Chapter Text
John stepped hollowly past the field officers who were securing the scene, flashing his badge at the man at the door. Technically John Stilinski should be nowhere near the joint task force that had been set up – but the FBI had a hard time keeping him away. The phone calls had sealed the deal, keeping the old sheriff of Beacon Hills with them was better than trying to investigate without him. John was exceedingly relieved by that fact.
Even if it did mean he had to work with an asshole.
“John. It’s not pretty.”
John blinked at Agent McCall. “Nothing ever is.”
Agent McCall nodded and stepped aside, letting John step into the motel room.
Blood.
Blood up the walls. Blood on the floor.
John took a step back reeling. The focus point seemed to be the bed. John stepped forwards. A body.
“Is it…” John couldn’t get the words out. “Stiles. Is it -”
“We don’t know yet. We can’t… we haven’t been able to identify the body yet.”
John forced himself to look. The body had been pulverised, beaten until the bone had mashed up with the skin. Bits of flesh were torn and lay strewn across the bedspread and the floor. John turned away. He couldn’t tell who it was either. Couldn’t recognise anything about the body, but he doubted that meant much. Not when it was so disfigured.
It could still be someone else. It could still -
“Sir?”
“Yes, agent?” McCall replied.
“We’ve found something.”
John’s heart went into overdrive as he followed the agent outside to the van. A phone was plugged in to a laptop, Stiles’ face was on the screen.
“Stiles,” John breathed out, unable to conceal his distress.
The field agent on the laptop looked up. “Uh yeah,” she said. “We found the phone in the bathroom sink. Completely empty – probably a factory restore or reset on the dead victim’s phone. This is the only thing on it. The video is addressed to his dad. He says -”
“Play the video.”
The agent blinked. “Uhm, yeah.”
“And clear out as well. Give the man some privacy,” Agent McCall said.
“Uh, I -”
“This is Sheriff Stilinski. He’s the father.”
“Oh. Um. Right,” the woman said typing at the laptop. “Okay, just press the space bar.”
The agents cleared out of the van and the sheriff settled himself down in front of the screen. Stiles’ face was taking up the majority of it. The Sheriff sat for a few moments looking at Stiles for the first time in weeks. For the first time that wasn’t from CCTV and surveillance in… over a year.
His hair was longer. Face looked… gaunt? Sunken? Lips were chapped. Spots on his chin. Bruise on his cheek. Blood on his face.
But he was there. He was right there. He still looked like his Stiles. He was there. Whole. In one piece. His baby.
The Sheriff took a deep breath to stave off his panic. Stiles wasn’t dead.
He wasn’t.
The Sheriff clicked play.
“Dad, it’s not me. Okay? The body in the bedroom isn’t me.” The Sheriff let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he nearly laughed in relief. “It’s not me. I’m okay... Well…” Stiles rolled his eyes and shifted. “I’m probably really far from okay. I’m sorry.” Stiles swallowed and looked away, John’s eyes were glued to the screen – drinking in every movement Stiles made, every expression that crossed his face. “I’m sorry I butted my way into the investigation. I’m sorry that he took me and I’m not home with you. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry if I’ve ever been a pain.” Stiles looked directly into the camera lens. John felt his heart contract staring into the eyes his wife had. “I need you to do something for me, dad. Something important, and I’m sorry to ask this from you as well but…” Stiles shifted again and the sheriff noticed there was something weird about it, he was sitting in an odd position. “I need you to go home. I need you to go home and stop looking.” Tears started to run down Stiles’ face, but Stiles paid them no attention. “I think we both know that if you haven’t caught up to us yet, you won’t. The phone calls are going to stop. He says he can’t trust me. He’s not going to let me… I mean this might be the last you hear from me. This might be it.”
The silence held on for a few minutes. John could see the wheels in Stiles’ head turning, could practically feel the way Stiles was only just realising the implications of what he’s said. This was goodbye. And they had only both just realised it.
“I need to be able to picture you at the grill when it’s your turn for the annual barbeque. I need to be able to imagine you double parking my jeep in the driveway or trying to fix the washer. I need you to keep living your life and… I need to know if I call you’ll pick up the phone. I’m sorry to put that burden on you. I’m sorry I can’t just say I’m dead it’s over, here have some closure. I’m sorry that I’m asking you to live with a ghost but I don’t know what else to say.”
Stiles bit at his lips. “Peter says that I’m not allowed to contact you. I’m not allowed to ask to contact you. He’s… uh, he’s been making noises. About settling down,” Stiles snorts and shakes his head a little, a small smile creeping at the corners of his mouth. “I’m going to be on one of those reality tv shows. Sixteen and settling down with my homicidal boyfriend.” Stiles fidgeted, sighing. “I think I’m much better now. With like, the eating thing. I’ve been hitting my targets. Keeping my meals down. Actually focusing on what I’m eating and stuff so…” Tears are running down Stiles’ face again now. “I’m trying to say I’ll be okay, dad. Peter loves me. And yeah, it’s not healthy or whatever, but we both know the danger in these kinds of relationships happen after you leave, or try to leave. And Peter…” Stiles looks off to his right. “Peter’s already punished us for that,” he whispered. “I’m going to be fine. I’m going to be alive and well and… I think sometimes I’ll even be happy.”
Stiles was distracted. His head turned away, staring at something – someone off camera. Stiles said something, it was distorted.
“Do you remember watching movies on Saturday nights? It’s the one thing we kept doing even after mom… Robin Williams was always my favourite. Genie from Aladdin. Mrs. Doubtfire. Bicentennial Man. Toys. Flubber… I’m sure you remember better than me. Peter doesn’t watch movies. I watch them by myself and then he complains when he doesn’t understand my references. I… I’m going to miss you. I love you. I love you so much dad. We didn’t say that last time, and it’s not anyone’s fault because we both know, but if it’s my last chance to get to say it - I love you. I love you dad and I know we both wish things could be different but they’re not so. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry, I love you.”
The Sheriff sat staring at the computer screen for a long time, watching the small video over and over again. Soaking in the way Stiles sounded, the quirk in his mouth, the fear in his eyes.
He was aware of other people around him, moving back and forth in the van, watching the video, discussing roadblocks and press conferences and cars. The Sheriff just sat, unable to really process. He’d been moving from place to place clinging onto a thin strand of hope that he’d find Stiles and now he was being told – being asked – to stop.
The last time he stopped he lost himself at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
“Stilinski?”
“Hook.”
“Excuse me?” Agent McCall replied, with a slight twinge of snark.
“It’s a Robin Williams movie. He didn’t mention it. He listed all the others but… we were talking about it. The other week. He’s telling me that he’s not forgotten. He’s going to try and come home.”
Agent McCall stared at him for a moment in the patronising way he does, but for once John didn’t care. He had reached the end of his tether. He was used up. Stiles had given him a message that only he would understand, a promise. A promise contingent on Stiles being able to find him.
John Stilinski had to go home.