Archive of Our Own

It is a quiet autumn day when the Sheriff nearly dies. It’s not because of a case he’s working on. Or a sudden shootout, which rarely occurs in Beacon Hills, anyway. It’s because of a monster. And not a human-monster with a gun, but an honest to god monster with claws and teeth and fur. And blazing, predatory red eyes that have him opening fire on it instantly.

The thing is hideous and kind of resembles an upright wolf or bear. At the same time that the logical side of John’s brain is screaming Nope! the instinctual side reaches for his gun. He gets off a few shots before the thing rears back and comes smashing into his desk, scattering files all over the room. He takes cover in the corner by the window, aiming again for the beast, though he’s sure he hit it the first time. Before he can pull the trigger, another monster comes barreling through the door.

The second beast actually looks like a wolf, though much larger, like the prehistoric dire wolves, maybe. It has the same luminescent red eyes as the other wolf monster, but instead of making John debate about which to shoot first, the wolf lunges at the upright monster’s throat. They clash and scramble to the ground in a flurry of claws and teeth. He considers letting the monsters play out the fight, but figures a few bullets wouldn’t be a bad thing to help protect himself.

But then his son comes running through the broken door, and somehow, the pieces start falling into place. Stiles spares one look toward the battling monsters before he races to his dad in the corner.

“Dad, are you all right?”

“Fine, but what the hell are you doing here? You need to get out!”

Stiles eyes John’s gun before pushing his arm down, away from the monsters grappling only a few feet away. Then he pulls out a similar small caliber handgun to replace it. Stiles flinches, but when the smaller wolf is tossed against the far wall, he shoves the gun at John.

“Aim for the big one!”

After years of training, John does as he is told, even by his teenage son. John might be the sheriff, but Stiles is incredibly intelligent and clearly knows more about the current crazy situation. He takes a brief moment to feel the gun in his hands before he unloads nearly the entire clip into the looming monster. It lets out a chilling, piercing howl full of rage. It turns its bloody muzzle toward John, who tries to shove Stiles out of the way behind him.

The smaller wolf launches itself at the monster again, only to take a flash of claws to its side and fall to the floor. John aims for the monster again, knowing he only has a few bullets left. Stiles kneels at his feet, spreading a black powder into a circle around them. Not really the time, but okay.

“Stay here,” Stiles says. “Don’t move from this circle.” Then like a dumbass, he runs toward the monster.

“Stiles, no!”

His son takes something small from his jacket pocket, throwing it at the monster. The glint of metal lodges in the monster’s chest, making it shriek again. Stiles ducks to the floor, so John takes the opportunity to fire his last bullets at the thing until it flails backward.

There is a very human groan on the other side of his desk, and John’s heart lurches. But his son is fine, albeit shielding another naked man where the wolf used to be. What.

The monster roars again, making John’s ears ring. The next time he looks, the wolf is back on unsteady feet, shoving Stiles back toward John. The wolf only growls once and snaps its teeth before the other monster turns away, crashes out of the window, sending glass and plaster flying.

John shields Stiles from the debris, but his son is already patting him down for injuries before stumbling over to the wolf that is sitting, bleeding and panting heavily.

“Stiles, what—”

“Dad, it’s okay,” Stiles waves him off. “Just keep an eye out for the other guy. He gave up too easily.”

Easily, sure. John cautiously peers out of the hole in his office, but there is no sign of the other monster. So he slowly approaches his son, who is checking over the wounds, the long deep scratches, in the wolf’s side.

“Derek, you’re going to be okay, we just gotta get you out of here.” The wolf’s red eyes slide to John, then Stiles’ frightened gaze briefly flicks to him as well before he quickly shrugs it off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s– it’s okay. It’s all fine. I’ll call Scott to check on the others.”

Scott. Of course, where there’s Stiles, there’s likely Scott. And wait, did Stiles call the huge wolf Derek? His brain isn’t quite connecting the dots the way he’d like, but he knows none of the pieces to this puzzle lead to a particularly good picture. Derek the Wolf struggles to his feet while Stiles fishes his cell phone from his pocket. John feels useless, still with his gun at the ready, half pointed at Derek the Wolf in case his son is mistaken about whose side the wolf is on.

“Scott, Scott!” Stiles yells into the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, no, my dad’s okay. I’m fine. For now. But Derek’s seen better days, man. Okay. Got it. Be safe.” Stiles hangs up the phone, bows his head, and releases a heavy sigh. Then he turns to John. “Dad, I know you have a lot of questions, but I can’t answer them right now. I called the paramedics before I got here, so we have to go. I’d appreciate it if you only tell them about the one monster, if you have to say anything at all. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at home, okay?”

He holds out his hand, and it takes John a moment to realize he’s waiting for the gun – the one that actually had an impact on the monster. Derek the Wolf shoves his muzzle against Stiles’ shoulder. That’s when they hear the sirens coming toward the sheriff station.

“Dad, please,” Stiles tries again.

John peels his gaze from the wolf’s bright red eyes that are steady despite the pain. “Okay, okay.”

It’s all he can say, really. He doesn’t even know what’s going on, so he hands his teenage son a monster-harming gun. Stiles tucks the weapon back into his pants, hidden by his shirt and red hooded jacket. Then he grips the wolf’s fur, right at the scruff of the neck, urging it toward the hole in the wall. Derek the Wolf stops, scenting the air, and Stiles shoots John a skittish glance. The sirens wail closer, and John absently inspects the damage to his office. He wipes at a small trail of blood at his temple where a piece of plaster grazed him.

“Hey,” he says, his brain finally moving past the monsters portion of the evening. “What about the other officers?”

“Scott took care of them. No casualties this time. For once.”

John doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t. “Scott? Casualties this time?”

Stiles actually rolls his eyes. “Yes, Scott and the others. No time, remember? And no casualties is generally a good thing.”

Derek the Wolf nudges Stiles again. Stiles pushes his nose away when he does it a second time, more insistent.

“Okay, you know where my Jeep is.” The wolf snorts in response, but carefully picks his way out of the hole in the wall. Stiles seems to be waiting for something, maybe some kind of acknowledgment or approval. John remembers that as the adult, he’s expected to give that. So he nods at his son, giving him permission to possibly run off into danger again. Stiles nods back before he disappears after Derek the Wolf.

John collapses against his overturned desk, mind numb and pulsing with the echo of the ambulance sirens. He breathes deeply, the way he taught Stiles to do with his panic attacks after his mom died, until his adrenaline fades to a tolerable level. Then he gets his shit together in time to help the paramedics with the few injured officers who were unluckily on duty the night a monster tore through the station. Again.

The reports of what actually happened vary per witness. An enormous wolf. A rampaging bear. Big foot. In the end, John is grateful his son and his friends will likely never be implicated. The sheriff station is closed as a crime scene while more officers erect a mobile headquarters. The second time in the past year.

After a few hours, John eventually gets to go home. At least this time he knows he won’t arrive to a new pile of lies. Though he still hesitates before he gets out of the car and goes inside. Most of the lights in the house are on, so John can clearly see the remnants of a bloody first aid kit on the floor. He can also see a presumably naked Derek Hale lying on the couch. He’s barely covered by John’s grandmother’s hand knit blanket. It’s that fact that makes him rub a hand over his face, not the fact that Derek the wolf is definitely now Derek the man. The man who was a wolf only a few hours ago, he’s now positive.

He hears footsteps coming from the kitchen, but instead of his son, Isaac Lahey walks into the living room, his head tilted to the side to hold his cell phone between his ear and shoulder while his hands twirl a wet cloth in the air to cool it. Isaac freezes when he sees John. Neither of them say a word. Soon enough, Isaac continues to move toward Derek, cautiously like an animal in the wild, and really, John is not prepared for any of this.

“No, no, I’m here,” Isaac says into his phone. “Got it, sure.” He lets the phone slip from his shoulder, catching it without looking. He places the cloth against Derek’s bloody side before he awkwardly faces John again, his hands shoved into his pants pockets.

John can clearly see that as awkward as Isaac is, he’s different from the scared kid whose dad died earlier in the year. Maybe he should be more surprised the boy is mixed up in all this – whatever this is. But for the most part, John is content to stand in his entryway, confused and tired. God, he’s tired.

Stiles comes trampling down the stairs then, like a one man elephant stampede. He’s carrying a pair of sweatpants and one of John’s ratty old shirts.

“Okay, I found stuff that should fit, but please don’t get any blood on – oh.” Stiles stutters to a stop when he finally spots his dad. “Oh hi. Sorry. I thought we’d be done before you got home.”

And now John can find his voice. He doesn’t sound as irritated as he should, as Stiles is used to. “And what were you hoping to be done with exactly?”

Stiles grows pale, eyes flitting to the other boys in the room. John may have desperately wished for some semblance of the truth from his son, but he belatedly realized that perhaps neither of them are actually ready for the truth to be out in the open. Shame it’s really too late.

“Stiles?” he prods.

“Why don’t you change your clothes? Shower, relax, then—”

“I just want an explanation. The one you’ve owed me for some time, I think.” John does toe off his shoes, though. Then he hangs up his heavy coat and places his hat on the side table by the door. It’s as much as he’s willing to concede in this after the night he had. Though he supposes his son didn’t have a much better night.

“Okay, then. Why don’t we go in the kitchen?” Stiles tosses the spare clothes to Isaac, then leaves without waiting for John.

“I don’t really know what you’re doing here,” John says to Isaac, “but I suggest staying put.”

“Yes, sir.” Isaac nods, taking a seat on the armchair, where he watches Derek’s unconscious form.

When John walks into the kitchen, Stiles is pacing between the refrigerator and the table, shoes slightly squeaking with every tight pivot of his body.

“I don’t know where to start because honestly, I was hoping I would never have this conversation with you.”

John suddenly has the urge to rail at his son. For keeping dangerous secrets. For keeping secrets from him of all people. For even making John doubt Stiles for a minute. He clenches his fists, takes a calming breath, and sits at the table.

“Why don’t you start with the wolves,” he suggests. “Or whatever they were. Sounds like a good enough place for me.”

“Right.” Stiles blinks his mother’s doe eyes at him. “Right, okay.”

Stiles takes the seat opposite John. “So there are wolves in Beacon Hills. But not real wolves. Werewolves.”

That’s it. That’s Stiles’ opening statement, it seems. A laugh escapes John before he can contain it. There’s an edge of hysteria to it, and he rubs his hands across his face. So tired.

“Derek Hale?” he asks even though he knows the answer.

“Uh yeah. He’s an alpha, so he’s uh, in charge of his pack in Beacon Hills. Kind of. On good days.”

“And the other—” John hesitates, “—the other werewolf?”

Stiles’ leg starts noticeably bouncing beneath the table. “Another alpha. Of a pack of alphas. They kind of invaded Beacon Hills, wanting Derek and Scott to join them. Or die.”

John takes another deep breath. “Scott?”

“Crap. Yeah, Scott’s a werewolf. He was turned last year, which basically started this whole mess. He’s basically an alpha, too.”

John can’t believe this conversation is actually happening. Maybe he just needs to sleep the whole night off, and it will all drift away like a bad dream.

“Derek turned Scott? Why?”

“No, no, that was…the previous alpha. Who was crazy. Is crazy still, probably. Derek’s only been trying to help. But he kind of sucks at it.” Stiles’ eyes briefly dart toward the living room, as if afraid he might be overheard. For all John knows, the boys in the other room can hear their every word.

John watches Stiles’ hands fidget on the tabletop before flattening out, pressed firmly against the smooth wood.

“Speaking of Derek,” he starts, unsure of how to continue. He has too many questions, and he really needs a good night of sleep to process everything. “Why is he in our living room?”

“Werewolves can heal from just about anything. But a scratch or bite from an alpha takes longer to heal, even for another alpha. So I took care of him until Isaac got here, and now we’re waiting for Peter to pick them up.”

“And where’s Scott?”

“With Allison.”

John’s eyebrows rise of their own accord. “Scott went out with Allison at a time like this?”

“No, he wouldn’t do something like that. Anymore. Allison was helping with the alphas. She’s a hunter. Of werewolves. Her whole family was. Is still, I guess.”

All the deaths of the Argents recently make more sense in that context. As well as Kate Argent’s involvement in the tragic Hale fire. Hunters. Werewolves. Right. The reports were so very far from the truth.

“So all the Hales who were murdered? Werewolves?”

“Not all of them. A lot of them were human.” Stiles lets that sink in for a moment. “Werewolf packs often have human members.”

John swallows. “And are you part of Derek Hale’s pack?”

Stiles runs his hands across his longer hair. “No. Not really. Scott can still barely stand the guy, but we work together more. So I guess unofficially, since I’m involved with all the werewolf stuff, yeah I’m kind of pack.”

John glances at the clock ticking heartily on the wall above the fridge. Almost two in the morning. “And why exactly are you involved with any of this shit, Stiles?”

His son flinches when he swears. “I…I couldn’t leave Scott alone to deal with it. It—It’s my fault he was bitten, so I had to take care of him. And I’m pretty useful when it comes to the research part, so I don’t know. Bad stuff just kept happening, and we had to do something about it.” Stiles ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck. “It’s really a long story, Dad.”

John shouldn’t let him off the hook this easily, he knows. But he also knows the stress can have a negative effect on Stiles’ health, so he doesn’t want to contribute to that. “Fine. We’ll continue this in the morning. Don’t bother getting out of it. Might as well invite over everyone involved.”

“You’re not gonna arrest them, are you? ‘Cause they’re mostly kids in my class, and it probably wouldn’t look good if the sheriff—”

“I’m not arresting anyone. Unless I have reason to be?”

Stiles gives a nervous chuckle. “No, of course not. We’re all inno— No, nope. No arresting necessary.”

John eyes him warily, but lets it go. “I’ll take your word for it.”

As he stands, Stiles says, “Thanks, Dad. For being cool about this. And not yelling at me.”

“We’ll see how I feel in the morning. You can’t expect me to be happy about you constantly being in danger.”

“Right, sorry.”

He takes in his son’s slumped shoulders. “Hey. I love you, kid.”

Stiles’ mouth tenses, but his eyes are genuine when he says, “Love you too, Dad.”

John leaves first, heading for the stairs. Derek is sitting up at the couch, shrugging into John’s old shirt. He catches Isaac’s eyes and nods at him. As he makes it to the second landing, he can hear Stiles in the living room.

“Oh good, you’re awake. I thought— Never mind.”

“Peter’s outside,” Derek says gruffly. “Guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. But I couldn’t lie to him anymore when he saw you firsthand.”

Derek doesn’t verbally respond, at least that John can hear. He peeks below the ceiling enough to glimpse Stiles grabbing Derek’s arm.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For saving my dad. For making him a priority. I—I really appreciate it.” John’s heart clenches when Stiles’ voice breaks at the end. Poor kid never stops worrying.

Derek grunts. “He’s important to you. That’s reason enough. And you would have done the same.”

“Well, still. Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me, Stiles. I think we’re even by now.”

“Yeah, but this was my family. I helped kill your last family member.”

John chokes, coughs, but manages to keep the noise mostly to himself.

“That didn’t last long enough if you ask me. Besides, your father is a good man.”

Stiles is silent for a moment. “Good men die all the time.”

That sufficiently brings down the mood in the already tense atmosphere. John leaves them to their goodbyes.

In the shower, he wonders when his sixteen-year-old son started sounding less like a teenager and more like a battle-hardened soldier. The notion sits like an iron weight in his stomach, lodged tight against his chest and lungs so he can barely breathe.

He doesn’t sleep, not really, because he dreams of his son with a gun in his hand and a wolf at his side. It terrifies him.

~*~

In the morning, John doesn’t feel much better and his head isn’t any clearer. It’s after nine, so he dresses, brushes his teeth. Even makes his bed, though he knows he’s only trying to delay the inevitable. By the time he gets downstairs, he can smell the coffee and the breakfast cooking.

Stiles is over the stove with scrambled eggs, and there are already five stacks of apple cinnamon pancakes on the counter. John savors the sweet, spicy scent, wondering when Stiles learned his mom’s recipe. He pours a fresh cup of coffee with a bit of flavored creamer that was his wife’s favorite. He can see a pattern here. But oh, the first sip is heaven.

He takes a seat, cradling the warm cup in his hands, and watches his son as he sets the eggs aside and turns to the griddle once more.

“Think you’ve got enough there?” he asks.

Stiles jumps, briefly looking over his shoulder. “Dad! Sorry, I didn’t hear you, I was…preoccupied, I guess.” Stiles jumps again to flip a ready pancake. “Man, I just wanted to make breakfast, to make this go right, but you have no idea how much werewolves can eat. It’s ridiculous!”

John hangs his head, presses his warm fingers against his closed eyes. Right. Werewolves. Stiles seems to sense his mistake.

“Sorry. I guess I’ve had longer to deal with everything. I know it sucks to get thrown into something unbelievable and have to adapt to it. But adapt or die, right?”

John ignores how flippantly his son sometimes talks about death now. Especially his own, because otherwise he’ll need to take a mental vacation. “And how long has this been going on?”

Stiles flips another pancake before he fully turns to face him. “A year. Give or take. The werewolf thing has been a year. It kind of evolved from there with other stuff, but it’s still mostly werewolf problems, like the alpha pack.”

“One of which I already saw.”

“Yeah.”

“And that thing is human…the way Derek is?”

“I wouldn’t compare Derek to Deucalion, who is a literal monster, both as a person and as a wolf. Derek is a decent human being who cares about his pack and about innocent people. Even if he sucks at the whole emotion thing. But that’s partly the problem, that Derek and Scott aren’t like them – Deucalion and the others. That’s why we’re at war. And they’re hunting all of us the best way they can, by coming after the people we love. That’s why last night happened, and I am so, so sorry that you were put in danger like that – I mean beyond the parameters of your usual job. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“That’s not your job, son.”

“But it is! You don’t deserve to deal with werewolves on top of human criminals!”

John blinks. He doesn’t have a proper response. He’s not sure he deserves werewolves either, but who exactly does? Not his son, that’s for sure.

“Don’t let the pancakes burn.”

Stiles goes back to his cooking while John’s brain turns back and fixates on the words at war. Sixteen years old. In a werewolf war. Fuck.

“Fuck,” he swears, making Stiles tense. “But why you? You’re human. Aren’t you?”

“Of course. Do you even have to ask?”

“Then why you? Why not leave it to the werewolves?”

Stiles’ mouth gapes. He doesn’t appear to have an answer, at least not one he can put into words. “I-I don’t know. I couldn’t let everyone deal with this on their own. And I’m just me, just Stiles. But I guess that’s enough.”

“Okay.” John drinks his cool coffee. He can see that. He raised Stiles, after all. Knows the kind of compassion and love, the sense of justice and responsibility he has. Always kind of figured he’d follow in his footsteps with law enforcement. He just never figured it’d be of the supernatural variety.

“So can I ask where you got the gun and that other thing?” he asks. He’s more than concerned about the weapons.

“Allison gave me the throwing star. And her dad gave me the gun. Sorry, again.”

John can feel the vein throbbing in his temple. Maybe he’ll have an aneurysm from this. “I guess you have to protect yourself.”

The doorbell rings. John is not at all prepared to face the coming situation, but he gets the door regardless. Ten people stand on his doorstep. He’s not surprised to see Derek and Isaac, or Scott and Allison, but the others are people he would never have guessed at, even having some of the information. He recalls the other two teens with Derek from the time they were missing during the summer.

John gestures inside, nodding to each as they cautiously pass him. Scott and Isaac and Allison. Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd. Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore. Then Chris Argent and Melissa McCall.

Melissa gives him a small, nervous smile. “John.”

“Melissa.” John tries to not feel hurt that she knew everything before him. Some Sheriff he is.

Chris looks like he’d rather shoot himself than be here. The feeling his almost mutual. John grits his jaw together.

“You gave my son a gun.”

“And it saved your lives last night.” Chris doesn’t look apologetic in the least. John has to give him credit for sticking to his guns, no pun intended.

Derek waits on the doorstep, briefly looking over his shoulder.

“If this is about last night, I promised Stiles I wasn’t arresting anyone,” John jokes. At least, he sounds like he’s joking more than he feels it.

Derek blinks. “Thanks. It’s not the best idea for us all to be in the same place like this.”

John looks back at the others crowding the entryway. “You think the alphas will come after you?”

Before Derek can answer, Chris steps forward. “He’s right, it’s not smart. But we dealt with the alphas effectively last night. I think we’re safe for the time being while they regroup.”

“Plus, we have the numbers on our side,” Scott says.

“Like that matters?” Erica mumbles.

“Things are getting better. We’re getting better – stronger.”

Derek passes by John, who closes the door after him, still checking for anyone else who might be waiting outside. The group is larger than he expected.

“Then we need to keep improving before it gets too late,” Derek says. “Last night was another close call.”

They all stand there in agreed silence until Stiles comes around the corner brandishing the spatula. “Okay, breakfast is ready. But humans first because seriously, werewolf metabolisms are freaking unfair.”

From there, everyone ignores the situation in favor of eating the good food. Stiles barely sits down, always opening a new milk or juice carton, or taking out more bacon from the oven.

“Is this real bacon?” John asks, pleasantly surprised. And maybe a little offended that Stiles will feed his friends real bacon but not his father.

“I figured you could use a buttering up for today. Plus most of the wolves prefer meat. Though that doesn’t keep them from eating all the pancakes!” Stiles swats at Scott with the spatula.

“Small miracles.” John relishes his real bacon while he silently inspects the people all around his house. Chris, Melissa, Scott, and Allison have taken the chairs around the table, talking quietly amongst themselves. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are standing on the other side of the kitchen, practically inhaling their food.

Derek peels himself away from the wall to join Stiles at the stove. John can’t hear their conversation, but Stiles flails with the spatula, nearly hitting Derek in the face. Derek gives him an unimpressed look before stepping even closer, well into Stiles’ personal space, though his son doesn’t seem to mind, then he takes hold of Stiles’ arm.

John has gotten good enough at lip reading over the years to see Derek tell Stiles to calm down, stop freaking out, and actually eat the delicious breakfast he made. John can’t see Stiles’ reaction by the back of his head, but he knows his son is likely preening about his culinary skills being complimented. Derek then actually removes the spatula from Stiles’ hand before gently shoving him toward the plates and remaining food.

Derek waits until Stiles is done before serving himself. And instead of taking the last chair at the table, Stiles stays at Derek’s side where they eat in companionable silence, away from the others. John isn’t quite sure what to make of that, considering he assumed Stiles would eat with the humans, or Scott if no one else. He would never have assumed Stiles was that close with Derek, or with any of these people, really. God, he really has been out of the loop.

Isaac slips into the vacant chair on the other side of the table, and John’s attention goes to the exchanged glances between him, Scott, and Allison. He doesn’t want to know what’s going on there, he’s sure, but at least Chris and Melissa also seem perplexed by this group’s interpersonal relationships.

Lydia and Jackson are the first to come in from the living room with their empty plates, and Lydia only because she had a normal portion of food and didn’t go back for seconds. Eventually, everyone clears their plates and puts them in the sink to be washed later, then files into the living room for the serious conversation time.

John takes one of the armchairs, while Melissa takes the other, and Chris sits on the ottoman between them. Lydia commands Jackson to bring in a chair from the kitchen for her, and he sits on the floor at her feet. Scott and Allison are already on the couch, and Stiles squeezes in next to them. Erica and Boyd sit on the floor with their backs against the couch between everyone’s legs. Isaac maybe purposefully makes sure he’s leaning against both Scott and Allison’s legs. It’s maybe a little strange, but again John doesn’t want to know.

Stiles tries to make room for Derek on the couch, but he shakes his head like he prefers to stand. They have a short glaring contest before Stiles huffs and Derek rolls his eyes, though he does perch on the arm of the couch, his thigh and hip pressed along Stiles’ arm and shoulder. John does want to know about that, but maybe he doesn’t at the same time.

“Okay, now that everyone’s here, minus Peter as always, let’s start from the beginning, I guess.” Stiles looks for anyone else to talk, but apparently it falls on him since John is his dad.

Stiles takes a deep breath before launching into the long story. Once the others get comfortable enough, they start interrupting Stiles to add their own information. There are a lot of questions and confusion for John, but he hangs in for the long haul.

In the end, it takes the rest of the weekend to catch him up on everything. They take numerous breaks, and honestly, John isn’t sure he’s really absorbing anything past the first hour. Even after seeing all the werewolves halfway transform with glowing eyes and fangs.

Serial killers and psychopaths, John can handle. He wishes he didn’t have those cases nearly as often as he does, but he’s been trained to handle them. Nothing about his long career has prepared him for werewolves and supernatural psychopaths. Can’t really arrest them, so he sees the dilemma his son and his friends have had over the past year. And it just explains so much about all the weird shit in Beacon Hills. Can’t write a report about it, but at least he has some peace of mind, even if now he has to worry about so much more.

After everyone leaves for the last time on Sunday, having only stayed through a late lunch, John and Stiles head up the stairs together for an early night, to relax and prepare for school and work the next day. They both hesitate outside of Stiles’ bedroom.

John rubs the back of his head, rolling his neck to pop his aching spine.

“I get it,” he eventually says. “I get it now, Stiles. But does it have to be you? Do you have to be involved?”

“Sometimes I wish I could leave, get out. And even though I feel utterly useless most of the time, I can’t stand by when I know the truth about everything. I can’t let them, my friends, get hurt without me.” Stiles frowns like he realizes how stupid that sounds.

“I’d rather no one get hurt at all,” John says. “But I get that this…werewolf war needs to be fought by werewolves. And hunters. And humans on the periphery, apparently. But that doesn’t mean I like it. I don’t want you in danger, Stiles.”

“I know, Dad.”

“Even Scott said you shouldn’t get involved because you could be killed.”

“I could be killed anyway at this rate. Either I stay out of it and I’m a victim of the alphas, or I try to fight and I’m a casualty of this war.”

Fuck. John pulls Stiles into a fierce hug. When his son pulls back, his eyes are resolute.

“Don’t worry so much, Dad. The pack has my back. We might not exactly like each other all the time, but they’ll take care of me like I take care of them. It’s been a long year, and we’ve earned at least that much trust.”

Now that John knows what all these kids and their families have been through, he can see that it must have been difficult for them to learn to trust anyone at all, let alone a group of strangers brought together under desperate circumstances. He remembers being a new deputy and having to trust people he barely knew to watch out for him. It’s not an easy thing to do.

It’s also not easy to knowingly let his son constantly go into danger. But although he may not know most of these people, Stiles is loyal to them, and that’s enough for John.

“Can’t promise I won’t worry,” he finally says. “But you need to talk to me and let me know what’s going on from here out. I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Thanks. It feels good to be able to tell you the truth.”

“So you regret lying to me for over a year?”

“Not really. Kind of. I did what I had to, to protect you. But you still got hurt, you still got—”

“Hey, hey. It’s my job to protect you, Stiles. Even from werewolves if I can help it. So once in a while, you need to let me take care of you instead of keeping everything on your shoulders. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Stiles smiles wryly. “I actually had a similar conversation with someone recently.”

“Scott?”

“No, uh— with Derek. Weird, huh?”

Weird doesn’t even begin to describe the last few days. Or whatever is happening between his son and Derek Hale, who now might be more dangerous than a sometimes murder suspect.

“I want you to be careful, Stiles.”

“Always am.”

John snorts, he can’t help it. “Yeah right, kid. I know you. Now go do your homework.”

“What, no pass? Come on, I was a little busy this weekend saving Beacon Hills again.”

John pushes Stiles into his room. “No excuses. I know you can handle it.”

He even thinks that Stiles can handle the fight against alpha werewolves. He glances at his wife’s picture on the wall. So much like Stiles. They raised a good kid.

~*~

Sometimes his kid scares him halfway to the grave. While John goes back to work for his rare day shift and deals with not having an office, Stiles and his pack go out after school to try to take out one of the alphas for good. Turns out Melissa was attacked at work, and while she’s not seriously hurt, the pack is seriously pissed off. John gets this in a voice message, and he frantically calls everyone until someone picks up the goddamn phone.

“Chris, where is my son?”

“Sheriff? I’m a little busy setting a trap. Last I checked, Stiles was with Peter and Isaac setting up another trap.”

“Where? I’ll meet them there.”

“No can do, Sheriff. I’ve got to go, radio silence.” Chris hangs up, and John stares at the phone in frustration and annoyance.

He remembers where the traps were supposed to be set in the plan, but he can’t just go driving in to interrupt everything, even if he’s not comfortable with Stiles working with Peter, of all the werewolves. If he can’t be at the trap site, then the best he can do is make sure his officers stay away from the conflict, and worry about the problems that can be solved by human legal means.

But it definitely doesn’t make him feel any better when he goes home that night to find Stiles in the bathroom, trying to patch up his shoulder.

“What the hell happened?”

“Dad!” Stiles jumps, flailing and nearly losing his balance. “Hey, nothing. It’s not even a werewolf related injury. Not really. Peter did push me out of the way, but I happened to fall on a pile of wood. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

John swats Stiles’ hand away to get a better look at the cut across the back of his shoulder. The wound isn’t too bad, probably won’t even scar. It still makes him grit his jaw until it aches. He doesn’t even know what to say to that, to make it better, so that Stiles isn’t hurt at all. There is nothing he can do, and that makes it so much worse.

So he quietly helps Stiles by putting an antibacterial cream on the cut, then covers it with a large bandage.

“Thanks, Dad.” With a small wince, Stiles slips into his sleep shirt.

“How did you keep this stuff from me for a year? Was I really that blind?”

“Blind? Dad, you were suspicious of me the whole time.” Stiles shrugs with his good shoulder. “But you had more important stuff to worry about than what I might be lying to you about. And to be fair, I doubt you ever suspected werewolves.”

“You’re right about that, but there is nothing more important to me than you, Stiles. I’m sorry if you felt that way.”

Stiles’ eyes begin to water, but he shakes his head to clear away any tears.

“So I take it your traps didn’t work out?” John asks, following Stiles to his room.

Stiles groans before flopping onto his bed. Then he groans again, in pain. It takes him a moment to regain his breath. “Nothing we try ever works against them. There are too many alphas for how ridiculously strong they are, which by the way, is due to killing their entire packs. They’re too smart, too experienced, and too freaking sadistic and cruel. They keep teasing us, challenging us. We don’t stand a chance.”

John hates that Stiles sounds so defeated. He wishes he wasn’t so out of his depth right now. “Even with Chris Argent’s weapons?”

“Wolfsbane barely hurts them. Electricity barely fazes them. Mountain ash barely stops them. We’re running out of options.” Stiles glances at his phone, the screen lighting his face with an eerie blue glow. “Derek is outside. He was checking around the house for any sign of the alphas. I’ll be right back.”

From Stiles’ bedroom window, John can observe Stiles talking to Derek in the driveway. There’s not much to go off besides body language, and while Derek might act annoyed, there is something beneath his exterior that makes Stiles move closer to him. Then, unexpectedly, Derek claps his hand on Stiles’ good shoulder before he leaves.

By the time Stiles makes it back up the stairs, he still has a small, goofy smile on his face. It makes John’s heart ache because he’s missed Stiles’ genuine smiles and laughter. He was angry at this werewolf business for taking that away, but…if it’s a werewolf that brings it back, maybe John has nothing to complain about. Even if he’s not so comfortable with the age difference at play. Though he supposes there could be worse things for his son than a man who’s five years older.

Shit, seriously?

John sighs. The werewolves in Beacon Hills have apparently changed his priorities.

“Dad?” Stiles shucks off his shoes with his brows up in question.

“No alphas?”

“All clear. The only nice thing is that they take breaks from all the mayhem, too.”

John crosses his arms, wondering if either of them are ready for the conversation he doesn’t want to have, but needs to have. “So, why Derek?”

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t Scott or someone else come to the house?”

“Oh. Well, Scott and Isaac are at his house, watching Melissa. Boyd is watching the Argent’s apartment. Erica is watching Lydia, and Jackson is over at Danny’s house. Peter is god knows where, supposedly doing more research. Hence we have Derek, our big, only-scary-if-you-don’t-know-him alpha.”

John blinks, aborting whatever half-assed attempt he was making. “So what about setting up a mountain ash perimeter, like what you did with me at the station? I assume it would work around a house?”

He actually knows jack about the mountain ash, other than his son is the only one of the pack who handles it.

“Well, yeah. It’ll create a barrier against the supernatural anywhere you put it. But Deaton’s supply is running low, and while I guess we could all hole up at one person’s house, it gets weird when most of us aren’t actually friends and we have no reasonable excuse to be together. I mean, I don’t care, but the others apparently have popular social lives to maintain that don’t include me. Whatever. I’m not jealous.”

Before John can respond, Stiles waves his hand in the air. “Hell, I could probably even stretch the mountain ash to use around everyone’s houses if I tried. But they’d all probably tell me to shut up if I even offered. Especially stupid Derek. Because at least one wolf would be trapped inside the circle at each location, which could potentially be bad, and it’s a legitimate reason I—”

“Stiles. Slow down.” John can feel a headache starting behind his eyes.

“Right.” He takes a calming breath.

“So, no mountain ash right now, only werewolf guard dogs. Is Derek still outside?”

“Said he’d be in his car. Nice dog joke, by the way, I like it.”

“I try. He’s going to stay out there all night? Why didn’t you invite him in?”

“I did! But he’s a stubborn asshole who doesn’t listen to me.”

“Tell him the Sheriff requests his presence.”

Stiles slowly takes out his phone. “Okay then. Why the change of heart? I thought you didn’t like Derek?”

“I never said that, son. I only follow leads where they take me. And while I knew Derek had a rough life, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t make it easy. But now I know he couldn’t tell the whole truth. And I’ve seen him protect me, I’ve seen him protect you, and I’ve seen him protect innocent people. I know he’s a good man, and he can stay in our house. Besides, if I held everyone’s dumb actions against them, I’d have already disowned you.”

“Ouch.” Stiles grips his chest, feigning hurt. “You would never disown me, you love me too much.”

“There’s still time.”

Stiles smiles as he sends a text to Derek. He waits for a response, then mutters under his breath about stubborn assholes. “All right, he’s coming in. I may have implied that you threatened to have his precious Camaro towed if he did not comply.”

John rolls his eyes, pretending he didn’t teach Stiles that trick. Then he heads down to get the front door. Derek is just walking gracefully up the front steps. He stops short at the porch.

“Sheriff?”

“Derek. Call me John. Rough night?” He holds out his hand, and Derek cautiously but firmly shakes it.

“No worse than usual lately. You, sir?”

Polite. He likes that. “Same. Maybe harder without an office, but that means less paperwork.”

“Worth the werewolves?” Stiles asks from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know that anything is worth werewolves. At least not these alphas.”

“Nice save, Dad.”

“Hey, I’m new to this.” John catches a brief smile on Derek’s face before he steps aside to let the man in. “Okay, if you’re going to watch our house, which I appreciate by the way, then you’ll do it from inside. We have a guest bedroom you can use.”

“Thanks, but I don’t plan on sleeping.”

“Then you can use the living room.” The tone of his voice brooks no further argument. John leaves Stiles to watch TV with Derek, while he goes into the kitchen to order a few pizzas before it gets too late. He contemplates joining the two boys on the couch, but decides to put on a new pot of coffee instead. He leans against the counter, listening to the coffee drip, watching his human son interact with an alpha werewolf.

This isn’t what he was expecting after the year of lies and misdirection. Well, maybe a little of this, whatever this is happening in his living room right now. He pours a fresh cup of coffee and while he hovers over the steam and inhales the strong scent, he finds himself wondering what his wife would think of all this, of how John is handling it. Their son. Werewolves. Derek Hale. He takes his first sip, savoring it. Figures she’s the one who’s been looking out for Stiles and everyone else all this time because John certainly hasn’t been doing it. That needs to change. John will take up with werewolves if that’s what it takes to keep Stiles safe. Whatever it takes, he silently promises his wife.

At some point, John must have spaced out because the next thing he knows, Stiles is waving a hand in front of his face.

“You okay, Dad?”

“Just thinking.”

“About a case or about the uh, other stuff?”

John scratches his chin where stubble is already growing in. He glances at Derek in the doorway, thinking the man looked a lot younger without all the scruff. It wouldn’t have made the age difference any better, but still. “A little of both. I’ll have to get my files in order now that I know more about the recent murders. Make sure you guys are kept out of the suspect pool.”

“We appreciate you…doing that. Compromising your work for us,” Derek says, ducking his head a bit.

“I will do anything for my son. And the people he cares about.” When Derek looks up, his eyes are vulnerable, reminding John how young he is. “What, do you guys call yourselves werewolves all the time, or can I call you people?”

“People is good.” Derek briefly smiles, and it transforms his face. Then he clears his throat. “Look, I’m sorry Stiles got hurt. We…try our best to make sure that doesn’t happen, but somehow he still ends up in the line of fire.” Derek throws a pointed look toward Stiles, who fully ignores him in favor of opening the fridge. “But I promise to protect him to the best of my ability.”

John nods, his throat tight. For all his faults, at least Derek is straightforward. “I’m sure that’s not the easiest thing to promise. I know from experience, actually. But thank you. I’m sure it’s all I can ask at this point.”

“Hey, I’m right here, and I can take care of myself. Most of the time. Some of the time. All right, I keep my grades up at least.” Stiles waves a can and a bottle in each hand. “Want a beer?”

“No,” Derek answers. Stiles tosses the can of cola at him, and he snatches it out of the air in a flash of graceful movement.

“Werewolves can’t get drunk,” Stiles says. “Doesn’t that suck?”

Derek shrugs. “Our metabolism burns through the alcohol too fast.”

“I’m sure you’re missing out,” John dryly intones. He knows too much about drowning your sorrows, and he figures it’s a good thing Derek doesn’t even have that option at such a young age in a tragic life.

“Pizza’s here,” Derek says just before the doorbell rings.

“Pizza!” Stiles cheers, heading for the front door.

“I got it,” Derek says, reaching into his back jeans pocket for his wallet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re our guest. Our werewolf guest.”

Derek shoves Stiles out of the way, against his injured shoulder, making Stiles grunt. Derek freezes with his wallet half open. The doorbell rings again.

“Don’t give me those eyes, you asshole. I’m fine. I’m not that breakable, I swear.”

“I know.” Derek takes a few bills from his wallet. “I still…worry.”

Stiles snorts. “Oh okay.” He opens the door to take the pizza boxes from the delivery boy. And he lets Derek pay the bill. The delivery boy maybe looks at the two of them strangely before leaving.

“How do you even have money?” Stiles asks as they bring the pizza to the kitchen. “Do you even have a job?”

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes.

“What? I think it’s a pretty legitimate question. Right, Dad?”

John raises his eyebrows. While Stiles gets out plates, Derek quietly says, “I…received an inheritance when I turned twenty-one. And I did have a job in New York. At a library.”

Stiles stares at Derek before guffawing. “Okay, now I’m imagining you all bookish with big glasses and a cardigan. Funniest shit ever. Also probably the sexiest librarian ever, but that goes without saying.”

John pretends he didn’t hear that while he grabs a slice of pepperoni and sausage before his son can say no.

“I liked the quiet,” is Derek’s response.

“Of course you did, you bookworm.”

John watches them move back into the living room. Stiles starts up a video game and explains the controls to Derek. The atmosphere isn’t too different from when Stiles and Scott hang out. Except maybe there’s an overlying tension between them that John doesn’t want to think about. It could all be in his head, anyway.

Only then he notices Stiles’ good shoulder pressed firmly against Derek’s as they slay trolls and slices of pizza. John sighs, then swallows the last of his coffee before going upstairs.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully. When John is getting dressed for his early morning shift, Stiles runs into his room, way too excited.

“Dad, Dad! I did it! I finally came up with something – a plan, I guess, though I don’t have all the details – but! But I think it’ll work! Like, for real this time. We’re going to hit those alpha douches hard – so hard those freaking twins and that bitch with her feet god. That blind dickhole the most for threatening Mrs. McCall. They won’t know what hit them. Or they will, but it’ll be too late for them because I am a master!” Stiles pumps his fist in the air, makes a weird face, and waits for John to catch up.

The first thing he says is, “Language, Stiles.” Then he finishes buttoning his shirt over his thin undershirt. “What are you doing awake? Did you sleep at all?”

“I totally slept. Like a cat. A catnap. For a few seconds.”

“Did you take your Adderall?” John sits on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes.

“Not yet. I know, I’m a little out there right now, but sometimes that’s when I do my best work. If I’m focused enough. Like now. Well, earlier. In the night. Morning. You going to work today?”

John sighs. “Yes, Stiles, hence the uniform. What about Derek?”

“Oh, he totally fell asleep on the couch a few hours ago, but he helped me get the basics of the plan done. We’ll run it by Scott, Lydia, and Boyd today. Maybe even Peter. And Deaton, too. We actually have great strategic minds in this pack, we totally rock. Anyway, you want to hear it – the plan? My awesome, amazing plan?”

“E-mail it to me. And sit down for a minute, we need to talk.”

Stiles bounces onto the bed. “Sure, Daddy-O.”

While John struggles for words, he puts a hand on Stiles’ knee to stay the jiggling. “Stiles, I want you to be careful.”

“Werewolves, no, I know, Dad. My plan has like zero chance of harm to the humans because we will be safe in circle of mountain ash. As long as Deaton keeps Morrell out of the way, that is. But our werewolf-hunter-human team is gonna put the alpha pack down! Down like the mangy dogs they are!”

“Okay, son.” John takes a deep breath, gathering his patience. “I also want you to be careful with Derek.”

“O-kaaay?”

“I mean with whatever you’re doing. I’m still not sure how I feel about it, but I understand that Derek’s a good, if misunderstood guy. And I can see that he cares about you, and all of your, uh, pack. I’d rather this not be just a sex thing, but if it is, please make sure you use condoms.”

Stiles’ mouth gapes before he finally scoffs. Then he lets out a pathetic whine. “I— that’s not— what even— I just— oh my god, what? Dad, why would you think anything like that is even remotely possible between Derek and me? Besides him being way out of my league, maybe even more than Lydia, he’s all growly and really annoyed by me and looses his eyebrows when he wolfs out. Okay, that last one probably doesn’t have anything to do with anything, other than it’s hilarious.”

“Stiles. I’m not actually blind. I see the way you two look at each other, and I only want you to be safe.”

“No. There are no looks. No reasons to be safe. God, seriously, Dad. Werewolf hearing, you know.” Stiles stands, starts pacing in front of him.

“He can hear us right now?” John asks.

“Of course! If he wanted to. Actually, he’s probably not rude enough to eavesdrop on a father-son conversation, especially if that apparently includes talk of condoms and werewolf sex.”

“No one said anything about werewolf sex.” John rubs his face. Nope, nope. “I have to get going. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Stiles rocks back on his heels, apparently glad for the change of subject. “Nah, we of teen years and teen wolves can handle this.”

“You repeating teen does not inspire a whole lot of faith in me. Call me. I’ll be there if I can. An extra experienced shooting hand couldn’t hurt, right?”

“You are the sharpest shooter I know.” Stiles’ eyes flick to John’s gun holster on his waist. Then he puts on a smile that John only half feels. “Thanks, Dad. See you in a couple days with significantly less werewolf problems in your jurisdiction.”

John takes that as the hint that his presence won’t be necessary to save Beacon Hills. It’s okay, he’ll just handle the paperwork when it’s all over. That is why he was elected Sheriff, after all. Quality penmanship.

“Great.” John hugs his son, both scared for him and proud of him. “Love you, kid.”

“You, too.”

By the time John heads downstairs for his coffee, Derek Hale is already gone. Probably out scent marking for the alphas, or whatever. The thought actually makes him laugh. More than likely, Derek’s only going home or getting an early breakfast like John tends to do.

On his way into work, John stops for a healthy breakfast burrito, making him happy. He’s even happier when there’s not a lot of paperwork from the night shift on his temporary desk.

“Slow night, for once,” Deputy Anna Cruz says when he gets it. “Mostly traffic violations, a couple domestics.”

“No homicides?”

“Not a single dead body so far. But now by acknowledging that, we’ve jinxed ourselves with a tough shift.”

“What else is new?”

John spends the morning doing paperwork, gloriously boring. He takes a break to text Stiles to make sure he gets to school on time. He gets called out on one case involving a hit-and-run. Nobody injured, thank god, but enough insurance-appropriate jargon on the incident reports to make John’s eyes bleed.

By the time late afternoon rolls around, John gets a little antsy, wondering what’s going on with Stiles and the pack. He never did get an e-mail about the plan, and while he knows Stiles didn’t want him on the map, he at least expected to be in the loop. He supposes it is harder to communicate effectively when John isn’t actually there, though.

Dinner time rolls around, and while some of the deputies are out getting food, John gratefully receives an update text, which is better than nothing.

Phase 1 complete. Twins down. And no Danny-werewolf-catastrophe. But now he knows. So. Onto Phase 2.

John can’t help the good feeling that makes him smile, even with the tight knot sitting heavy in his chest. He might be proud of Stiles for being capable of saving people, but that doesn’t make him feel any better about leaving this epic supernatural war shit to a bunch of kids who should have their whole lives ahead of them. As the Sheriff, this should be his job, his duty. Take out the supernatural shit and these alphas are just another bunch of crazy criminals. So maybe he has to adjust his idea of justice if it means killing people to save even more lives. And if his sixteen-year-old son can make the hard choices, then John can to.

So when nine o’clock rolls around and the report comes in about two dead bodies in an alley near the vet’s office, John takes it and meets Deputy Cruz on the scene. He can’t help the part of him that’s clenched in fear of what he might find.

“ME confirmed we have one female and one male.” Cruz leads the way to the two forms on the ground covered with white sheets.

“That’s it?”

Cruz clears her throat and smooths a stray hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck. “The bodies appear to have been shredded with some sort of instrument, maybe even claws. Then burned beyond recognition. Then beheaded.”

“All right. Is this another one of those—” John motions his hand around his head, “—three death cases?”

“Maybe. Different MO, but I wouldn’t really be surprised if the perps switched it up.”

“No, I guess not.”

“Found quite a few blood samples, though. Hoping to get a match this time so we can put these sick bastards behind bars.” Cruz starts to walk away, but she turns back to him for a moment. “There was also more of that same black powder that we found in your office. Lab is still processing it, but they think it’s some kind of ash. Weird, right?”

John nods, despite the cold chill crawling along his spine. He can only assume these dead bodies are part of Stiles’ plan to end the werewolf problem. That they are werewolves and not innocent humans like Deputy Cruz and the rest of the officers on scene likely assume. He had still hoped the plan wouldn’t end in any deaths, even the alphas’, because honestly, the county morgue is filling up faster than the funeral plans can be made.

And he also hoped he had taught Stiles well enough to clean up forensic evidence at a crime scene. It wasn’t necessarily so his son could commit murder, but well. Hindsight.

Of course, he hasn’t heard from his son in a number of hours. So he moves off to the side to make a phone call before his imagination runs away with him.

“Stiles, I swear to god, you better pick up.” The phone rings four times before he answers. “Stiles, I’m at a crime scene that looks suspiciously like people I know and love are involved.”

“Sheriff?” says the unfamiliar voice.

It takes him a minute to place her. “Lydia?”

“Yes. Sorry, but Stiles is upstairs with Scott and Derek and Mr. Argent. Everyone’s a little on edge right now. We’re trying to decide what to do with the twins.”

John sighs. “Any chance I could speak to my son?”

“Can I help you with the crime scene? I can tell you about it, if you want.”

“Maybe later. What aren’t you telling me, Lydia?”

She is quiet, and all John hears is the neighboring conversations on scene. “Okay, Stiles might have gotten a little beat up, but—”

“What happened to you guys being safe behind a barrier or something?”

“We were. Allison and I. But Deucalion almost broke through, so Stiles held him off for a minute.”

“Held him off? With what?”

“A baseball bat.”

John covers his eyes with one hand. “Good to know little league paid off.”

“Then Derek and Scott took him out and the others got Kali. We didn’t want to kill them. But we couldn’t stop them.”

John knows the feeling from the few human criminals he’s encountered who could only be stopped by a bullet. “And you made sure they were dead-dead, obviously.”

“We didn’t want any more Peters happening. It was actually Peter’s idea.”

Sure, of course. “So Stiles is okay?”

“Bruised, but yeah, he’s okay.” Lydia huffs softly into the phone. “Derek and Scott went crazy when Deucalion went after Stiles. They weren’t going to let him get hurt again, you know. They would die before they let that happen.” Even softer she says, “We all would.”

John looks at the young deputies around him, seeing not a lot of difference between them and the teens in his house who have become brothers-in-arms in the last year of so much death and danger. Thank god Stiles has a whole pack of people looking out for him, people John can trust to take care of his son.

“I know,” John says. “Now, what are the chances that the blood samples taken off the scene will match my son or any of you?”

“High. The werewolves were all bleeding pretty badly. And we didn’t have time to get rid of the bodies. I can’t believe this is a normal conversation for me now.”

John knows that strange feeling, too, but he’s already thinking about how he can somehow misplace the blood samples.

“Dr. Deaton is still in his office. He’ll be able to give you new blood that will link these deaths with a number of others across the country, fortunately perpetrated by a couple hunters who are already dead, so they’ll never be found.”

Scary. These teenagers are scary.

“All right, got it.” John hangs up, and Cruz is standing behind him. Her face doesn’t betray whether she heard too much of his unusual conversation.

“Vogel suggested picking up Derek Hale for this. I think he might be right. The Hale boy has been involved in some weird shit after that Kate Argent arson case. What do you say?”

“Absolutely not. We’ve given that boy too much trouble after what happened to his family. He’s not a suspect. We have no reasonable suspicion to assume he had anything to do with this.”

Cruz’s brows rise. “What happened to him being no good?”

“Doesn’t make him a murderer.” Only now John knows a whole group of teenage murderers. How is this his life? “Look, I was mistaken. It’s been known to happen. I’ve gotten to know the kid, and he’s really not bad. Maybe a little rough around the edges, but his heart is where it counts.”

“You speaking from experience, sir?” Cruz doesn’t appear to be judging him, but John still doesn’t know how to answer.

He scratches his head. “He’s just— He and my son are kind of—”

“Seriously?” Cruz clears her throat. “Sorry, didn’t mean that any sort of way, I’m just surprised. Well, not really surprised about that part, especially after Jimmy said he saw Derek with Stiles at your house last night. Just that you’re okay with everything.”

“Derek Hale is a good guy,” John repeats more firmly, willing to let Cruz read what she wants into his words. “He’s not a suspect in this case. He was with my son tonight, with all their friends.”

John is completely aware that Stiles may not be the best alibi, and Cruz has been around long enough to know that.

She takes a moment, then nods. “Yes, sir.”

John watches her leave, waits until all of the deputies’ attention is elsewhere before he slips away. He knocks on the back door to the veterinary clinic. Deaton doesn’t look at all surprised to see him.

“Sheriff.”

“Doctor.”

“Please, come in. I believe we have something to discuss.”

John follows Deaton into one of the empty examination rooms. Deaton wastes no time in setting numerous vials containing swabs of blood on the table between them. John meets his expectant gaze. Knowing that the gentle, mild-mannered doctor is involved with the supernatural explains so much, yet nothing at all.

“Thank you. For helping,” John says.

“It’s my…well, pleasure isn’t the right word. But I am glad to be of assistance at times.” Deaton inclines his head. “I have to say that although I don’t condone violence, the alpha pack caused too much of a disturbance in Beacon Hills.”

“I’ll just be glad to have less dead bodies in town.” Deaton frowns, so John asks, “What? What is it?”

“Nothing. Though you should know that werewolves aren’t the only problem out there.”

“Oh god, don’t tell me there are vampires, too.”

“Mmm, of a sort. But that’s not what I was referring to.”

“Then what?”

“Another time, Sheriff.”

John’s frustration ratchets up another notch. “How can you withhold information when you clearly know so much about what’s going on? When the lives of a bunch of kids are in jeopardy? How can you even let them deal with this alone?”

As soon as he says it, John realizes he’s speaking as much to himself as Deaton. He may have a job to do, but John didn’t try very hard to help his son deal with the alpha pack. Aside from maybe Chris Argent, the adults in the kids’ lives are mostly failing them. Though willingly putting your child into harm’s way is perhaps a different type of failing.

When John looks back at Deaton, the doctor’s dark eyes are sympathetic, but his mouth is firm.

“Knowledge is powerful. Knowledge is dangerous. Knowledge is a burden.” Deaton doesn’t elaborate as he slides the blood samples closer to John.

“Even if opening your mouth could save a life? They’re just kids. They need all the help they can get as it is, let alone with werewolf problems. We can’t leave them alone to clean up every mess that walks into town.”

“They may be young, but I believe they are capable of accomplishing what adults cannot.” John can’t even fathom the depth of Deaton’s mysterious nature as the man walks around the table to face him without any obstacle. “Derek Hale is a flawed alpha. He is damaged, but with help, he will heal and grow stronger. Scott McCall is not yet the great alpha he will become. He needs experience, to learn the hard truths of the world he has entered. Together, they will do great things. Together, their pack consists of lost teenagers who have known enough love, loss, and loneliness to make them great. They know what it means to sacrifice, and they will fight for what is right, what is just, with all of their power as werewolves, hunters, and humans. They are the future, and I believe in them.”

John breathes. He feels like he just got a destiny shit pile dumped on him, and he wasn’t even mentioned in it. He’s only there by association.

Deaton takes another step closer, nearly enough to make John uncomfortable. “You should be proud of your son. He was foolish to take on an alpha like Deucalion on his own, but because of his courage, Derek and Scott have finally learned that they work better as a team. Stiles and Lydia, two of the brightest humans I’ve ever met, managed what I was beginning to think was impossible – to bring the separate packs together as one, so they can all fight for each other instead of against each other. So they can be a family, full of insecurities, challenges, and opposition, but also overflowing with the strength, loyalty, and love they so desperately need. It might be difficult, Sheriff, but you need to support these kids even in their darkest hours.”

Like John needed to be told that. “Of course I will.”

Though there was maybe a big part of John that still didn’t realize how serious this werewolf and pack stuff is to the people involved. But that doesn’t mean he would have abandoned them when they needed him. Ever.

Deaton smiles, then he presses the blood sample vials into John’s hands. “And Stiles may not be a hunter like Allison, or open to the spiritual world like Lydia, but he has a spark in him. He will nurture that spark until it becomes a flame, burning bright as his heart. He will learn to wield his own power, and he will stand beside the alphas to lead their pack. Do not doubt him. Believe in him.”

John doesn’t hesitate to answer, “I always do.”

Even if he doesn’t understand what Deaton is saying. Even if his heart aches to think that what he wants for his son doesn’t matter anymore because Stiles, Scott, Derek, and all the others, have a shared destiny so great that it will one day be out of his hands to protect them. Hell, it may already be that day, but that doesn’t mean he has to let go. He will stand at Stiles’ back in a werewolf pack, lending his support until the day he no longer can. His wife would do the same, he knows for certain, and that knowledge strengthens John’s resolve.

“Good. See you soon, Sheriff.” Deaton abruptly ends the conversation without regard to John’s reeling thoughts and emotions.

So John walks back in the quiet of night, to the dead alpha werewolves at his crime scene. Many of the deputies are already gone, and the bodies are being loaded into an ambulance. John is maybe a little shocked at how easy it is to actually switch out the blood samples that are sitting in a bag at the side of the scene, waiting to be loaded into one of the vehicles. He should be more concerned than he is, really. Instead, he takes it as a good thing for the moment to keep his son and his friends out of more trouble.

Then he decides to go home despite only having worked twelve hours out of his forty-eight shift, and both Vogel and Cruz agree to cover for him, even while telling him that he works too much. But he has a lot of vacation days saved up, and he plans to use them to reconnect with his son and relearn his place in Stiles’ new life. Immediately.

~*~

It still takes John a few hours to go back to the temporary headquarters and get all his paperwork in for the night. But when he does finish, it is with a breath of tired relief that makes the drive home a fast blur. There are two extra cars parked outside his house. He hadn’t really expected anyone else to still be here. Let alone everyone.

He enters his house to find a sort of big puppy pile in his living room. There is no other way to describe how teenage bodies have taken up every available surface on the couch and chairs and all the space between. There is a suspicious lack of clothing and way more skin than John wants to deal with, but the werewolves each have wounds still in varying stages of healing. He tries not to think about the kind of cleaning he’ll need to do later, especially for his grandmother’s hand knit blanket caught in the fray.

John looks at Scott, the soon-to-be great alpha, tangled up with Allison and Isaac on the couch, with way more limbs than John ever expected to see in one relationship. Erica is curled up in one of the chairs, her arm wrapped around Boyd’s shoulders where he sits on the floor below her. Jackson is in the other chair with Lydia lying across his lap in his arms, his face tucked against her red hair.

All of them seem to be touching in some small way, either a foot or a hand to connect them. Isaac with his hand hanging down to rest on Boyd’s crossed ankles. Allison and Lydia holding hands in the air between them. Jackson with his legs propped up on the ottoman so that Erica’s feet barely brush his where they hang over the arm of the chair.

All are touching except for the two inside a circle of mountain ash, where the coffee table has been pushed aside for the twin boys John doesn’t know. He can assume the pack decided not to kill the young alphas. Which, good. He supposes. But really. Really. He didn’t need more teenagers.

Even more suspicious than all the missing clothes and bare skin are the two who are absent from the puppy pile. John hears quiet conversation from in the kitchen, where Melissa and Chris are drinking coffee.

“Sorry, we made ourselves at home,” Melissa says.

“I can see that. It’s no problem. Where’s Stiles?”

Chris points upstairs. “He and Derek disappeared half an hour ago. Figured they couldn’t get up to anything too bad.”

John dutifully lets that pass without much thought. “Thanks for looking out for him.”

“He did good tonight. They all did. You should be proud.”

John doesn’t think about Deaton’s mysterious words or the dead bodies in an alley. “I am.”

“Then we’re both going to head out. Make sure they get home safe in the morning, will you?”

“Of course.”

Chris stops in the doorway, waiting for Melissa while she puts her empty cup in the sink.

“I have a shift in a few hours, but I’m thinking about taking a vacation this weekend.” She says it conversationally, but he can tell she wants to give everyone the chance to relax now that the alpha threat is gone.

“Me too,” John agrees. “Sounds good.”

The two of them wait until Chris finally says, “Fine, I’m free.”

Melissa gently presses her hand to John’s arm as she passes him. The sleeping teenagers in his living room barely even twitch when the adults leave.

John makes his way to Stiles’ room and pauses outside the mostly closed door, but he doesn’t hear anything that might scar him for life, so he pushes the door open all the way.

Stiles is at his computer, and he turns to the doorway with a big grin on his split lips. He also has a bruise forming across his forehead, beneath his hairline, and another around the right side of his neck. John stalks forward to inspect the damage, his heart racing.

“I’m fine, Dad, really,” Stiles says softly, pushing John’s hands away.

“You were supposed to stay safe.”

“Come on. We ran out of bullets, and Allison’s arrows weren’t stopping Deucalion anymore, so I had to do something.”

“He was brave.” Derek sets aside the book he was reading while lying on Stiles’ bed. “And incredibly stupid.”

“Definitely stupid,” John echoes.

“Hey, I don’t need both of you ganging up on me about this. We all go into war together. We all end the war together.”

“Uh huh. And what about the twins downstairs? New pack members?”

“No,” is Derek’s instinctive answer. Then he shrugs, side-eyeing Stiles. “If they want to be. Otherwise they leave Beacon Hills tomorrow.”

“They’re young and stupid. I think they trusted the wrong guy and got all power hungry, only to get used.” Stiles is mostly looking at Derek, like this is an argument they haven’t finished yet. “But they paid for their mistakes. Even Danny forgave Ethan. And Danny is a saint. We have to follow in his footsteps.”

Derek sighs, a sound familiar to John. Long-suffering. He wonders if it’s a life thing or a Stiles thing. Probably both. Then John spots the baseball bat in the corner beside the desk.

“Are you kidding me, Stiles? That bat has blood all over it, how could you bring it home?”

“What? I couldn’t leave it at the scene. It has my fingerprints all over it. It even has my initials on it. I mean, I probably would have dumped it with the bodies, but—”

“Okay, okay. Just do something about it later.” John studies the two boys. The alpha who needs to heal and the human with a spark inside. Guess he should be less surprised that they gravitated toward each other. “So, why aren’t you with the others?”

“Just needed time to unwind alone.”

John pointedly looks at Derek.

Stiles crosses his arms. “I don’t trust him to be alone.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says without heat.

“It’s true. You’re a very suspicious character. No good will come from a ragtag group of angsty, horny teenagers led by a brooding ball of manpain. You need me. And you need Scott. And team human. But mostly me.”

Derek rolls his eyes, and it’s a whole body effort. “I’ll admit…to Scott being a good counterpoint to me. I’ll even admit that Allison isn’t that bad. She can be useful in battle. Lydia’s a genius who hates Peter, so that’s a no-brainer.”

John watches their interaction unfold, tries not to compare Stiles’ flirty banter to his wife, but god his eyes shine just like hers.

“I am useful. I am so useful.”

“I know.” Derek waits a beat, then smiles, and not only in jest.

Stiles’ answering smile wavers before it lights up the room. It’s enough to make John wonder if everyone can see Stiles’ spark, even the broken man who cares enough to tease him. Then Stiles socks Derek on the arm. “Asshole. I’m never helping you again. Like ever. Just try me.”

“I won’t need to. The alphas are gone.”

“True. But this is us we’re talking about, Derek. We can’t have nice things.”

John tries to not examine the underlying serious tone to Stiles words, it hurts too much to consider. He vaguely wants to warn Stiles about what could be coming in the near future, but that doesn’t need to happen right now. He can at least give his son and his pack the night to sleep peacefully for once.

“We can have some nice things.” Derek looks at the floor when he says this, but Stiles still laughs.

“Damn right we can. Glad you finally know that.”

John rolls his eyes. He has the feeling this could go on forever if he left them to it. “All right, enough of the flirting. Get your butts downstairs.”

Stiles stammers, a flush rising in his cheeks and ears. John probably could have been subtler about it. But what else are parents for than embarrassing their kids? It’s one of his only sources of amusements since Stiles hit puberty.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah. I mean, we do have two new werewolves to take care of. And Danny when we see him tomorrow.”

Derek pauses in the doorway, maybe a little flustered around the set of his shoulders. “Ethan didn’t bite Danny?”

“No, he couldn’t go through with it. Guy does love him, and I can’t blame him.”

“Hmm.”

“No. Don’t even think about giving Danny the bite. I mean, sure, if he wants it. But come on! Danny as a werewolf wouldn’t be fair. At all. For the world. That would be too much awesome to handle.”

Derek shakes his head and goes down the stairs first with his feet barely making a sound. Stiles gingerly rubs the back of his hand across the split in his lips. He cocks his head to the side, indicating the others in the house. There hasn’t been so many people like this since his wife passed away, and John has to admit he kind of likes it. If only there were less hormones around.

“Is this okay, Dad? Are we good?”

As strange as the situation is, he can’t really find fault in it. It might be a dangerous life, but John can’t tell his son not to involve himself when he chose a dangerous career against his own mother’s wishes. And as frightened as Stiles has been, he’s also never been so focused with purpose. He’s found happiness with new friends, and one something more, who are all exactly what Stiles needs. There is a lot of love his house has maybe been lacking for a while. And the love is only going to grow, which makes John smile.

Even if it’s not at all what he expected, with the werewolves and the sparks, John is still looking forward to his son’s bright future. Even if Stiles’ path takes him somewhere unexpected with Derek and Scott at his side, John will be a part of his son’s life in any way he can.

“Yeah, Stiles. It’s okay. We’re always good.”