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John sets down his pen, and leans back in his Sheriff’s chair, looking up at his office, away from this horrific file. He’s seen worse, but the victim is a teenage boy, a seventeen year old just like Stiles, and John doesn’t know how people are capable of things like that.
His office is fairly standard, it looks well-worn as John has held his post proudly for many years, and many more to come. There’s a picture of him, Claudia and baby Stiles on his desk, and then another photo of Stiles with his arms looped around John’s shoulders, smiling openly and freely, the sun making them squint in the light. They were at the beach and John remembers how the two of them had headed over to a hotel to solve a crime as the local enforcement were busy. How he had felt like Poirot and how he and Stiles worked together, so blissfully happy and intelligent.
John smiles.
It’s late afternoon, Stiles is probably in school, but John sends him a text anyway
You alright?
There’s only a two second wait before:
I’m fine, daddio. U alright?
I’m good. Just checking on you. Put your phone away and focus
But it’s chemistry!
Stiles.
FINE!
John chuckles.
He loves his son. Loves his son so much, he would do anything, absolutely anything to keep him safe. Keep him happy. He had known, when he was younger and just meeting Claudia, that he would love his children. If he had any. He knew he would. But he didn’t know it would be like this. Be so warm and beautiful, and nothing purer than it in the whole world.
And then Peter.
Because with Stiles, comes Peter.
John hadn’t liked it at first.
He knew the Hales, respected them well enough, but Peter Hale had always been more aloof. And his background was shady and John couldn’t always tell, but these things came with the job, and Peter Hale walked around as though he had the blood of an innocent stained on his shadow.
And Stiles was so young. So tiny and delighted.
Peter was twenty-two years older. With experience and life behind him.
‘What if he’s a pervert? A paedophile? I see things like this everyday, Claudia! You’re too trusting, that’s the problem.’
‘Soul mates aren’t like that,’ she said soothingly, resting on the bed ‘they’re about becoming what the other one needs. What’s best for them. He won’t ever hurt Stiles, won’t ever make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. And Peter knows you’re the Sheriff, John. He’s not going to break any laws.’
John glowered.
But Peter had won him over.
Slowly, but steadily.
He revealed to John, that he was a Hale. He was loyal and brave and could do good.
Watching Peter dote on Stiles, looking so lost and in love. Bringing presents and baking cake and buying chocolate, and coming over whenever he could even if it was only to see the boy. To glimpse him. How he begged to take him shopping, or to the park, or come over for dinner.
At first, John hadn’t been sure how much of it had been an act, but time had proven them to be true.
‘Peter? It’s John.’ John knocked on the door, and it opened. Peter frowned, before his expression became one of utter worry
‘Is Stiles alright?’
‘He’s fine, Peter.’ John said gently ‘I just came over because I wanted to talk. If that’s alright?’
Peter swallowed thickly, and nodded, gesturing him inside.
John looked around. It was a nice apartment, spacious and light and finely furnished. ‘What is it you actually do for a living, Peter?’ He asked, fixing his belt and leaning against the kitchen counter.
‘Bits and pieces.’ Peter nodded, sliding his hands into his jeans ‘I’m currently running a co-operation business. Terribly boring. Numbers, mostly.’
John nods ‘well Peter, listen-‘ he cuts himself off.
That’s Stiles’ drawing, stuck to the fridge with a magnet. It’s not very good, his seven year old son is atrocious at drawing, but still, it’s there. John looks around again, more carefully this time. There’s a bag beside the door full of Nutella, and chocolates and little lego men, and a teddy bear tucked between the cushions of the couch. There are child safety bars along the balcony and a place for Stiles carved out in everything. In Peter’s heart.
‘Yes?’ Peter prompts him, and John deflates
‘it was just the sleeping arrangements, Peter. I…I thought it was odd that a grown man was sleeping with my son.’
Peter looks away guiltily ‘I-‘
‘But, in hindsight,’ John nods, smiling a little ‘it’s fine. It’s alright, really. I don’t know why I came over in such a storm. I was just…processing.’
Peter looks concerned ‘are you feeling alright?’
‘I’m fine, Peter.’ John says kindly ‘come over for dinner tonight. I’m sure Stiles would love that.’
Peter nods, eyes still a little curious ‘of course.’
That was when he’d started to win John over.
How could he not?
And when…
John sinks, shamefaced and guilty and feels dirty.
When he hit Stiles. His little boy. His most precious thing in the universe, and Peter had slammed him hard against the wall, all ferocious teeth and red eyes, John knew in some distant corner of his mind that Peter Hale was the one for his son.
Goddamn it, they’re so sarcastic together. And they laugh all the time, and fight over television channels and dress sense. They slot together. Where Stiles is all rough edges and sharp points, and Peter is too slick and too straight, they smooth each other out. They’ve grown towards each other, and they’re a perfect fit, and John marvels at the wonder of soul mates.
John shaves carefully, and rolls his eyes
‘Your dad’s awake,’ Peter says softly. It’s funny that they think he can’t hear them in this bathroom. The house is strange and the vibrations carry well. Most of the time, he blocks off the moans with tuneless humming.
‘Mmhm,’ Stiles yawns
Peter clears his throat ‘Stiles, I want to talk about it.’
‘Well I don’t.’
‘Stiles, please. You’re on your way to a good recovery. You’re feeling better, we can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. Please. For me.’
‘Peter,’ Stiles whispers his name like a caress ‘it doesn’t matter, okay? None of it. None of it changed what I thought about you.’
‘The Nogitsune said you didn’t even blink when you found out.’
Stiles sighed ‘because I wasn’t really surprised, Peter. There’s a…I don’t know how to explain it, but I think my dad has it too. When you see people, sometimes…sometimes you can tell the ones with blood on their hands. And you had blood. It was wrong of me to snoop, I know that, you hadn’t told me, and I should have respected that.’
‘How did you even find the files?’ Asks Peter softly, and the Sheriff is frozen now. Listening.
‘Hacked my dad’s office.’
John frowned. His office didn’t have access to Peter’s record, they were off-shore and locked, he had tried.
‘I had to use an IP re-router to find it. You’re file is off-shore and locked.’
John rolled his eyes fondly.
‘And I read it. You were only tried for standing in the way of justice, there was no way to tie you to the crime. But I read the report. The animal attack, the bite marks, the claw cuts. An eighteen year old boy. You killed him. I read it and…and it didn’t change a thing, Peter. Okay? I still love you, and accept you and you’re everything to me.’
Peter breathes in shakily ‘I’m a monster.’
‘No you’re not,’ Stiles kisses him gently ‘okay? I don’t know why you did it, but I just have to look at you to see you regret it. That you’d never do anything like that again. Never hurt an innocent, I know that.’
Peter whines, and Stiles shushes him
‘It’s okay, Peter. I’m here. I’m here and I love you, and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to protect you. I would sell my soul to the devil himself to keep you safe.’
Peter whines again ‘don’t do that. He already has mine.’
Stiles chuckles fondly, and kisses Peter’s scruff, lulling him back to sleep.
John washes his face, and looks at himself. He waits for a flicker. For something to indicate that he likes Peter less now that his suspicions have been confirmed.
But nothing comes.
Peter confronts him about it later, looking very sorry and very small
‘John, I-‘
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Peter.’
‘I’ll only find out later,’ Peter offers helplessly, and John flicks him on the back of the head
‘You’re practically my son-in-law, Peter. I’ll protect you.’
Peter stares, mouth agape, and John smiles.
‘Gah! Sorry! Who put that table there? This re-arranging will be the death of me! I bet it was you, Finner!’
John smiles despite himself, and stands, opening his office door to see Stiles flailing a little, purple hoodie clean and for once not specked with mud.
‘Hey Stiles,’ Parrish smiles, waving his file ‘you doin’ alright?’
‘Pretty good, Jay,’ Stiles nods, rocking on his heels ‘looking for my dad. He in his office?’
‘Yeah, he is. How’s Peter?’
‘Peter’s good.’
‘And school? School going well?’
‘Chemistry sucks, but each to their own.’ Stiles bobs his head, stepping backwards, he looks uncomfortable, and John is suddenly incredibly angry at Parrish. Stiles is Peter’s. No one else will ever be as good to him as Peter is.
‘Stiles, come on in,’ he calls, and Stiles bounds to him happily, hugging him tight.
‘Hey daddio,’ he says, plonking himself down in the Sheriff’s chair and looking over the case file. John snatches the papers away, closing them and shaking his head
‘Nope. Confidential. Police only.’
‘I’ll only read ‘em later,’ Stiles chimed in a sing-song voice and John threw the file at his head.