BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT
"Someone really hated these guys," Deputy Parrish greeted Sheriff Stilinski as he walked into the station house. The deputy look exhaustingly disheveled – dark bags under his weary eyes, uniform wrinkled with small amounts of blood droplets and dirt on it.
"How many arrested?" John asked. Another officer looking slightly less haggard as Parrish handed John a handful of case files as he and Parrish walked past the desk sergeant. John crudely weighed them by their weight in his hands. He shook his head and whistled low.
"Yeah," Parrish rubbed his weary eyes. "Took at least half the force to control the crowd before getting to the fight."
"Who the hell started it?" He opened the first file and wasn't surprised to see Donnie Brent's mugshot starring up at him. Donnie was a frequent flyer of the Beacon Hills jail; to the point where some of the deputies keep a cell open for him special. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Actually boss," Parrish drawled, opening the doors to the bull-pin.
Lining the walls, handcuffed together, and sitting in plastic chairs, were the participants of the bar fights. There were at least ten badly beaten up, fully grown men groaning in pain and clutching their injuries. Towards the middle of the seated conga-line of misery was Donnie Brent. He had a bloody towel stuffed under his nose, held up by resting his head on his shoulder.
"They were all on the receiving end of the fight." Parrish finished. He turned the corner into a small hallway and began walking down to the small interrogation room and its observation room. Parrish kept his hand on the door knob to the observation room. "It's the safest thing for everybody keeping them locked in here."
"It's a small room, Parrish. How many you got crammed in there?" John asked.
"Just the two."
Parrish turned the knob and let the door swing open. John walked in and through the plated window, he could clearly identify one of the men as Derek Hale. His normal grumpy expression was now exacerbated by his situation. His companion, on the other hand, had decided to take a nap, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. As if sensing someone was watching him, the second man lifted his head off the table.
It was Peter Hale.
After a strong cup of coffee and a brief word with Parrish and some of the other detainees, John walked into the interrogation room. Normally with a bar brawl, they'd through the aggressor and the participants into jail for a night, slap a fine on the aggressor and then send everyone home. No formal questions asked. Yet with a situation like the one he has here, with the Hale boys, John needs to cover all his bases.
In the interrogation room, Peter sat alone. Derek had been moved to the conference room.
"Good Evening, Sherriff Stilinski. Or is it morning? Your hounds took away my watch when I let them drag me in here."
"Let them? You were under arrest for," John made a show of opening his rather larger, collective case file. He turned to the most recent list of charges, "public drunkenness, disorderly conduct, destruction of public property, assault on…..twelve counts, resisting arrest, striking a police officer."
"Impressive." Peter cocked his head to the side, a wolfish grin spreading over his face. "But I've been charged with better."
"Is this a game to you, Hale? See how many charges you collect before they won't let you pass go, before they finally send you to prison? You and I both know prison would be a blood bath."
Peter leaned forward, his hands pressed down on the table, his face inches away from the microphone that was a permanent fixture on the table. In a low voice, he whispered, "And you says that isn't what I want?"
"If it's not your freedom that you want - which frankly, strikes me as odd seeing as how you freedom should mean everything to you. Your freedom gives you power."
"Power," Peter scoffed, he leaned back in his chair. "What power do you see, Sheriff?"
"None."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Thank you Sheriff for your unreserved honesty."
"You have no power and I'd like to keep it that way. Last time you did have power, this town went to Hell in a hand basket." John closed Peter's case file. "But I'd also like to keep you out of prison. Your blood bath would lead straight back here. My first job is to protect those kids. If keeping you out of prison helps me do that, then I'll do it."
"Stiles must be proud to have you as a father."
John was silent at that. He doesn't like discussing his family to this man. He knew that Peter and Claudia grew up here. It wasn't until recently that he knew of Peter other than a case file. Given the size of Beacon Hills and the supernatural quality of the town, they must've come in contact at some point. How close that contact was, John could only guess. And given that Peter was the first she ran to after waking up, to spare John an unwelcomed heart attack, he could only guess their contact was….close.
"Why start the bar fight, Hale?" John sighed. He tapped his pen on the table.
"I was drunk." He glared at the pen. "Kind of wishing I still was."
"What about Derek? He's a good kid when you're not pulling him into things."
"My nephew got concerned for the town's safety when the bartender called him to tell him where I was. Sasha's an…old friend of Derek's. From High School." Peter paused for John to speak, but he remained silent. "Derek was on his way and Sasha was walking me outside when the mouthy one, Donnie I think his friend called him, started getting handsy with Sasha. I didn't like it so I did something about it."
"A regular 'warrior for women'."
"Not really. Sasha's a good kid," as an afterthought, he added, "even better in bed. If anyone's gonna grab ass with her, it's going to be me."
"Do you make a habit of sleep with your nephew's friends?" John asked incredulously.
"Let's just say it wasn't the first time. Derek had no shortage of friends in high school."
John sighed, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why get drunk? Were you drinking to remember? Or to forget?"
"A bit of both, actually." Peter looked away, down at his hands. A small, genuine smile crept on his face as he stared into space. Noticing that John was watching him, his smile turned cruel as he looked back at him. "Would you like to know, Sherriff?"
John briefly nodded his head. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know by the look on Peter's face, but he'll hear it for now.
Peter leaned forward in his chair, forearms resting on the table. His hands were still handcuffed, so he intertwined his fingers.
"I can't get her out of my head. Her voice, her laugh. The way she smells, like lavender and the sweetest honey; the way she feels, soft and creamy; the way she says screams my name when we're alone, connected by our bodies. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. When I am asleep and when I am alone in my darkest hours, I think of her. Of her hands in my hair, stroking my body; of her lips on my skin, like fire."
"It's her you're drinking to forget…" John said softly. Whoever this woman was to him, she must have been something special to make a madman even more unhinged. John once had the same feelings towards Claudia after her death, which lead him into his heavy drinking. If Peter wasn't careful, he'd fall down the same rabbit hole. The town would really be screwed if something like that happened.
"No. That I drink to remember."
"Then what are you trying to forget?"
John wore he saw a spark of malice in Peter's eyes, but it was gone before he could register it. Peter continued.
"It was the night of the Super Storm. Do you remember it, Sheriff? I bet you were quite busy."
"I was." John nodded.
"So was I." For a moment the spark was back. "The storm was hitting hard. We were told to stay indoors, for safety. She should have listened…." Peter's voice was soft, warning. "She wanted to get home, but her car wasn't working. She knew her husband was working, helping those who needed him more, so she didn't call him. I knew she would be alone."
"This woman, she was married?"
"Oh yes, Sheriff. She was. But I didn't care." There was a sadness in his voice. He took a moment to collect himself before continuing. "The rain was too thick to see through, so she couldn't see me. I pulled her into an abandoned warehouse. She said what her husband didn't know wouldn't hurt him as she wrapped her legs around my waist. She screamed my name, over and over again. She was louder than the thunder that shook the building. I thought I was going to go deaf between the two. It seemed to go on for eternity, losing ourselves in each other. I don't know how long we were together, but when it was over she wanted more. So I gave her more."
John tried not to squirm in his chair with Peter's descriptive retelling of his exploits with a married woman. Instead, he sat still and quietly clicked his pen.
"Husband must not have been better than you for her to cheat on him with you of all people."
"I don't know, Sheriff." Peter leaned back in his chair. The wolfish smile returning to his face. "Am I better than you?"
John stopped clicking his pen. He wasn't sure about what he just heard. "Excuse me?"
"Tell me, John." Peter leaned in closer, his voice dropping to match his deadly grin. "How does it feel to have my son call you 'daddy'?"