dog of his, one that sounds better behaved. It’s almost amusing, the dynamic between the kid and his wolf.
“He doesn’t sound happy.” Eddie comments.
“I promise you, he is all bark and no bite,” Stiles says. “Well, maybe a little bitey. Sometimes. But like, not right now. He just wants to go home.”
As if on cue, Sourwolf snuffles through his owner’s pockets, quickly pulling out a set of keys on a lanyard. He holds them out almost expectantly, before dropping them on the ground.
“Your dog is like, super smart.” Buck compliments, and Bobby can’t help but agree.
“Yeah, he has his moments.” Stiles quips, as he picks his keys back up.
And that, apparently, is the extent of the wolf's patience. He turns, and nips at the soft part of Stiles’ thigh.
“Ow, hey!” Stiles squawks, before hip checking the wolf right back. Sourwolf doesn’t even budge an inch. “Asshole. I’m trying to help.”
“You okay?” Hen asks, more than a little concerned.
“Yeah, absolutely fine, he’s only like that with me,” Stiles quickly reassures, before turning back to the wolf. “Jeez, okay, I get it.”
Sourwolf huffs, sounding somewhat appeased, if still unhappy.
Honestly, it’s not the most encouraging turn of events. But Stiles doesn’t seem worried in the slightest, so Bobby turns his attention to the phone in his hands.
According to the scanned paperwork, Sourwolf is a four year old mixed breed who helps his owner when he has panic attacks and night terrors. It’s a legitimate document - signed off by a veterinarian up in Northern California.
Bobby hands the phone back to Stiles. “That’s all in order, but legally, he should be on a leash.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stiles says. “Am I okay to go? It's only a few blocks to my house, I swear. Scout’s honor.”
He could call it in. Hell, he probably should call it in - that animal is way too big to be living in suburban Los Angeles. But despite the animal’s somewhat surly nature, it does seem to be more or less tame and under control. And, honestly, wolf or not, it’s not the weirdest or most dangerous animal they’ve had to deal with before.
Plus, there’s way less paperwork for everyone if they all just walk away.
Making his decision, Bobby speaks. “Please just go home before we get any more calls about it.”
“Absolutely.” Stiles promises.
“And start walking him with a leash.”
“You got it, Boss. Have a good night!” Stiles says, and with that, he quickly takes off down the street, the wolf following dutifully behind.
“That was so weird.” Chim says, and Bobby can only nod in agreement.
“Dispatch to Engine 118,” A dispatcher’s voice echoes through the radio. “Update?”
“This is Captain Nash to dispatch,” Bobby responds, after a moment. “It was just a large dog, it’s owner has it now.”
“Copy that.”