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He’d have never believed five or six years ago that he’d be sitting on the front porch of his home sharing a beer with his Dad.
Yes, his Dad had been part of that final battle or whatever it was that Scott’s little pack were calling it today. But by that point they’d been almost perfect strangers. Too many lies, too much smoke and mirrors, too much death for them to even to be talking to each other beyond Good Morning and Good Night.
It had hurt, loosing his only family even if his Dad had been stood in front of him.
Then college, university and finally the Police Academy had happened. Time, distance, and something in common he supposed, but it had been enough, enough for them to take little steps. A text here, email there and phone call on Christmas and Birthdays, a few words that had started to build a bridge.
A bridge that allowed them to learn about each other again, becoming friends the way that strangers would. Learning silly things like which baseball team they followed, which music they liked, the last book they’d read. Silly things that had become more serious as friendships tended too.
Serious things that had led to them talking about Beacon Hills and the things that happened there. Yes, it had been as though they had been sharing secretes, the way that you would with a good friend. But it had let them talk about it. Had strengthened that bridge.
Strengthened it enough that when he was folded into the FBI’s supernatural version of BAU several years before he even suspected he would be, he couldn’t wait to share the news with his friend in the know.
And when the FBI decided that Beacon Hills was enough of a hell mouth to need its own team, a team that he would be leading he and his friend went house hunting ending up with the old place that backed on to the preserve.
Not quite on Hale land but almost, enough that he’d made a point of officially petitioning Derek, Peter, and Cora before he brought the house. Not even thinking about talking Scott or his pack about the FBI coming to town,
After all the Sheriff and the Hale’s knew and really that was all that was important.
As far as the Powers that Be in Beacon Hills were concerned, namely the Nemeton and the Land that it sat on Scott’s little pack were only in the territory on sufferance, a reward for helping clean up the Argent mess. Something he needed to have a discussion about with his kind of friend at some point.
So, here he was sitting on the front porch of a house he owned on the edges of the Preserve having a beer with his good friend. He would always love his Dad as his Dad, but this friend was more important to him.
Noah Stilinski might be his Dad, but he was his friend first. And that was what mattered.