~ Chapter Three ~

Noah had just taken a hefty bite out of his illicit double bacon cheeseburger, the blinds of his office drawn so as to keep out any prying eyes who would report on him to his son, when his cell phone chirped and began ringing insistently. Transferring the burger to a one handed grip rather than the two he had been using to keep the potential mess as contained as possible he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and checked the caller ID, his subconscious helpfully supplying a list of people who could be ignored in favour of his food.

Melissa McCall.

Ah.

He dropped his burger back into its wrapper on top of his desk, swallowing his mouthful of food as he picked up the device, swiping his thumb across the screen to answer the call; Melissa was definitely not one of the people he could ignore no matter how good the food.

"Stilinski."

"Isaac Lahey," Melissa blurted out, her voice shaking more than usual. Noah straightened in his chair, picking up on her worry even as he wondered as to the relevance of the unfamiliar name. "Sorry. That's…our John Doe – Electrical Burns woke up about twenty minutes ago and that's his name. There's no evidence of memory loss; he remembers what happened right up to when he pushed Allison go safety. Dr Geyer questioned him about the broken arm, the one which couldn't be attributed to the accident and…well…you know, set some all bells ringing. Isaac…Isaac claimed that he hurt it when he tripped and fell down the stairs…"

Noah grimaced.

How many times had he interviewed abuse victims and heard that exact explanation?

"And I don't know why but the name Isaac Lahey seems really familiar…"

"Ok, I'll find out what I can about him and get in contact with his next of kin," Noah sighed, rubbing his free hand across his face at the prospect of dealing with a case of suspected child abuse. Anything involving children always made his gut clench painfully. "See why they haven't reported him missing during the last couple of weeks. I'll keep you updated."

"I'll let you know if anything about his condition changes."

"Thanks."

Ending the phone call Noah wrapped the remains of his lunch in its wrapper and dropped it into his rubbish bin, his appetite almost completely gone, and opened up his official laptop.

It took him only a couple of seconds to find 'Isaac Lahey' on the database, printing the file out even as he read through the information on the screen; Isaac Lahey. Sixteen years old. Sophomore at Beacon Hills High School. Father, Edward Lahey, currently employed at Beacon Hills Cemetery, formerly employed as the Swim Coach at Beacon Hills High School. Mother, Elizabeth Lahey neé Ryan, deceased. Brother, Camden Lahey, older, also deceased.

There was a link to his father's file which had several domestic disturbances listed, a couple of them in the months following his wife's death whilst most appeared to have taken place after the sudden death of his older son. Another link informed him that Camden Lahey had been a Marine and had been killed by an IED in Iraq the day before his twenty-first birthday.

Noah could understand the pain of losing the one you love, of being forced to put your spouse into the ground before their time, and he could remember how easy it was to sink into the despair that following, to allow the corrupting, destructive darkness to swoop in…

He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain that came with burying a child.

The difference between himself and Edward Lahey, it seemed, was startlingly simple; whilst

Noah had worked hard to bring himself back from that slippery slope Edward had allowed himself to be sucked further and further into the corrupting, destructive embrace of grief.

Noah had had people looking out for him, forcing him to realise what he was doing before it got too far. He couldn't remember a lot of the weeks following Claudia's funeral, the alcohol he'd been surviving off of affecting his memories, but he could clearly remember the day he'd screamed at his son so much that the then eight year old boy had run across town by himself to Melissa McCall and begged her to help his daddy because he was "possessed."

Melissa had arrived, full of righteous fury, and had poured away every drop of alcohol whilst Noah had been sleeping off that particular bender. She'd then proceeded to wake him up with a bucket of cold water over his head and had given him a stern talking to, describing how her husband had behaved towards her and Scott when he was drunk, how his actions had finally driven her to throw him out and how Noah was beginning to act the same way.

"Think of Stiles," she'd pleaded with him. "Do you want him to be afraid of you? To hate you? Scott can't stand to be in the same room as his father and he barely remembers what happened. Is that the relationship you want with the last piece of Claudia you'll ever have?"

Edward either hadn't had anyone else looking out for him or he had chosen to ignore them.

Nothing could justify abuse of a child, however, which was one of the reasons Noah had always felt so indebted to Melissa; she had stopped him from doing something he would never have been able to forgive himself for. She had stopped him from becoming like…

Shaking his head he banished thoughts of his own childhood, knowing that it wouldn't do any good to remember those awful moments just then, he leant across to collect the pages from the printer and, after quickly checking that they were all there, headed out of his office into the main squad room so as to get the ball rolling on the investigation into the Lahey's.

He scanned the occupants of the room, noting which ones appeared to be busy with cases and which ones were merely working at their desks, either wrapping up a case they had been working on or tackling some of the day to day paperwork which came with the job.

One stood out amongst the rest thanks to recent events.

Jordan Parrish.

Following the slaughter of almost half the department at the hands of the Kanima and Matt Daehler, a night which had haunted his dreams even before Stile had explained what had really happened when he'd briefed him on the supernatural world, he had received only one applicant for to the vacant Deputy positions. Even now they were still understaffed, most people unwilling to join a department with such a poor survival rate for such a small town.

Noah hadn't been the only one to wonder what had brought Deputy Parrish to Beacon Hills.

"Maybe I needed a change," the handsome young man had responded when pressed back when he'd first arrived in town. He'd already proven himself perfectly capable by that point. "I don't really know. I guess I kind of felt drawn here. And I knew there were openings…"

His performance over the coming months, particularly when dealing with the issues caused by the Nogitsune which had been possessing Noah's own son, had impressed the Sheriff so much that he didn't even hesitate to call out for the young Deputy to join him in his office.

"Sir?" Parrish enquired as he obediently stepped into the smaller room, automatically accepting the sheets of paper the Sheriff offered him whilst shutting the door. "What…?"

"We have an identity on the John Doe who saved Allison Argent at the hospital," Noah explained, nodding towards the sheets as he perched on the edge of his desk. "Isaac Lahey. Familiarise yourself with the file and then I want you to head over to his father's and find out why the man hasn't reported his son missing any time in the last two and a half weeks."

Parrish frowned down at the information he held,

"…three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine domestic disturbances within the last four years?"

Noah merely grunted in response, making his displeasure and concern known.

"What a surprise, none of them went to trial because his son…sons…refused to corroborate any of the charges," Parrish muttered to himself as he scanned through the file. He blinked up at the Sheriff, his deep hazel eyes filled with concern. "We're thinking abuse, right?"

"Yes. I'll be working on getting hold of a subpoena for Isaac's medical records while you're interviewing the father," Noah responded, his mind already planning the phone calls he was going to have to make. "Hopefully they'll give us the evidence we need for a warrant…"

"I'll have a word with some of the neighbours as well," Parrish announced without prompting, his voice taking on a hard edge in response to dealing with a case of suspected child abuse. "I imagine some of them were the ones to call in the domestic disturbances."

Noah found himself nodding, agreeing with the Deputy's plan and reasoning.

"Ok, report back to me when you get back."

"Will do, Sheriff."

Watching the young man exit his office, hurrying over to his desk to collect his jacket and car keys, Noah was suddenly struck by the realisation that for the first time in weeks he was working on a case which had nothing to do with the supernatural world. There was no need for him to adapt or fabricate a witness statement in order to keep the supernatural world a secret. There was no chance that the perpetrator was a werewolf or a hunter or a darach.

In any other circumstances it would actually be a refreshing feeling.

It had been a difficult couple of weeks…

Losing his son piece by piece to an evil spirit which had imbedded itself in his mind had been the worst experience of his entire life, right up there with losing his wife to frontotemporal dementia. The Nogitsune, the evil spirit, had been cruel to everyone during its quest for revenge but particularly to Stiles, making him believe that he was suffering from the same disease that had killed his mother and in doing so had broken Noah's heart again and again.

Committing Stiles to Eichen House, even if it had only been for seventy-two hours whilst he himself travelled to LA to speak to specialist about his sons MRI scan, had shattered his soul.

"First seventy-two hours there's no phone calls, no e-mails, no visitors," the tired looking admissions nurse explained as Noah filled out the required paperwork. Stiles, his expression one of pure exhaustion and resignation, said nothing. A harsh buzzer sounded somewhere behind them, prompting Noah to turn and look over his shoulder just in time to witness one of the orderlies pulling open a door reminiscent of the cells at the station, the ones used to lock up criminals. "We will be taking you from here to a brief physical. In the morning you'll be assessed by a staff psychologist, speak to a social worker and attend group therapy."

He hesitated, pen hovering over the dotted line where he needed to sign his name.

"I feel like we're forgetting something…"

"You will be wearing these, Stiles," the nurse continued as though he hadn't spoken, placing a pair of beige slipper on the table. "No laces allowed. You don't have a belt, do you?"

The implication behind that question, that his son could be a suicide risk, left a foul taste in his mouth. He tried to bring the pen down upon the paper but found that he couldn't, his hand trembling too much as he reacted to the situation more visibly than his precious son.

A white plastic tray followed the slippers onto the top of the desk.

"And please empty your pockets in here."

Stile moved to obey, his movements somewhat sluggish due to lack of sleep.

Wait…

Sleep…

"Your pillow," he gasped, his stomach clenching. "Your pillow. We forgot your pillow."

"Dad," Stiles murmured, his voice deceptively even. "It's okay."

No.

It wasn't.

"No, you're never going to be able to fall asleep," Noah protested, dropping the pen entirely as he turned to face his son who was bent over his backpack. "We...we've got to go back."

"Its fine, Dad," Stiles murmured placatingly. "I don't need it."

"I can't believe I forgot it," Noah murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He felt the nurses gaze on him. It was the smallest thing, something every parent had done at least once, but forgetting his son's pillow was the final straw for the already overwrought man. "I mean, every time that we've ever stayed in a hotel, the first thing you pack is your pillow."

"You can bring it tomorrow," Stiles sighed deeply, bringing one of his feet up onto the chair so that he could undo his shoe laces and pull the battered shoe off of his foot. "It's all right."

No.

A door slammed, the metallic sound echoing unpleasantly through his mind.

Stiles sighed, emptying his keys into the tray before tackling his other shoe.

A buzzer sounded, causing him to jump in his seat, and when he looked another cell door was being pushed open by an orderly in the corridor leading off of the room they were in.

The sound of coins dropping into the plastic tray brought his attention back to his son.

He watched as his son's phone, an item that the teenage boy couldn't live without, was placed inside the white plastic tray with no care at all causing the coins and keys to rattle.

No.

It was far from all right.

"Okay, you know what?" he snapped, springing up to his feet. "Stop. Stop. Enough. Stiles, get your stuff. I'm not checking you in here if you're not gonna get one good night's sleep."

"Dad," Stiles interrupted him, getting to his slipper clad feet. Noah flinched minutely as his son placed his hands firmly on his shoulders, taking the role of the comforter in a situation where he should be the one being comforted. "I haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks."

He'd been struck dumb, accepting his son into his arms when the teenager moved in for a hug, winding his arms around the trembling body as sadness coursed through his soul in response to the realisation that once again he had failed his son when he really needed him.

It helped to know that it hadn't been his failure as a parent at the heart of Stiles' problems back then but rather the cruelty of the Nogitsune although, admittedly, not by much. The memory watching his son shuffle awkwardly along the corridor would stay with him forever.

Something thudded outside his office, prompting him to stick his head out of his office to discover what had happened. As it turned out one of the ceiling tiles, which had been cracked and somewhat singed, had finally given up and fallen down, disintegrating on impact with the floor. Thankfully it hadn't struck anyone on the way down like some of the others had and Deputy Marsh was already heading off to find a brush to clean up the mess.

Due to the limited budget they had to hand the station still bore some of the scars from the bombing, the damaged ceiling tile being one of them, although his office had had to be completely rebuilt given that it had been at the epicentre of the blast. He'd tried not to spend too much of the insurance money on it though, knowing that the money would be better used elsewhere in the building, so his replacement office was very stark and empty.

Stiles had admitted to feeling a deep sense of guilt about Kyle Ross, the Deputy who had been killed during the attack which the Nogitsune had been able to plan and execute thanks to his sons memories of the station, to the point where he had sent a bouquet of flowers and an anonymous letter of condolence to Mrs Ross, the Deputies devastated widow.

"Any chance of getting some replacement ceiling tiles any time soon, Sheriff?" Marsh enquired as she swept the debris into the dustpan, glancing around at the missing tiles which were exposing the empty space between the ceiling and the concrete roof. "I know the priority was, you know, working doors and secure walls but that ceilings going to suck all the heat out of this place once winter gets here. Not only that but it looks, well, awful…"

"I know," he responded apologetically, agreeing with every word she said. The station was difficult enough to heat during the colder months at the best of times without having spots for the heat to escape through. "Budget should stretch to it in the next couple of months."

Deputy Marsh nodded in understanding, moving to empty the dustpan into the rubbish bin.

Heading back into his office, shutting the door behind him, he frowned as a piece of paper caught his eye. It was mostly hidden underneath his desk, only a single corner poking out, and so he crouched down to retrieve it, flipping it over to see what had been printed on it.

"Oh…"

It was one of the missing person's reports he'd drafted after his son had gone missing from Eichen House, using one of the pictures of Stiles from the previous summer and stating all of the relevant information just like they always did; height, hair colour, eye colour, what he had last been seen wearing, where he had gone missing from. He had withheld his real name, however, knowing that Stile would never forgive him if he revealed it to the world, not even under such distressing circumstances. He never answered to Mieczyslaw anyway.

Dropping down into his chair he stared at the poster in his hands, remembering how he'd handed them out to the volunteers who had come to help search for his missing son. He now understood how painful it was to beg for peoples help, how it was to feel helpless…

Of course this was before the Nogitsune separated itself from his son whilst he was stuck in a preliminary hearing to determine if he could keep his job, courtesy of Rafe McCall. The evil spirit had taken his sons likeness meaning that there were two Stiles Stilinski's in Beacon Hills, one of whom was a dangerous murderer, and people were actively looking out for him because as far as they were concerned he was a vulnerable missing teen who needed help.

It was a miracle that no one had been hurt whilst trying to do the right thing.

Enough people had been hurt by the actions of the Nogitsune, including Isaac, or had been caught in the crossfire between the vengeful creature and the Oni, supernatural creatures which had been summoned to hunt down the Nogitsune. According to Chris Argent, one of the resident experts on the supernatural world, the Oni were meant to be unstoppable, impervious to all man-made weapons although they now knew that to be a falsehood.

Oni, unlike everything else the town had supposedly faced, were neither good nor evil; they were simply given a task and would let nothing interfere with the completion of said task.

And that task was hunting down the creature possessing Stiles.

Noah held out his handcuffs, the metal clinking softly.

"You want to handcuff me?"

"If my son is still here, if there's still a part of him standing here in front of me, then he'll put these on willingly and he'll come with me," he explained softly, making his way further into the loft. Alone. Stiles, or possibly the Nogitsune, wouldn't meet his emotional gaze, ducking his head down. "Because he knows I'm here to protect him from himself and from others."

Moving slowly Stiles held up first one hand, then the other with his palms facing inwards, and Noah moved forwards to carefully secure the handcuffs around his son's pale wrists.

A moment passed and then, as though something had shifted inside him, Stiles looked up.

Only it wasn't him.

"You're not my son."

Tilting his head to the side the Nogitsune smirked, jerking his wrists apart so forcefully that the handcuffs just seemed to shatter, the pieces flying off in multiple directions. Noah felt sick, unable to look away from the expressionless face, even as he heard the others entering the loft; Derek, Allison and Chris Argent. The Nogitsune shifted, looking around at them all.

Allison fired her taser, just as they'd planned.

What they could never had planner for was the Nogitsune catching the metal probes in his hand and absorbing the electricity without even flinching, his empty gaze locking with hers.

Derek tried next but was quickly overpowered, forcing them to watch in shock as the Nogitsune smashed Derek's head down onto the edge of a desk before literally throwing him across the room into a pillar with enough force to leaving him stunned on the floor.

Shit…

The familiar sound of a gun cocking echoed through the large room, drawing everyone's gaze to where Chris Argent held his gun with both hands, the weapon aimed at Stiles' heart.

No…

"Argent, listen to me," Noah pleaded, holding his hand out towards the other man in a familiar move, one he had used many times when dealing with a suspect. "Don't do this."

"Why not?" Chris responded, meeting the painfully cold gaze of the Nogitsune when the creature focused on him. Derek pulled himself to his feet, gazing fearfully at the scene taking place whilst Allison shifted nervously, obviously unsure about what she should do. "I've done it before. Werewolves, berserkers. I can easily add a Nogitsune to the list."

Noah had drawn his own weapon before he even realised he was doing it, ignoring the way his son's face twisted into an amused expression as he aimed towards the other man's skull.

"You're not going to shoot my son."

"You said it yourself, Sheriff," Chris murmured, his eyes shifting across to meet Noah's tortured gaze although his body remained perfectly still, ready to act. "That's not your son."

"Put it down," Noah ordered, feeling Allison coming up behind him. "Put it down."

"Dad, he's going to shoot me…"

Stiles…

"He's going to kill me, Dad…"

His son…

That was his son…

"Don't listen."

His hands, normally so steady in these kind of situations, were beginning to tremble.

"Put it down. Now!" Noah snapped. "Do it! Put it down!"

Chris returned his attention to the Nogitsune who took as step towards him.

"Pull the trigger," Stiles' voice ordered softly. "Come on."

"Listen to me," Noah found himself begging, unable to cope with the possibility that he might be about to witness his son's murder. "You put the gun down now!"

It descended into something akin to chaos then, their voices overlapping each other.

"Shoot me."

"Put the gun down now!"

"Dad!"

"Shoot me!"

"Put the gun down!"

"Shoot me!"

Stiles…

"Argent, you put it down!"

And then something changed, Allison gasping softly just as the light began to fade,

"Strife…"

Noah was too focused on what he was trying to do to pay her any attention.

"Put it down! Put it down!"

"Stop! Stop it!" the teenage girl eventually screamed, her voice cutting through the panicked fog which had surrounded his brain and drawing his attention over to where she was stood facing the Nogitsune. "This is what he wants. This is exactly what he wants."

Stiles, no, not Stiles…the Nogitsune sighed softly, obviously disappointed.

"Not exactly."

This time when it spoke it was not the voice of his son. Gone was the warmth he had thought he had heard before; now it was cold and somewhat gravelly, deep and dark.

"I was kind of hoping Scott would be here," the Nogitsune admitted, looking around at each of them. "But I'm glad you all have your guns out. Because you're not here to kill me."

The creature paused, turning around to face the wall of windows where four figures appeared out of nowhere, appearing like gusts of black wind and armed with deadly swords.

"You're here to protect me."

Noah shuddered, staring down at the missing poster for a long moment before finally scrunching it up into a ball and dropping it into the rubbish bin at the side of his desk.

He couldn't afford to keep getting lost in the past.

He had too many things he needed to do.

Giving the mouse a wiggle to wake his computer back up Noah set to work on the most important thing he needed to get done just then; getting the subpoena for Isaac Lahey's medical records. Despite being "painfully computer illiterate" according to his son he was well practised in filling out the forms required for this particular task, given that requesting subpoenas and warrants were pretty much a day to day process for anyone working in law enforcement, and in no time at all he was shooting off an email with the forms attached.

After that all he could do was wait.

A/N Well, this chapter took a few unexpected twists and turns…turns out my muse really likes chapters told from the Sheriff's point of view…and I'd actually intended to have our first taste of Mr Lahey in this chapter but that'll just have to wait until next time. Comments & Suggestions welcome. X