A/N: I'm sorry I haven't been uploading any fics lately. This past year and some I've been struggling with both my physical and mental health (I've been struggling with my mental health my whole life and as a result is the proud owner of a pretty hefty bag of labels and diagnosis's).
Unfortunately this spring and summer my physical and mental health took a turn for the worse …I've been so sick that writing (along with everything else in my life) had to be put on hold. My head's not in the game. I'll try to finish some fics I've been working on but they may not be up to my usual standard.
I'm in recovery now but it's a long journey and an everyday uphill battle against my body and my mind. I feel like I'm clad in an iron suit and my mind is like a bowl of porridge wrapped in cotton lost to a thick fog.
You're all beautiful. 3
Quote of the fic:
"If you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid."
- Albert Einstein
OXXXO
John slams the door shut and drags Stiles into the kitchen by his neck like a scuffed puppy and Stiles stumbles along under a continuous stream of "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow"
John spins him around and shoves a warning finger right up in his face, close enough to his son's nose to flip it "I've had it, Stiles!" He growls "I'm tired, do you get that!? I'm tired of listening to your bullshit lies everyday." And it is the awful truth. He's tired of trying to wrap his head around the enigma that is… whatever the hell is going on. "I know you and Scott have gotten yourselves caught up in something." He slams his now clenched fist down on the table and Stiles flinches as the cutlery rattles and threatens to fall off.
"Dad—" he starts
"No!" John hushes him firmly "Not yet. You're gonna talk but not yet, first you're going to listen to me." This has been building up for weeks, months. His kid at too many crime scenes; the school, the Hale husk, the mechanics, the gay bar… it has Johns head spinning. He is far from stupid. He's turned a blind eye to his son's antics more than once, but only one, he keeps watching with the other just to make sure Stiles doesn't do anything too stupid. He knows something's wrong, he sees it in the minute movements, the finger flips, the ticking eyes and tense shoulders. John knows his son is sensitive so he worries. It's too easy to rattle Stiles. He thinks too much, worries too much; does everything in excess. He takes a feather and turns it into a freaking Condor. Stiles would get caught up on a word, a sentence, one action, and spin it out of proportion. Twist and warp its meaning until he'd thought himself right into panics open arms. Out of 99 problems 398 would be completely made up scenarios in his head.
John knows how important it is to be clear and structured when dealing with Stiles; never leaving any openings and never changing anything without preparing him thoroughly first. Stiles hates changes –when he was younger they couldn't even change the bed sheets without informing him at least a day in advance. And if they had said 'lasagne for dinner' but ended up having something else instead they would have a total nuclear meltdown to look forward to.-
The older he got the more stubborn and innovative he became. Leaving Stiles to his own whims and wisps was an invitation to anarchy; even if the results of a majority of his impulses and plans where unintended. John was convinced that underneath the unrefined attitude and biting sarcasm resided a truly good boy. Stiles had always been genuine and honest albeit a little blind to the finer tunes of society, he bull-dozered over social cues and customs without recognising what others saw as self-evident. Sometimes he felt sorry for the kid, Stiles had good intentions but the fallout often resulted in tears on somebody's behalf because he didn't think things through.
He rarely, if ever, did anything out of pure spite. He could get angry, he could act out in the heat of the moment but making plans with malicious intent wasn't Stiles. To be honest John wasn't sure Stiles understood ill intent like that. Other kids do –John would never forget the time in 5th grade when Jackson brought a horn to school just to blow it in Stiles ear to scare him. Stiles had been so freaked out and riled he couldn't to go back to school for the rest of the week- but Stiles was –is- special.
Now John's not sure what's changed. There was the incident at the mechanic's place and Stiles reaction to it. That night he hadn't reacted to it like a wholly innocent victim who simply happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time would, but like someone who knew more than they were saying.
Unfortunately worry and anger go hand in hand and John's not a perfect parent. Maybe he's not as understanding as he could be, perhaps he jumps to exasperation too quickly but he's only trying to do the right thing by Stiles, by the town… "I don't know what's going on in my town but I know you do and I know you're involved. So are Scott and Derek Hale and the Argents and Jackson and Lydia! Damn it, how many people are involved!?"
"Dad—" Stiles tries again, holding out his hands in an attempt at calming his raging father. John doesn't let it affect him, he's on a roll. Stiles needs to hear what he's got to say.
"People are dying, Stiles! Allison's mother is dead."
"That was a suicide! And one for the books at that. Seriously, gutting yourself in your kid's bedroom—"
"I'm sure there's more to it" John dismisses his input just like that, he's not going to let Stiles distract him with his babbling. "And the entire Jackson debacle shows that you and Scott have both gone off you're rockers!"
"Do people still use that phrase?"
John's beginning to think that spitting sentences out at random isn't simply Stiles' inability to focus his mind but a deliberate diversion tactic.
"Stiles! First it was the incident at the School. Mountain Lions, my ass! Then it was Lydia's assault, that story never did make sense. Scott's sudden amazing transformation from wheezy asthmatic to star athlete, which has apparently also given him some aggression problems. You lying through your teeth every time I ask what's wrong, I know you're covering something up for someone, I just don't know what it is… but I know what it looks like."
Stiles opens his mouth like he's about to argue but closes it again. His eyes tick to the left as they do whenever he's trying to come up with a new lie that will fit into the pattern of previous once and that hurts something inside John, like someone blew out the spark of hope in his chest. Does Stiles really trust him so little? "Don't lie to me again!" He all but roars.
"Do you have any idea how much of a powder keg Beacon Hills actually is?" The flat harshness of Stiles' voice takes him by complete surprise. It's so unlike his son. Stiles is a lot of things but levelled isn't usually one of them. Now what John sees in him are tired eyes hard and worn with experience he should be too young to possess; the harsh look of those who have seen too much.
He knows that look all to well. He used to see it in the mirror every day after Claudia was diagnosed and he was trying to figure out how to tell their little boy his mother was going to die. It grips and tugs at his gut because it shouldn't be there. Stiles is only seventeen, too young for that look.
Stiles' eyes spark "This town is about ready to blow at all times. If one thing is handled wrong a war can break out and innocent people will be caught up in that war."
John snorts without amusement "You are an innocent—"
"Innocence is something granted only to those who cannot be held accountable for the outcome of a situation. I am not innocent."
Silence lingers between them for a moment as they both let those words sink in. John's not sure he wants to know what they mean because they're not making any sense so he decides to go with his instinct; his coppers nose. "It sounds to me like you're trying to insinuate a war between rivalling gangs is about to break out in my town. If so is the case then why don't I know about any gangs in Beacon Hills and how are you involved?" The words 'I raised you better then to get involved with gangs' are left unspoken.
For a second Stiles' eye narrow and his fingers twitch nervously. "There's a line you have to cross. Once you cross it you're no longer innocent… don't cross the line, dad." It's all he says and seriously could his kid get anymore cryptic?
Is this for real? "Can you hear yourself right now? You're telling me to not do my job."
"No, I'm telling you to look the other way because you can; dealing with this isn't in your job description. Please dad, trust me—"
"No!" John pulls a chair out from the table and takes a seat motioning for Stiles to do the same, his son chooses to remains standing. "You're gonna tell me the truth right now." He prays there's a reasonable, perfectly legal, explanation but doubts it.
"The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."
There's a flash of the real Stiles in those words; his silly, ridiculously anxious, over analytical kid with the Mach five mind. "Is this a joke to you?" John drills his eyes into Stiles' "Because it's not a joke to me, Stiles."
He's thinking gangs and drug trade. All the telltale signs are there. He's pretty sure Stiles isn't on drugs; his kid is too smart. Same goes for Lydia Martin. However, he's sad to say Scott may be using –and of course Stiles would cover for his best friend- Jackson too –no surprise there; that kid is definitely struggling with identity issues-. The Erica girl, Lahey's kid and the stoic one are also obvious cases. They had transformed seemingly over night from underdogs to high school superstars.
The more pressing question for John is what Stiles' roll is. He's definitely not top rung but he may be some sort of middle man, not a dealer but a handler; someone to keep an eye on the dealer's investment. Someone whose job it is to keep the operation covert. The one the users turn to when they fuck up and need someone to clean up the mess. The one the dealer needs to know the status of the market.
John suck in breath when he realises that means his son probably has been spying on him and his deputies and handed information from the Sheriffs office to the dealer. The betrayal drops and rolls like a boulder in his gut.
"…You think you know. You think you've got a clue; 'Just tell me Stiles so I can fix it'. but you can't. You can't fix this dad, no one can. Because we're just kids in over our heads in something we're too young to be able to handle."
And in those thick, fraught words is a sign of his little boy growing up. Stiles is not an adult, he's not even close but he's getting there. He's growing older gaining insight and experience in life but he's still very much a kid with a kid's reluctance to accept the offer of a helping hand and too young to understand parental protectiveness. An image of toddler Stiles spilling milk into a glass and shouting at his uneasy parents to stop trying to help: "I can do it myself!" suddenly flashes through John's head.
Maybe he should be proud the kid's acting so proactively…
No. He's going with stone-faced, demanding Sheriff. One look is all that's needed.
Stiles sighs "Once we realized we had stepped over the line we thought we could fix it on our own and then go back to our normal lives. But we learned the hard way that if you manage to step over that line, whether you do it voluntarily or if you just accidentally trip over it, like we did, once you're over that line there is no going back. The line is a point of no return."
"…Is it drugs?" John swallows back the huge lump of dread blocking his throat.
Stiles blinks "I hang out with a guy I earlier accused of murder, and his gang, in abandoned lots. I've been caught stealing police property. I've broken in to forbidden areas. I've showed up at almost every single crime-scene in town. I've snuck into the morgue. I've destroyed and manipulated potential evidence. I've have ignored curfews. I come home at odd hours with blood on my clothes. I've had strange people climb in through my bedroom window at all hours of the night. I've been lying and keeping secrets from you and you're aware of all of that and I admit it."
Oh God. It's one thing to know but another altogether to hear the admittance spoken. It's like he's just gone a round in a boxing ring against Mike Tyson and lost; he knew what was coming but the blows delivered to his face, chest and gut still leaves him winded.
'How do you plead?' 'Guilty, Sir.'
"So it is drugs? Oh God… Stiles! Why!?"
"Dad!" Stiles interrupts him "Do you really think I'm stupid enough to operate a drug business right under the Sheriff's nose?" He looks nauseous under the sheen of attitude masking his face. 'Good' John thinks, it means he's still has a conscience, a sense of right and wrong and responsibility for his actions. Unfortunately the kid feeling guilty doesn't change the position his actions has put John in.
"Then tell me what I'm supposed to think, Stiles!" He snaps. He hopes it's just a series of bad decisions at play here. Teenagers do them all the time. Making bad decisions –sometimes with the aid of alcohol and then fearing the consequences- is part of the teen experience. God knows he'd made his fair share of them back in the days but like most kids he'd come out on the other side with a stiffer upper lip, life lessons learned and a few really good stories to tell. "Because it sure as hell looks like it! Or is it something even worse!?"
"Worse? Like what? A murder for hire business? Yeah, that's right dad, we're the Beacon Hills mob. Lead by Don Derek, we secretly run this town. Our enemy is Don Argent. Scott's dating his daughter; they've got a real life Romeo and Juliet thing going on."
"Stiles! This is not a joke! I have to arrest you! Do you understand that!? My son! My only son!"
Stiles takes a deep breath and then says in a much calmer tone, completely void of sarcasm. "Do you know the saying 'When you hear hoofs you think horses not zebras'?"
"Yes" 'What's this crafty kid up to now?'
"Weeeeeeellllll—" he stalls for dramatic effect "…in this case you should be thinking centaurs."
John groans and slouches back further into the chair with a heaviness that makes the wood squeak. "What do you mean?" he half sighs the words out.
Stiles tips his head from side to side, like he's weighting his options against one another. "What we've been up to is not technically illegal—" John eyes light up in a flash of relief "— but not technically legal either."
"What?"
"'There are stranger things between heaven and earth'—"
"Stop being so freaking cryptic! I'm tired of it! It's driving me up the wall! Give me a straight answer for once!" John roars.
"OKAY!" Stiles shouts back unable match his fathers volume without having his voice break and squeal. He takes another calming breath and sits down across form John. "… Dad.., I'm gonna tell you a story and in the beginning it's gonna sound crazy… but the longer you let me talk the more sense it's going to make…"
THE END
A/N: I mean to upload this on 1st Advent but I got caught in a hurricane without computer access ;p
Happy Advent and hope you all have a lovely December.