John's POV

John would be lying if he said he had gotten any sort of restful sleep during that fragile stretch of time between settling down for the night on the creaky motel bed, and the second the sun began to rise in the sky. The same couldn't be said for Derek of course, not that the older man blamed him at all, healing from near death sounded exhausting and John wished the Alpha to have as much rest as possible before they headed out again.

Glancing at the heavily snoring figure sprawled on the other bed John made sure that Derek was sound asleep before pushing himself up off his own battered mattress as quietly as possible. Still dressed in last night's clothes, albeit now considerably more rumpled, the Sheriff slipped on his shoes and picked up his jacket which lay discarded on an ugly vomit green coloured armchair beside the motel door.

Shrugging on his jacket John contemplated leaving the werewolf a note before deciding against it, he only planned on going to the diner across the road and picking up some breakfast and coffee, it wouldn't take too long, and by the sounds of it, Derek would be out for the count for at least a few more hours. Content with his decision John unlocked the door, taking the key with him as he stepped outside of the motel room so he could re-lock the door behind him.

He was really craving some bacon right now.

- time skip -

Guilt had crept up by the time John approached the smiling elderly waitress at the dinner and he found himself reluctantly ordering a broccoli and tomato omelette and a black coffee to go instead of the much-desired bacon. Carrying the tray of coffees and two take-out bags back across to the motel the Sheriff froze a few feet away from their room when the door suddenly splintered outwards with force.

John blinked once, then twice.

And then laughed.

Eyes crinkling and tears threatening to leak out of the corners, John stood laughing heartily as Derek Hale steadily grew redder and redder until even the tips of his ears had turned a bright shade of embarrassed scarlet.

Sometimes John found himself forgetting just how much of a kid Derek was, the Alpha having already perfected the art of radiating a sense of deep maturity from every pore. But now, looking at the werewolf as he stood in the doorway eyes wide and cheeks flushed, John couldn't help but draw comparison to a sheepish child who had been caught doing something they shouldn't.

Clearing his throat a little as the older Stilinski continued to chuckle good-naturedly, Derek rushed to explain his actions "I woke up and you weren't there. I panicked".

Raising a brow the Sheriff continued walking forward an amused tone to his voice as he quipped "I can see that. I'm still not paying for the door though". Brushing past the Alpha John gave himself a mental pat on the back as he spotted the corner of Derek's lips twitching upwards in a telltale show of a smile.

Placing the coffees and the brown paper bags on the small wooden table at the far left corner of the room, directly opposite Derek's bed, John waited for the werewolf to join him before pulling out one of the battered wooden chairs and sitting down.

"Didn't know how you liked your coffee so I picked up some sugar and cream" John plucked out his own cup before pushing the tray towards the werewolf who had taken a seat opposite, earning a slight nod of gratitude. Next, John started unpacking the bags, placing a medium sized polystyrene carton in front of himself with a few napkins and a plastic fork before handing three bigger cartons to Derek.

"Got you three servings of Betty's traditional breakfast cause I remembered Stiles telling me how much you and the Pack can eat after training or healing from a fight" the older explained in response to Derek's look of confusion as he poked his fork through his omelette.

"Thank you"

Humming in acknowledgement of Alpha's sincere words, John quickly occupied himself with cutting his meal into smaller bite-sized pieces, the silence stretching out between two men as they both became consumed with the task of eating. About halfway through his omelette and after taking a long sip of bitter lukewarm coffee the Sheriff started speaking once again, drawing Derek's attention away from the already half-empty second carton of greasy goodness.

"I was thinking we should go back to the lake after breakfast, get a head start on collecting any evidence that might lead us to where Stiles might have gone" his words were steady and controlled, completely conflicting with the way his stomach clenched. Anger and hurt spreading through his veins at the memory of his son staring straight through him, as if he didn't even recognise him, or even worse, didn't care that he was there. The image of two swirling orbs of white and black swallowing up the space where warm familiar honey should be imprinted in his mind like a brand.

Truth was, John was terrified.

Terrified that something had gone wrong and that he'd never again see his wife's eyes reflected back at him from the face of a son he loved so very much.

Stiles' POV

Anxiety and turmoil soothed by the sweet murmurings of the voice, Stiles found his heartbeat slowing back down to its normal pace, exhaustion seeping into his bones like a virus. Slumping back against the sinfully soft cushions the teen found himself unconsciously tilting sideways, tucking his legs upwards and curling into a ball as he whispered into the air.

"I'm so tired"

The voice replied wisely.

Our body is still adjusting, it's not used to the power, we just need a little more time.

Nodding in understanding Stiles yawned widely, his jawbone cracking slightly with the force of it as he struggled to remain awake.

We can sleep now. We're safe here.

Humming lightly in response the teen snuggled deeper into the sofa like a sleepy kitten, his eyes sliding shut as a mumble fell past his lips "okay".

? POV

The teen finally drifted off, consciousness slipping deeper and deeper into the comforting embrace of sleep as their body went lax against the sofa.

Meanwhile, it waited patiently, a minute passed, and then another, and then another until twenty minutes had passed in total. A tedious thing indeed, but they needed to be sure that the Spark was fully asleep before they could take control, even just a flicker of awareness from Stiles would ruin it all.

Finally satisfied that their unknowing vessel would remain asleep they uncurled themselves slowly, black tendrils spreading out towards every muscle, nerve and organ in the body like a fast-acting virus. Inch by inch long forgotten sensations returned to them, and for a split second, they almost slipped up, almost lost their hold all together because of the sheer overwhelming ability to feel again! Feel the fabric pressed against their cheek, the air filling their lungs and the lingering taste of blood on their tongue. Eyes blinking open they grinned triumphantly at the empty room, elated at their success.

It had finally happened, after all those years of waiting around that demon Nicholas, forced to follow in the shadows like some pathetic little creature. Made to wait until the perfect opportunity arose, an opportunity to go back, to live again, to get revenge.

Such a shame the slimy piece of dog shit had to snuff it right before they could inflict any of the payback he so rightly deserved. But then again….. This body they had taken refuge in had the same satanic powers as the Warlock didn't they? ...Perhaps there was still a chance to get the retribution they had so desperately craved for so long. Unfamiliar sounding laughter bubbled out between parted lips and began to fill the air with the echoes of their glee.

Yes.

This would all work out perfectly.