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When the doorbell rings, Stiles yells, "I'll get it!" even though he's got two hands full of hot casserole coming out of the oven.
John just says, "Stay put," and goes to answer the door himself, ignoring Stiles's worry.
If he's honest, John's not sure what to expect from this dinner either, but he's known Scott since he was in diapers. They'll get through this.
Still, he's not prepared for the way Scott wrinkles his nose when he opens the door, the expression on his face twisting from instinctual offense to embarrassment to stuttering out a hello.
"Nice to see you too, Scott," John says dryly. He nods to the tall girl next to him, who has the air of polite determination that comes with not knowing what she's walking into. John holds out his hand. "Allison, it's good to see you again."
"Thanks for having us over, Sheriff," Allison says.
John gestures them in, and since they're here as much to see him as to see Stiles, leads the way into the kitchen.
John returns to making the mandated salad while the kids greet each other. Stiles still has oven mitts on when he hugs both of them. The easy joking between him and Scott is missing, however, and John watches the three of them give each other significant looks. Stiles is here to ground him, so John can easily smell the anxiety in the room. Given how Scott's holding himself, he can too, and it's only making everything worse.
"Scott," John says. "Can you and Allison set the table?"
"Yes! I mean, yeah." With a last meaningful glance at Stiles, Scott jumps to.
While he and Allison are in the other room, John asks, "Everything okay?"
Stiles makes crazy eyes at him. "Yes. And he can hear you, you know."
"Then he should know everything's going to be fine," John says calmly.
In the other room, he can hear the pause in the placement of silverware on the table, and smiles a little. Stiles is still looking at him like he's crazy for a second, but then he's rolling his eyes and smiling, too.
It's not long before everything's ready and they're all sitting down together.
"It smells good, Stiles," Allison offers by way of small talk.
"Thanks. I know Dad doesn't exactly need it anymore, but pretty much everything that I can cook that doesn't come out of a box is vegetables." Stiles's words make both Scott and Allison pause and look at John, who stifles a proud grin that Stiles just went there like it was no big deal. He is the big pink wolf in the room after all.
"You need healthy food, too," says John. "But I can't say I'm complaining about not having to feel guilty about eating steak again."
Stiles's eyes narrow. "We still don't know the long term effects of bad cholesterol on werewolves."
"Then I guess we're going to find out, aren't we." John bares his teeth in a way that he doesn't think about, and it's only when Scott's eyes go wide that he recognizes it as a wolf impulse. "Sorry," he says, smoothing the expression into a smile even as his own heart rate jumps at the realization.
"It's okay," says Scott, shifting slightly in his seat like he wants to jump to Stiles's defense.
John barrels through, however, because he should have better control than that in his own home. "I'm sorry. I'm still getting used to all this and sometimes I do things without realizing."
"It's okay," Scott says again, this time with a reassuring smile. "It's gonna happen."
"Yeah, you should have seen Scott the first few weeks after he got bit. Total monster," says Stiles, but it's affectionate and he barely takes a breath before launching into the story of Scott's "baby werewolf days" like a proud parent.
"I don't want to know how much you're leaving out, do I?" John interrupts when Stiles is describing how Scott totally owned lacrosse practice once he wasn't huffing and puffing every ten seconds.
"Uh . . . No?"
God save him from teenagers. John stares Stiles down, but of course that only makes Stiles change the subject.
"Dad made Derek start werewolf school yesterday. Without telling me."
"Werewolf school?" Allison asks while Scott looks uncertain again.
"Yeah, it was totally werewolf kindergarden. They played tag and chased rabbits and then ordered pizza afterward."
"We didn't chase rabbits," John corrects him.
"Ha! But you played tag!"
John rolls his eyes. "They were helping me stretch my senses and focus."
"They were rolling around in the dirt," Stiles says.
"You just wish you'd been there, too," Allison says, grinning at him.
"They did experiments without telling me! But I'm going next week and I have plans. Yes, I do."
"Like what?" Allison asks, but Stiles refuses to tell, not with John there. Apparently it's all supposed to be a surprise. The two of them bicker about it, and somehow the conversation shifts to Lydia Martin and something she came up with in their physics lab.
John follows it for a little bit, fascinated by the change in how Stiles talks about her. Where once it was all adulation about her hair and the fact that she didn't know Stiles existed but he "had a plan, for the long haul," now Stiles talks about her like he's had an actual conversation with her. And even though he's still smitten, now it's obvious it's for what she does and says, not her looks.
He turns to Scott to ask if there's anything more going on there, but stops when he finally notices that Scott's not paying much attention to the conversation either. His plate is empty and he's fiddling with his fork in one hand, preoccupied, and avoiding looking at John.
"Everything all right, Scott?"
"Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't it be?" Scott says too quickly.
John wonders briefly if Scott will ever be able to lie convincingly. "Come on. Help me get dessert."
He stands and waits for Scott to stand too before going back to the kitchen. Stiles and Allison watch them go but otherwise don't say anything.
There isn't actually anything prepared for dessert, but with his new sense of smell John knows where Stiles stashed the Oreos. He tells Scott to grab a plate and goes to dig them out of the pantry.
"I know you're not happy about what happened to me," John says. He opens up the package and pulls out the cookies. "And I know you really don't like that I joined Derek's pack."
"You could have asked me for help," Scott blurts out, and when he looks up, he's got his jaw set and his brows drawn down.
"I know," John says. "But I needed help straight away, and Derek offered. But just because I'm working with him on the weekends doesn't mean I don't need all the help I can get. I'll be honest, coping with all this has been hard."
"I'll help you however I can," Scott says, all earnest promise. "I can come over every day if you want. But you should stay away from Derek."
"I can handle Derek." John figures that for all their sakes he has to, but Scott doesn't like that answer.
"You don't even know him," he protests. "You arrested him! He's killed people."
John's thoughts go to the alpha werewolf that turned him, someone who was as much a man as wolf. He thinks of Kate Argent, and Stiles's garbled explanation of the resurrection of Peter Hale.
"I know," he tells Scott, seriously. John doesn't know how to even approach supernatural violence. How does human law apply when nightmares are involved? What does he do when he knows Derek and the teenagers around him -- Scott and Stiles -- are involved up to their eyeballs in violent crimes that at the same time are outside of any normal boundary? It's a moral quandary that John will have to confront soon, but with no evidence admissible in any court he knows, he doesn't know where to start.
"And you joined his pack?" Scott is incredulous, and worse, looking at John like he betrayed him.
"Scott, I'm not choosing him over you. If I'm in his pack, I know what's going on." John knows his reasons are more complicated than that, influenced probably more than they should be, no doubt, by the memory of the skinny, shellshocked teenager who stared dead-eyed at the burned shell of his family home.
"You don't know!" Scott pushes away from the counter, his voice rising.
John doesn't think Scott's ever yelled at him before, and it surprises him. He can feel himself bristling in reaction to Scott's anger, his fangs pushing against his gums. John, hands braced against he counter, has to inhale hard to breathe in the scent of his home and Stiles to ground himself. The thought of wanting to hurt Scott makes his stomach turn over, but the sound that wants to break free isn't anything nice. In the other room, Stiles and Allison have stopped talking.
"It's Derek's fault you're a werewolf!"
John feels his control slip, enough to feel his strength ripple through him and his fingers shift to claws that put marks in the countertop. Scott's eyes widen slightly, but he holds his ground and his scowl.
John closes his eyes and inhales again. Stiles is in the other room. Stiles will run in here and give him a hug any second, and John doesn't need that to happen. He's in control of himself. He has Stiles, he's home, and Derek and the pack are safe as far as he knows. He inhales once more and lets himself take in the new information. His control feels tenuous, but it's there.
He looks hard at Scott, who's expression has softened, willing John to believe him. It's the look he's seen on desperate people in the interrogation room, and John's known Scott long enough to see the worry and care underneath.
The night he was turned is a messy memory. John remembers taking the call about the abandoned car at the trailhead into the Preserve late in the afternoon. He'd gone to check it out, not planning to go far into the woods without a proper search party. He remembers looking in through the car windows, and then -- he woke up after dark, thirsty and with an ache in his side and a killer headache.
He glances to the side where Stiles and Allison are standing in the kitchen doorway. Allison looks worried but not surprised, and Stiles's eyes are darting between him and Scott before finally landing on John. Somewhere in all the explanations, the story of the rogue alpha that had come after John has been glossed over. Stiles doesn't immediately start talking, either to contradict Scott or fill in the gaps, which means there's some truth to it.
"Derek didn't bite me," John says because it's a fact he knows, but it comes out as half a question to Stiles. The weird sensation in his chest is the sudden, certain knowledge that he doesn't want it to be true.
"No," Stiles shakes his head, the question spurring him into motion.
"He tried to kill Schwartz, which is why they alpha came back!" says Scott.
"The guy attacked Erica!" Stiles shouts back.
"So he says!"
"She told me!"
"Boys, boys!" John holds up his hands to try to get them to calm down. If they don't shut up, he really is going to lose it and he doesn't want to do more damage to his kitchen than he has already.
Thankfully, he still has enough bark in his voice that they quiet, but resentfully, and trading the kind of angry, hurt glares John hasn't seen on them since they were nine and every little thing meant the end of the world. Scott scowls, arms held disturbingly loose at his sides, while Stiles's arms are wrapped up tight around himself, lips pressed thin.
He's never seen Stiles mad at Scott like this before, not without the undercurrent of fond exasperation that cemented their friendship even through the tough times.
John takes a breath and pulls himself together. He checks his emotions -- and his control -- because this doesn't feel like it's entirely about him anymore. The night he was turned he found out that Stiles and Scott haven't been on the best terms for the past few months. Stiles claimed it was because Scott was spending so much time with Allison, but John's getting the feeling that more is to it than that, and he lets his cop instincts take over.
"Table." He points back to the dinning room. The kids all blink at him but obey. John grabs the milk out of the fridge and follows with the plate of cookies. You can't have Oreos without milk.
He gets them all seated and starts the milk around. Stiles rolls his eyes at him, but John insists. It's only after they've all taken a cookie that John says, "Okay. You all need to explain to me what happened. Allison, why don't you start?"
Allison has an Oreo half in her mouth and looks surprised he's talking to her, but John figures her account is as objective as he's going to get. When both Scott and Stiles try to jump in, John gives them both hushing looks.
"Well," Allison swallows and clears her throat. "I guess the first we heard of the new pack was from Isaac who said Derek thought someone was hanging around and we should keep a lookout. After the alpha pack came through last fall, we've been trying to be better about talking about these things. There were three of them -"
"Four," Stiles corrects. "The last one showed up later."
"Well, it was just three of them at the beginning," Allison shrugs off her discomfort, and when she resumes she speaks straight to John. "Scott and I ran into Schwartz, one of the betas after school. He wanted to talk to Scott, said they'd run into trouble in Oregon with hunters, and his alpha wanted Scott to talk to Derek for them about laying low for a while. Derek didn't want them to stick around. We thought we could at least help them find a new place to settle, but Derek didn't want to help them at all. Stiles and I looked into it and that's when we met Kyle, the other beta, who went to the library with us a couple times --"
"Derek didn't like that either," Scott mutters.
"He told Stiles that we shouldn't hang out with them," Allison explains. "But we did anyway, of course, because we were trying to help. And we did find a few places that might work for them -- they needed town where they could find jobs, too.
"But then, apparently Derek had a fight with their alpha, and Kyle stopped coming to the library. Derek never said what happened, and Isaac didn't know either. So when Scott ran into Schwartz again he asked. He said it was Derek kicking them out of town for no reason and his alpha refusing. Schwartz asked us to talk sense into Derek, like that's a thing that can happen, and the next thing we hear a couple days later is that Derek nearly killed Schwartz and ran the rest of the pack out of town."
Allison glances over at Scott. "We didn't know the alpha would go crazy and come after you," she says quietly.
"If Derek had just helped them, none of this would have happened."
John speaks before Stiles can jump in, waving a hand at him to wait. "Did you talk to Derek for Schwartz?"
"Yes!" Scott says. "But he wouldn't listen! He never listens!"
"That's because you were yelling at him!" Stiles jumps in after all. "I told you we had to make him think it was his idea --"
"That's stupid! He should just listen to me and stop going after everyone --"
"He's going to pretty much do the opposite of whatever you say, always, so --"
"Boys! Quiet! Both of you!" John shouts over the two of them. They subside again, and John takes a breath. If they were at the station, he'd be putting Stiles and Scott in separate interrogation rooms and letting them cool off before questioning them. As it is, John isn't going to be able to get away with that here. "I think everyone's temper is a little hot right now."
"But -"
"Scott," John says over his protest, "thanks for letting me know about the situation."
"But -" This time Stiles tries to butt in.
"Stiles," John turns to his son, "you can fill me in on your side later. And you can both be sure that I'll be bringing this up with Derek. But right now, we're going to finish dinner or dessert or whatever. Am I clear?"
Neither of them are happy with the arrangement, and Allison doesn't look pleased either. John ignores all of them in favor of Oreos. It's a tense ten minutes, and John asks Allison after her father to keep some semblance of civility going.
After Scott and Allison leave and Stiles is cleaning up in the kitchen, John goes over to his liquor cabinet and looks longingly at the two bottles of whiskey he still has there. The night he'd turned, he had to chug a full bottle before he got buzzed. He sighs and closes the cabinet. There must be something that works on werewolves.
Stiles is watching him from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed.
"Why didn't you tell me?" John asks him.
"You were turned into a werewolf," Stiles says, the underlying 'duh' clear.
"That was a week ago! And I asked you to tell me everything about what you've been involved in. Everything. And yet you're still lying to me."
"I wasn't lying! There's a lot to cover!" Stiles replies. "And I'm not sorry that Derek killed Gavin."
The bald statement brings John up short; he never thought he would hear Stiles say that he was glad someone was dead -- not someone he knew in real life. But Stiles is glaring back, unapologetic. John expects his own anger. His life has been turned sideways. But this past week he's been so busy simply trying to cope that he's forgotten about Stiles's anger -- and guilt -- that first night.
John takes a steadying breath. He's been doing a lot of that recently, but he can feel his hands on the verge of shifting, the way his canines poke at his gums. "Gavin is the alpha that turned me?" he asks as calmly as he can.
Stiles's shoulders drop a fraction, and he nods. "He was a real asshole -- I never liked him -- and Schwartz was too, but he liked Scott okay."
"And Erica?" John hasn't forgotten about that comment.
"He was a creepy perv, too. I mean, Erica can take care of herself," Stiles adds hastily, and John wonders if the relative strength between female and male werewolves is like the relative strength between women and men. "But he did it right in front of Derek, who's like a bad temper waiting to happen."
John is still getting to know Derek and has yet to see him pushed to the point where he loses control. After his own trials with control, he doesn't want to see what it looks like on his alpha. What a mess.
"Is this what you and Scott have been fighting about? Derek and this pack?" he asks.
Stiles shrugs uncomfortably. "I guess, lately."
There's more, John can tell, but Stiles doesn't say anymore than that. He and Scott are still spending time together at school, and Stiles wanted John to go to Scott for help and not Derek, so John's not really sure how to interpret all this. It's too much to figure out tonight.
"All right." John sighs and looks at the liquor cabinet again. "Let's clean up."
"That's it?"
John narrows his eyes at his son. "You want to share anything else that you've conveniently forgotten to tell me?"
Stiles remains silent. "I'm sorry we ruined dinner," he says eventually.
It's as much of an apology as John expects he'll get for now, and he hates that they're back here. The lies, the evasions and half-truths -- this past week, John finally felt like he was getting back on even ground with Stiles, finally able to trust him again.
"Scott was right to let me know about what happened to the people that turned me. I'm going to talk to him later to get his side of the story. And Derek's."
Stiles doesn't seem to happy about that, a worried frown creasing his forehead. "Maybe you shouldn't. Talk to Derek about it. I could talk to him first, get him to listen. He won't --"
"I can handle Derek," John says for the second time that night. "Since when do you hang out with him?"
Stiles doesn't move, but his heart rate speeds up. "When Scott needs me to," he says, and John doesn't think it's a lie, but like so many things, he doesn't think it's the whole story either. "They don't get along," Stiles rushes to add, "but we still need Derek and the pack. When Derek isn't being a dumbass, they're the only supernatural help we have when shit gets crazy."
John opens his mouth to ask, then snaps it shut. Stiles has told him enough about the "crazy shit" for him to know that he can't handle any more tonight. He'll pick up sorting all this out tomorrow.
Fuck, he could really use a drink.
"All right." John watches Stiles fidget for a moment then crosses to him and reels him in for a hug, because he doesn't want to leave things angry between them. Stiles hugs him back, tightly, and John inhales to center himself, as he always does nowadays. He feels the growing strength in Stiles's arms as he hugs him back. His kid has grown up so much in the past year -- more than John knew, and he hates that he missed so much of it.
"Stiles, promise me." John says, palming his son's head as if he can keep him safe from the world. "Promise me you'll stop trying to protect me from all this."
"Dad --"
"I'm part of this now, and I need to know -- I have a right to know. So promise me." He lets go and looks Stiles in the eye.
Stiles's eyes are serious and full of things John wishes his son never knew about. "Okay," he says. "I promise, as much as I can."
"Stiles --"
"Some things aren't mine to tell you."
"Okay," says John. That's a bargain he can live with. He takes another breath and nods. "Okay. You want some help with the dishes?"
"I cooked," says Stiles, putting another step between them.
"I did too," John says, searching for more comfortable ground. "If you've got it under control --"
"Don't think I forgot about your steak crack," Stiles says. "For that alone you should do all the clean up."
"I wouldn't dream of it," John says dryly. Stiles's mouth twitches, and then there's his smile, still haunted but present. John smiles faintly in return. "I'll clear the table."