[ The look Derek quickly shoots Stiles is a vaguely aggrieved one, both because Stiles does like to tell him he looks like a criminal, and because he's sort of rambling about something entirely pointless at the moment. But as he gets back onto track, he's a little sated.
Up until he starts talking about Kate Argent, and everything in his body tenses, save for where he's holding onto Stiles. His fingers twitch, but the feeling of warmth and lightly calloused skin from lacrosse has him stopping before he tightens his grip and inadvertently hurts Stiles. Still, his jaw works a little, just short of grinding his teeth, and the line of his shoulders is tight, unmoving.
It's the only posture present, now, and the look in his eyes is barely restrained pain and hate. Even now.
But he exhales through his nose, closing his eyes a moment. Stiles has the right idea, but he feels like he needs to filter it a little more concisely. ]
Starting from the beginning. The supernatural exists, primarily werewolves-- a family of them, my pack, has been living in Beacon Hills for decades. Humans and werewolves used to make up the pack, both born wolves and bitten-- turned-- ones. But the fire was... [ His lips curl a little, still blunt teeth bared briefly as a very animalistic growl comes from his throat. It tinges the edges of his words, as he speaks again. ]
A hunter, going against their codes-- don't kill innocent wolves, children, or humans-- set the fire to kill everyone inside. [ He doesn't need to remind the sheriff of the child-sized body bags that had been brought out of the house. ] You know who the only survivors were, and what happened to Peter Hale.
[For a moment, Jona looks almost as though he doesn't believe them. His thoughts wouldn't be unfounded, really; it was Melissa who'd locked herself in her room away from Scott for days.
Leaning against Stiles's desk, the sheriff rubs his chin, looking contemplative.]
Then the murders weren't Kate Argent. They were Peter. And you-- [He points to Derek..
but then around to Stiles.]
And Scott. You were the ones to kill Peter. He wasn't missing from the clinic at all.
[That was why they'd never had the answers. It was because the answers were beyond reason and possibility- beyond what anyone in Beacon Hills would want to believe.
The reason he'd had to oversee babies taken out in body bags covered in ash. The reason he'd had to tell a young boy and his sister that their family, their entire family, was dead.
It had all been because one young woman had been so hateful- and had landed Scott and his own son in so much danger.
For a few moments, the sheriff doesn't speak. His gaze doesn't leave the ground when he does begin to speak, however.]
...And Peter... changed Scott. The lacrosse practice, the grades dropping... That was all because of this.
[Stiles' eyebrows raise, just a centimeter, as his dad works his way through his thought process, and he can't help the feeling of immense pride that blooms in his chest. It's combined with uneasiness, particularly when he gets to the part with Peter's death, but god. Stiles had always been smart as a whip, people had told him that, and it came from his dad. He couldn't be more proud of how he was handling this entire situation, honestly.
He can feel Derek tense up under his hand--although, he wouldn't even have to be near him to know it was coming. Derek was burdened with so much guilt about the Kate thing it hurt to look at him sometimes. The pressure he gives is just a little more than before, sweeping his thumb gently across the arc to his index finger; he's right here.]
Yeah. Exactly. Peter's...a whole other frickin' story. But when he died, the dynamic of the Hale pack shifted, so Derek here became the alpha. Thus the red eyes.
[He exhales again.]
Every time something happened and Scott and I were there, it was because we needed to be, like at the club. It wasn't because we were just being dumbasses--our friend got attacked, and we were there to try and catch the thing that attacked him.
...I was with Scott from day one on all of this wolf stuff. On-- oh, crap. It's--I'm not a werewolf. Promise. [He can already guess his dad's reaction to that, and he gives a small gesture towards his eyes, still whiskey brown and as human as can possibly be.] I'm as human as human can be.
Stiles, I know you're not a werewolf. We all watched your last game.
[Sighing heavily, Jona rubs his temples.]
Does this have anything to do with how some kid was able to take out some of my finest officers? Or with how Jackson died on the fields and then walks around not even a week later?
[He sounds exhausted, but there's something else there, too. The concern is heavy in his voice.]
And what killed Scott? Is there something I should be, I don't know, finding some shaman to track down?
[ Derek tries not to visibly lean into Stiles at his touch, closing his eyes again as he grounds himself underneath his guilt and pain. It's not his anger that he uses as a tether, though-- as strong as it would be-- but instead, that touch. When did things shift in that direction so drastically?
Once he's calmed, he sighs heavily and opens his eyes again, the red still lingering in them. It's hard to get the color to fade, when they're all so focused on the topics at hand. The pain of the fire burns fresh under his skin, but he tries not to linger on it as they shift forward and towards the most recent events. ]
Peter's mind slowly healed itself while he was at the clinic, but it healed wrong. He went crazy, and called Laura-- the Alpha, after the fire-- back to Beacon Hills so he could take her position by killing her. Afterwards, he killed everyone that helped put the fire together and bit Scott.
[ And the rest, the sheriff has already figured out. They killed Peter-- nevermind the fact that he came back, again-- and now, they're onto the kanima issue. ]
I bit Jackson. [ The guilt is obvious here, too, but it's quiet regret in the face of everything turning out right, with time. ] But the bite didn't take, and he became a kanima. They're similar to werewolves-- sort of a mutation of the werewolf-- but where a wolf has a pack, a kanima has a master that uses it to enact revenge on those that have wronged them. Matt was Jackson's master, until Gerard Argent killed him.
[ With the questions regarding Scott, he falls silent, and slowly looks at Stiles. ]
[It's just a little aside though; surely, his dad fixes him with a stare and he rolls his eyes, letting the conversation continue. He continues to stroke Derek's palm idly, absurdly in touch with the guy's emotions. Seriously, he could tell when Derek was hungry, let alone buried under the avalanche of his own guilt and sorrow. He doesn't know about the anchor thing, not yet, but the touch is just as comforting to him as it is to Derek.
While they're talking about the kanima, Stiles is silent, trying to formulate the words for what happened to Scott. The wound is fresh--it's going to hurt him forever, probably, but right now, even mentioning his name makes his stomach twist unpleasantly and panic creep at the edge of his lungs. He takes in a long breath before he speaks again, his voice surprisingly level, but unable to look away from the floor.]
...after we dealt with the kanima, a pack made up entirely of alphas came to Beacon Hills with the idea of taking it over--this place has been Hale territory for so long that when it was taken over by a new alpha, they thought it'd be easy pickings. So they came with the express intent to kill or convert all the wolves in town. Erica and Boyd--when we came to grab them from the pack--they'd been captured when they refused--it was a trap.
They were waiting for us. I could have died, too, if it wasn't for Scott. He was seriously--a hero, the bravest guy in the whole world. He went in there to save Erica and Boyd, and...[Now, his voice hitches. There's a part of him that whispers should have died, should have died in the back of his head, but he pushes it aside, finally lifting his gaze towards his dad.]
[ The same way that Stiles is so in tune with him, Derek is aware of every little shift in Stiles. All throughout his explanation of the kanima, he starts to rub his thumb along his fingers, sensing the edges of panic before they really present themselves even minutely. It's not even completely his werewolf senses, so much as the fact that he just knows Stiles now.
And the moment that he starts to talk about Scott, about what happened, he can't help but briefly shift closer to him. Every part of him-- every wolf instinct ingrained into him since birth, never separate from him like it was with the bitten-- wants to just pull him in and curl around him, press his face against Stiles and keep him safe and away from that pain and guilt that he feels.
Instead, he squeezes Stiles' hand one last time before slipping his fingers from his, shifting sideways on the bed the moment that Jona comes closer and removing himself from the moment in total silence. ]
[The minute the Sheriff presses his hands to his son's shoulder, the minute he speaks, Stiles shifts forwards--he doesn't even have to think about letting go of Derek, because he's already there, completely in tune. His arms come up immediately to wrap around his Dad's shoulders, as tight as he can.
Every time he thinks he's okay, something comes around and hits him in the face, from a t-shirt long forgotten in the back of his closet to hearing his dad remind him that he deserved to live. It hushed the voices of self doubt in the back of his mind, like it'd been doing since he was about six years old, and his fingers clutch in the back of Jona's jacket as he takes a shuddery breath.]
He deserved to live too.
[It's a long time before he pulls away again, tearing his vision up to the ceiling to firmly force back the shake of his voice, the tears in his eyes threatening to break free. There are more important things to be discussing right now. Distracting things. Things that aren't the crushing ache of Scott not being at his side, making faces and laughing at his jokes.
His hands fall to his sides on the bed again, open palmed.]
...that's why I can't just--butt out. I have to be involved.
[Jona crouches before his son, hands going back to his cheeks. He has Stiles's features memorised; the way the curve of his nose matches that of his mother's, the length of his eyelashes, the way the corners of Stiles's mouth turn down instead of up when he smiles. These are the things he knows to look for, the only things Jona would know to say if his son were ever missing.
The boy looks like his mother, bring me back my son.
It almost feels as though his son was gone from him for so long- the boy he'd known to at least try had become so distant, and all along it had been to protect Jona. To keep him safe, when Stiles was Jona's son.His boy to protect. Now his son was home, a bit of a warrior in his own right, when it had been Jona's position to be his knight. His father.
Dragging his thumbs over Stiles's cheeks, Jona fights the tears in his own eyes and swallows. His son shouldn't have to do this- shouldn't have had to see his best friend killed.
Shouldn't have to make adult decisions at 16.
God, Selena, he's so sorry. He wishes he could have done more- and from now on, he will.]
Whatever you think is best, Stiles. I trust you.
On one condition. You can't keep lying to me. You can't keep leaving me out of your life like this, Stiles. You're my son. Your job isn't to protect me. Mine is to protect you.
[ In that moment, Derek realizes that the sheriff should've known sooner. That this information should've been given to him when the alpha pack had moved in, if not sooner, when Jackson was the kanima. He would've been able to help with so much, and there would've been so much less grief to be carried through Beacon Hills with the murders. With Scott McCall's death.
Stiles still isn't the only one who feels the weight of guilt on his shoulders like a mantel. It's just another tier stacked on the alpha's, weighing heavy as he wishes he could've done something to protect a member of his pack, grudging or otherwise.
He takes in a deep breath, trying not to focus on that tangible weight and instead on the condition that Jona presents. Because he can't leave his attention on it or Stiles, not when he wants to reach out to him even more with the scent of unshed tears between the two of them. It clenches something painful in his chest, twists it painfully even as he speaks. Gravely serious, yet leveled and calm. ]
You've been pack even without the knowledge of it, sheriff. You deserved to know all of this sooner, but that didn't change that you're one of us. You're under our protection. Both of you are. [ His jaw tightens, brow furrowing. ] As long as I'm alive, nothing is going to happen to Stiles.
[It's that three word phrase that does make him lose it, finally--"I trust you". It seems like the simplest thing, but for all the trouble they've been through since the werewolves descended on Beacon Hills--enough lies that it made his stomach hurt to look his dad in the eye, getting him fired. Every single brick he'd thrown up between them in an attempt to keep his dad as far from the werewolf issue as possible had weighed him down, down, down, and with a three word phrase, the wall was utterly destroyed.
Looking from Derek to his dad and back again, he lifts his hand up to wipe at his eye, unable to stop the sort of ridiculously emotional smile on his face--upset, proud, happy, all at once. For a minute he doesn't manage a reply, and when he does, it's short and succinct enough to do the job.]
[It's then that Jona pulls Stiles full on into his arms, squeezing him tight.]
...You will always be my son, Stiles. I'll do what I can for you, and for your friends.
[And for a moment, Jona looks over to Derek, guilt plastered over his face.]
And I'm sorry that I couldn't do much for you, son. There was so much you and your sister.... didn't deserve.
[Derek taken care of his son, and all he could offer were minimal leads. He couldn't bring anyone to justice for Derek- couldn't provide any comfort or protect what little remained of his shattered family. Couldn't be a father figure to a young man who'd lost his father far too early.
But he could be the best father he could for Stiles for now, even if most days he still wasn't sure he knew what he was doing.
He could offer help to Derek and his pack, and he could trust his son.
Burying his nose into Stiles's shoulder, Jona grows quiet for a moment longer.]
Whatever you decide to do, son.
[He would keep Stiles safe. He would protect his family.
For Selena, for Scott and his mother, and for Stiles.]
[ Derek feels the knot that's twisted itself in his chest rise to his throat as Jona turns his attention to him, almost visibly bristling at the expression and the sudden need to get it to leave. He's never done well in the face of anyone's sympathy or guilt, not since the fire and not now, not with Sheriff Stilinski's. He'd been there from the start, and Derek will always remember that.
But it never makes it easier, especially not with the knowledge that he was the one to cause the fire, when he let Kate Argent into his life. Let her scent permeate the territory so that no one questioned when she arrived one day with fire in her heart, in her eyes, in her hands. ]
No, we didn't. [ His voice is tight, emotion constricted, but it never washes over him. His eyes, bright and red and focused, remain dried.
He breathes in, holds it, before speaking again. ] So now, it's my job to make sure the same thing doesn't happen to someone else.
[ And for a brief moment, his gaze flicks over to Stiles, before back to his father.
Nothing will ever happen to the Stilinskis again, so long as he's alpha of Beacon Hills. And this is one promise he's hellbent to keep; his past and the future threats looming over his territory be damned. ]
[Stiles takes note of Derek's reaction immediately. His dad went the extra mile to include him in his comments, and it brought a surge of warmth into his stomach, along with the painful memory of seeing the Hales in the station that fateful day; he'd looked up from his coloring book (his dad's files) and saw Derek and Laura Hale in matching orange blankets.
It was barely a wisp of a memory, something he'd filed away for ages, and it hadn't come up again until the day he and Scott had come across Derek for the first time.
His dad's last statement does nothing but steel his courage. At the back of his mind, his decision finally takes hold, plants firmly in his mind and steeling itself with that Stilinski determination that he and his dad are so famous for.
He's going to take the bite.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he catches his dad's eyes as he pulls away, his expression a little vulnerable, but mostly determined. It's a notable change in his demeanor--if someone's paying attention.]
...thanks, dad. I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner.
[He knows his son, though- at least now, he feels like he knows his son again. Getting to his feet, he rubs Stiles's hair and looks at Derek.]
...What exactly is going to be involved?
[The question was more than just that, and it spoke in his eyes; what did Jona need to do for his son? What happened to Scott? What was going to happen from now on?
[ The image of him and Laura in the police station after the fire is one that Derek doesn't like to remember, because it's just so clouded over-- he had tunnel vision on his sister, trying hard to keep herself together because she was older. She was the Alpha, after their parents' deaths and Peter's state. There was no one else but them, and all he could think of was how he'd caused it all.
He doesn't need to look to Stiles again, to know that there's a sudden change in his determination. But he doesn't bring it forward, simply pushes it aside for when it's the two of them again, and buries away the thoughts lingering in his mind about the first time he'd really spoken with Jona Stilinski. Instead, his body seems to shift of its own accord back into the spot he'd vacated, eyes still on the sheriff as he moves. ]
Melissa's known since the incident in the police station.
[ There's a need to answer this question first, to reassure Jona that their pack mother's been in the know for a while now. That she's had the support of the pack since her son's death. (Not that he needed to know about the wolves to know that, though. There's been at least one person coming and going at near constant from the McCall house since Scott died.) ]
As for what's going to be involved-- [ His attention shifts to Stiles, gently nudging him with his shoulder-- it's then that he realizes that he's moved, and he'll assess that later-- before tipping his head towards his father. ] --we should give him the bestiary, for starters.
[Before Stiles can actually explain what's going on, Derek makes the suggestion of the Bestiary, and Stiles nods, making a thoughtful noise as he reaches across the bed for his Mac, pulling out a small USB drive and pressing it into his dad's hand. It's not the original--the original is hidden somewhere under a rowan tree, away from prying eyes.
This is the one that has his and Lydia's translations on it. It's their baby, five months worth of lessons, musty old archaic Latin textbooks, immeasurable late nights. For every page he translated, Lydia translated five more, and they came together eventually, until they were working on getting the whole thing finished.]
So, yeah. The Beastiary's just what it sounds like. Not beastiality. [The fact that he says that automatically makes his heart twinge a little. Damn it, Scott.] It's a collection of knowledge passed down through the Argent family that we sort of stole. It's originally in Archaic Latin, but Lydia and I have been working on translating it--it's got pictures for everything we haven't done yet, too. It's basically our bible and our textbook all at once.
We don't know who or what's going to show up in Beacon Hills, but...if something does, we'll be ready. And I guess you will be too.
[Closing his hand around his dad's, he pulls back carefully. There's no one else he'd trust with that information. No one. Stiles leans back into his former spot, falling in next to Derek with ease. ]
The more up you are on things, the more you can help people that aren't involved--the more you can help us. Me.
[With a heavy sigh, Jona raises his brows for just a moment- of course Melissa knew. Of course she did, and knew how her baby died, and hadn't told anyone. He was going to have to thank Derek later- he knew about the steady stream of runaways that kept Melissa company.
Not only that, he knew now why they were runaways.
Isaac Lahey with his father's death and abuse, Erica Reyes and her epilepsy, and Vernon Boyd, described as lonely by his mother.
Of course they had run. On one hand, it seemed like a better life- on the other, however, it seemed like it was much more dangerous.]
I know what a beastiery is, Stiles, I was a teenager once- and when I was a teenager werewolves were limited to Dungeons and Dragons.
[He looks almost annoyed- but this is a lot to take in and to manage, after all.]
What can I do to help those kids? All four of you need a steady shelter. Somewhere you can go without... being in the danger Scott was.
[ A surprised yet amused snort manages to escape Derek at the Dungeons and Dragons comment, and his shoulders twitch a little in a silent laugh at the image of Sheriff Stilinski playing Dungeons and Dragons, taking down werewolves on an ironic level. It's a little hysterical, but he doesn't comment on it and instead moves on away from that thought, and onto the pack circling through houses. ]
We have a few locations that we utilize, but two of them aren't... exactly up to standards, currently. [ He doesn't need to tell Jona which they are, not when he can easily picture the burnt shell of his home for one of them. He doesn't expand on the addition of currently, keeping his secret of rebuilding the Hale house to himself and only himself for the time being. ]
Melissa has at least one of us around the house most days, if we can help it. Occasionally, we'll meet at Jackson's or Lydia's, but we don't actively stay there like we do anywhere else.
[ There's a beat, as if considering the full information. ]
[Oh thanks, Derek. Way to out him on that. He shoots Derek a look, then rolls his head to his dad again, not even getting the chance to properly enjoy that Dungeons and Dragons thing. He knew his dad was a nerd, he just didn't know the full extent of it.
Heh.
Anyway, he lifts up a hand at his dad, already feeling his Judging Stilinski Eyebrows(TM) from across the room where he's standing.]
Yeah, well, he goes through the window.
[...He's really not helping his own fate here.]
Look, we needed somewhere that didn't smell like actual death to spend time, and it was kind of a spur of the moment idea, and sometimes I even had a girl over, dad. Granted, it was because she needed someone to watch Grey's Anatomy with, but she totally sleeps in my bed on Mondays now when you have your late shift. And then Isaac came over here all the time because he was really close with Scott, and Boyd plays Xbox with me, and then Mister Ooh, I'm The Alpha comes over and invades my space like twenty four seven. Not--like that, that's a new development, and IIII'm just gonna stop talking about this now.
[ Slowly, Derek turns a flat stare towards Stiles as he begins rambling-- as if what he's talking about will make this sound any better. But he can't help the quiet huff of a laugh at what the sheriff says, and slowly turns his attention back to him. There's more than can be done, but they need to slowly work him into everything. They don't want him to drown in information, not with how much it is to take. ]
That's fine, sheriff. If there's anything in particular you want to know, you can ask, instead of having to read through it.
[ There's a slight tilt to his head, irises finally bleeding from red back into the sugar glass green stare he typically presents to everyone as he considers their options.
With a lack of staffing in the station, it's best to offer the idea. ]
We patrol a lot of Beacon Hills routinely. [ Mostly he does, honestly. ] It's off the books, but if you need backup or another pair of eyes, we'll be there. Even when you get the replacements you need.
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no subject
Up until he starts talking about Kate Argent, and everything in his body tenses, save for where he's holding onto Stiles. His fingers twitch, but the feeling of warmth and lightly calloused skin from lacrosse has him stopping before he tightens his grip and inadvertently hurts Stiles. Still, his jaw works a little, just short of grinding his teeth, and the line of his shoulders is tight, unmoving.
It's the only posture present, now, and the look in his eyes is barely restrained pain and hate. Even now.
But he exhales through his nose, closing his eyes a moment. Stiles has the right idea, but he feels like he needs to filter it a little more concisely. ]
Starting from the beginning. The supernatural exists, primarily werewolves-- a family of them, my pack, has been living in Beacon Hills for decades. Humans and werewolves used to make up the pack, both born wolves and bitten-- turned-- ones. But the fire was... [ His lips curl a little, still blunt teeth bared briefly as a very animalistic growl comes from his throat. It tinges the edges of his words, as he speaks again. ]
A hunter, going against their codes-- don't kill innocent wolves, children, or humans-- set the fire to kill everyone inside. [ He doesn't need to remind the sheriff of the child-sized body bags that had been brought out of the house. ] You know who the only survivors were, and what happened to Peter Hale.
no subject
Leaning against Stiles's desk, the sheriff rubs his chin, looking contemplative.]
Then the murders weren't Kate Argent. They were Peter. And you-- [He points to Derek..
but then around to Stiles.]
And Scott. You were the ones to kill Peter. He wasn't missing from the clinic at all.
[That was why they'd never had the answers. It was because the answers were beyond reason and possibility- beyond what anyone in Beacon Hills would want to believe.
The reason he'd had to oversee babies taken out in body bags covered in ash. The reason he'd had to tell a young boy and his sister that their family, their entire family, was dead.
It had all been because one young woman had been so hateful- and had landed Scott and his own son in so much danger.
For a few moments, the sheriff doesn't speak. His gaze doesn't leave the ground when he does begin to speak, however.]
...And Peter... changed Scott. The lacrosse practice, the grades dropping... That was all because of this.
no subject
He can feel Derek tense up under his hand--although, he wouldn't even have to be near him to know it was coming. Derek was burdened with so much guilt about the Kate thing it hurt to look at him sometimes. The pressure he gives is just a little more than before, sweeping his thumb gently across the arc to his index finger; he's right here.]
Yeah. Exactly. Peter's...a whole other frickin' story. But when he died, the dynamic of the Hale pack shifted, so Derek here became the alpha. Thus the red eyes.
[He exhales again.]
Every time something happened and Scott and I were there, it was because we needed to be, like at the club. It wasn't because we were just being dumbasses--our friend got attacked, and we were there to try and catch the thing that attacked him.
...I was with Scott from day one on all of this wolf stuff. On-- oh, crap. It's--I'm not a werewolf. Promise. [He can already guess his dad's reaction to that, and he gives a small gesture towards his eyes, still whiskey brown and as human as can possibly be.] I'm as human as human can be.
[For now.]
no subject
[Sighing heavily, Jona rubs his temples.]
Does this have anything to do with how some kid was able to take out some of my finest officers? Or with how Jackson died on the fields and then walks around not even a week later?
[He sounds exhausted, but there's something else there, too. The concern is heavy in his voice.]
And what killed Scott? Is there something I should be, I don't know, finding some shaman to track down?
no subject
Once he's calmed, he sighs heavily and opens his eyes again, the red still lingering in them. It's hard to get the color to fade, when they're all so focused on the topics at hand. The pain of the fire burns fresh under his skin, but he tries not to linger on it as they shift forward and towards the most recent events. ]
Peter's mind slowly healed itself while he was at the clinic, but it healed wrong. He went crazy, and called Laura-- the Alpha, after the fire-- back to Beacon Hills so he could take her position by killing her. Afterwards, he killed everyone that helped put the fire together and bit Scott.
[ And the rest, the sheriff has already figured out. They killed Peter-- nevermind the fact that he came back, again-- and now, they're onto the kanima issue. ]
I bit Jackson. [ The guilt is obvious here, too, but it's quiet regret in the face of everything turning out right, with time. ] But the bite didn't take, and he became a kanima. They're similar to werewolves-- sort of a mutation of the werewolf-- but where a wolf has a pack, a kanima has a master that uses it to enact revenge on those that have wronged them. Matt was Jackson's master, until Gerard Argent killed him.
[ With the questions regarding Scott, he falls silent, and slowly looks at Stiles. ]
no subject
[It's just a little aside though; surely, his dad fixes him with a stare and he rolls his eyes, letting the conversation continue. He continues to stroke Derek's palm idly, absurdly in touch with the guy's emotions. Seriously, he could tell when Derek was hungry, let alone buried under the avalanche of his own guilt and sorrow. He doesn't know about the anchor thing, not yet, but the touch is just as comforting to him as it is to Derek.
While they're talking about the kanima, Stiles is silent, trying to formulate the words for what happened to Scott. The wound is fresh--it's going to hurt him forever, probably, but right now, even mentioning his name makes his stomach twist unpleasantly and panic creep at the edge of his lungs. He takes in a long breath before he speaks again, his voice surprisingly level, but unable to look away from the floor.]
...after we dealt with the kanima, a pack made up entirely of alphas came to Beacon Hills with the idea of taking it over--this place has been Hale territory for so long that when it was taken over by a new alpha, they thought it'd be easy pickings. So they came with the express intent to kill or convert all the wolves in town. Erica and Boyd--when we came to grab them from the pack--they'd been captured when they refused--it was a trap.
They were waiting for us. I could have died, too, if it wasn't for Scott. He was seriously--a hero, the bravest guy in the whole world. He went in there to save Erica and Boyd, and...[Now, his voice hitches. There's a part of him that whispers should have died, should have died in the back of his head, but he pushes it aside, finally lifting his gaze towards his dad.]
And they tore him to shreds.
no subject
Stiles. I've told you before.
[He looks almost pained, trying so hard to communicate through his eyes how important his son is. How much he loves him.]
It wasn't your fault. You deserve to be here just as much as he does. That's why- that's why Scott was a hero. Because you deserve to live.
[Breaking the stare so he can swallow the lump in his throat, Jona's hands slip down to Stiles's shoulders and give them a squeeze.]
...And that's why I need to keep you safe.
no subject
And the moment that he starts to talk about Scott, about what happened, he can't help but briefly shift closer to him. Every part of him-- every wolf instinct ingrained into him since birth, never separate from him like it was with the bitten-- wants to just pull him in and curl around him, press his face against Stiles and keep him safe and away from that pain and guilt that he feels.
Instead, he squeezes Stiles' hand one last time before slipping his fingers from his, shifting sideways on the bed the moment that Jona comes closer and removing himself from the moment in total silence. ]
no subject
Every time he thinks he's okay, something comes around and hits him in the face, from a t-shirt long forgotten in the back of his closet to hearing his dad remind him that he deserved to live. It hushed the voices of self doubt in the back of his mind, like it'd been doing since he was about six years old, and his fingers clutch in the back of Jona's jacket as he takes a shuddery breath.]
He deserved to live too.
[It's a long time before he pulls away again, tearing his vision up to the ceiling to firmly force back the shake of his voice, the tears in his eyes threatening to break free. There are more important things to be discussing right now. Distracting things. Things that aren't the crushing ache of Scott not being at his side, making faces and laughing at his jokes.
His hands fall to his sides on the bed again, open palmed.]
...that's why I can't just--butt out. I have to be involved.
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The boy looks like his mother, bring me back my son.
It almost feels as though his son was gone from him for so long- the boy he'd known to at least try had become so distant, and all along it had been to protect Jona. To keep him safe, when Stiles was Jona's son. His boy to protect. Now his son was home, a bit of a warrior in his own right, when it had been Jona's position to be his knight. His father.
Dragging his thumbs over Stiles's cheeks, Jona fights the tears in his own eyes and swallows. His son shouldn't have to do this- shouldn't have had to see his best friend killed.
Shouldn't have to make adult decisions at 16.
God, Selena, he's so sorry. He wishes he could have done more- and from now on, he will.]
Whatever you think is best, Stiles. I trust you.
On one condition. You can't keep lying to me. You can't keep leaving me out of your life like this, Stiles. You're my son. Your job isn't to protect me. Mine is to protect you.
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Stiles still isn't the only one who feels the weight of guilt on his shoulders like a mantel. It's just another tier stacked on the alpha's, weighing heavy as he wishes he could've done something to protect a member of his pack, grudging or otherwise.
He takes in a deep breath, trying not to focus on that tangible weight and instead on the condition that Jona presents. Because he can't leave his attention on it or Stiles, not when he wants to reach out to him even more with the scent of unshed tears between the two of them. It clenches something painful in his chest, twists it painfully even as he speaks. Gravely serious, yet leveled and calm. ]
You've been pack even without the knowledge of it, sheriff. You deserved to know all of this sooner, but that didn't change that you're one of us. You're under our protection. Both of you are. [ His jaw tightens, brow furrowing. ] As long as I'm alive, nothing is going to happen to Stiles.
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Looking from Derek to his dad and back again, he lifts his hand up to wipe at his eye, unable to stop the sort of ridiculously emotional smile on his face--upset, proud, happy, all at once. For a minute he doesn't manage a reply, and when he does, it's short and succinct enough to do the job.]
Yes sir.
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...You will always be my son, Stiles. I'll do what I can for you, and for your friends.
[And for a moment, Jona looks over to Derek, guilt plastered over his face.]
And I'm sorry that I couldn't do much for you, son. There was so much you and your sister.... didn't deserve.
[Derek taken care of his son, and all he could offer were minimal leads. He couldn't bring anyone to justice for Derek- couldn't provide any comfort or protect what little remained of his shattered family. Couldn't be a father figure to a young man who'd lost his father far too early.
But he could be the best father he could for Stiles for now, even if most days he still wasn't sure he knew what he was doing.
He could offer help to Derek and his pack, and he could trust his son.
Burying his nose into Stiles's shoulder, Jona grows quiet for a moment longer.]
Whatever you decide to do, son.
[He would keep Stiles safe. He would protect his family.
For Selena, for Scott and his mother, and for Stiles.]
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But it never makes it easier, especially not with the knowledge that he was the one to cause the fire, when he let Kate Argent into his life. Let her scent permeate the territory so that no one questioned when she arrived one day with fire in her heart, in her eyes, in her hands. ]
No, we didn't. [ His voice is tight, emotion constricted, but it never washes over him. His eyes, bright and red and focused, remain dried.
He breathes in, holds it, before speaking again. ] So now, it's my job to make sure the same thing doesn't happen to someone else.
[ And for a brief moment, his gaze flicks over to Stiles, before back to his father.
Nothing will ever happen to the Stilinskis again, so long as he's alpha of Beacon Hills. And this is one promise he's hellbent to keep; his past and the future threats looming over his territory be damned. ]
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It was barely a wisp of a memory, something he'd filed away for ages, and it hadn't come up again until the day he and Scott had come across Derek for the first time.
His dad's last statement does nothing but steel his courage. At the back of his mind, his decision finally takes hold, plants firmly in his mind and steeling itself with that Stilinski determination that he and his dad are so famous for.
He's going to take the bite.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he catches his dad's eyes as he pulls away, his expression a little vulnerable, but mostly determined. It's a notable change in his demeanor--if someone's paying attention.]
...thanks, dad. I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner.
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[He knows his son, though- at least now, he feels like he knows his son again. Getting to his feet, he rubs Stiles's hair and looks at Derek.]
...What exactly is going to be involved?
[The question was more than just that, and it spoke in his eyes; what did Jona need to do for his son? What happened to Scott? What was going to happen from now on?
...And then, another question comes to mind.]
...Does Melissa know?
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He doesn't need to look to Stiles again, to know that there's a sudden change in his determination. But he doesn't bring it forward, simply pushes it aside for when it's the two of them again, and buries away the thoughts lingering in his mind about the first time he'd really spoken with Jona Stilinski. Instead, his body seems to shift of its own accord back into the spot he'd vacated, eyes still on the sheriff as he moves. ]
Melissa's known since the incident in the police station.
[ There's a need to answer this question first, to reassure Jona that their pack mother's been in the know for a while now. That she's had the support of the pack since her son's death. (Not that he needed to know about the wolves to know that, though. There's been at least one person coming and going at near constant from the McCall house since Scott died.) ]
As for what's going to be involved-- [ His attention shifts to Stiles, gently nudging him with his shoulder-- it's then that he realizes that he's moved, and he'll assess that later-- before tipping his head towards his father. ] --we should give him the bestiary, for starters.
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This is the one that has his and Lydia's translations on it. It's their baby, five months worth of lessons, musty old archaic Latin textbooks, immeasurable late nights. For every page he translated, Lydia translated five more, and they came together eventually, until they were working on getting the whole thing finished.]
So, yeah. The Beastiary's just what it sounds like. Not beastiality. [The fact that he says that automatically makes his heart twinge a little. Damn it, Scott.] It's a collection of knowledge passed down through the Argent family that we sort of stole. It's originally in Archaic Latin, but Lydia and I have been working on translating it--it's got pictures for everything we haven't done yet, too. It's basically our bible and our textbook all at once.
We don't know who or what's going to show up in Beacon Hills, but...if something does, we'll be ready. And I guess you will be too.
[Closing his hand around his dad's, he pulls back carefully. There's no one else he'd trust with that information. No one. Stiles leans back into his former spot, falling in next to Derek with ease. ]
The more up you are on things, the more you can help people that aren't involved--the more you can help us. Me.
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Not only that, he knew now why they were runaways.
Isaac Lahey with his father's death and abuse, Erica Reyes and her epilepsy, and Vernon Boyd, described as lonely by his mother.
Of course they had run. On one hand, it seemed like a better life- on the other, however, it seemed like it was much more dangerous.]
I know what a beastiery is, Stiles, I was a teenager once- and when I was a teenager werewolves were limited to Dungeons and Dragons.
[He looks almost annoyed- but this is a lot to take in and to manage, after all.]
What can I do to help those kids? All four of you need a steady shelter. Somewhere you can go without... being in the danger Scott was.
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We have a few locations that we utilize, but two of them aren't... exactly up to standards, currently. [ He doesn't need to tell Jona which they are, not when he can easily picture the burnt shell of his home for one of them. He doesn't expand on the addition of currently, keeping his secret of rebuilding the Hale house to himself and only himself for the time being. ]
Melissa has at least one of us around the house most days, if we can help it. Occasionally, we'll meet at Jackson's or Lydia's, but we don't actively stay there like we do anywhere else.
[ There's a beat, as if considering the full information. ]
Stiles has a lot of us over when you're working.
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Heh.
Anyway, he lifts up a hand at his dad, already feeling his Judging Stilinski Eyebrows(TM) from across the room where he's standing.]
Yeah, well, he goes through the window.
[...He's really not helping his own fate here.]
Look, we needed somewhere that didn't smell like actual death to spend time, and it was kind of a spur of the moment idea, and sometimes I even had a girl over, dad. Granted, it was because she needed someone to watch Grey's Anatomy with, but she totally sleeps in my bed on Mondays now when you have your late shift. And then Isaac came over here all the time because he was really close with Scott, and Boyd plays Xbox with me, and then Mister Ooh, I'm The Alpha comes over and invades my space like twenty four seven. Not--like that, that's a new development, and IIII'm just gonna stop talking about this now.
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[Sighing, he pats his son's shoulder and gives it a squeeze.]
...If that's... all you need, I'll take a look at that when I can. And we can set up the couch sometimes.
[It's a lot to take in, but he's trying. He has to be here for his son, after all- and besides, it explains the deaths of his deputies.
As if he was really going to take a 16-year-old with one hand gun as a real explanation to why his hallways were stained with blood.
He rubs his temples before looking at Stiles, frowning.]
I can't guarantee I can look through that beastiery too quickly. We still haven't gotten much back in the way of replacements at the station.
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That's fine, sheriff. If there's anything in particular you want to know, you can ask, instead of having to read through it.
[ There's a slight tilt to his head, irises finally bleeding from red back into the sugar glass green stare he typically presents to everyone as he considers their options.
With a lack of staffing in the station, it's best to offer the idea. ]
We patrol a lot of Beacon Hills routinely. [ Mostly he does, honestly. ] It's off the books, but if you need backup or another pair of eyes, we'll be there. Even when you get the replacements you need.