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Father of the Boy
Six months before Stiles turned eighteen John found a box of condoms on his son’s bed. The box was unopened. When he asked his son about it, Stiles stammered out that they were for his health class. John didn’t believe him, but he let his son lie. After all, the box wasn’t opened.
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A couple of weeks later, Stiles came home wincing and moaning.
“It’s nothing dad,” he said when John asked what was wrong, “just took a bad hit in lacrosse,” he shrugged his shoulders before hissing, “I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”
John sighed, “Was it Greenberg again?” he noticed several bruises on his collarbone. His son fixed his shirt, hiding them.
“It’s always Greenberg,” Stiles frowned, “I’m just gonna lay down…do some homework and then maybe fall asleep,” his son smiled at him, “there’s left over chicken in the fridge,” he went up the stairs, “night dad.”
John blinked, “Night, Stiles.”
He heated up some chicken and ate it in front of the TV. He thought about the bruises on Stiles body and wondered.
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His son kept coming home with odd bruises and sore muscles. John wouldn’t have thought much of it before but now, he couldn’t help but think that Stiles was hiding something.
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Three months after finding the condoms, John saw the box in Stiles bed again. It was opened. Curious, he picked the box up. There were only two condoms left. John put the box back and walked down the stairs. Stiles was eating a sandwich in the kitchen. He was texting somebody. John stared at his son. He looked happy. He looked relaxed. He looked in love.
“Hey,” he sat down next to his son. Stiles looked up at him and smiled, bits of ham and bread still stuck in his teeth.
“Hi,” Stiles swallowed, “what’s going on?”
John folded his hands over the table. He looked down and let out a breath.
“Stiles,” he asked, “are you dating someone?”
His son dropped the sandwich. John nodded.
“I see,” he said. His son gulped and slid down his chair, “are you…” John licked his lips, “also…” he cleared his throat, “having sex?”
“Oh my God,” Stiles whispered and slithered onto the floor, “why?”
“I found the condoms in your room,” his soon looked up at him, mouth opened in anger, “they were on your bed, Stiles, and the door was open.”
“Wow look at that,” Stiles looked at his phone, “I’m late in meeting Scott so I’ll just—“John glared at him. His son sighed and sat back down on the chair.
“I knew I should have put them back,” his son mumbled, “Ok,” he puckered his lips and drummed his fingers on the table, “I did have,” he snapped his fingers, “…sex.”
John nodded, “Is it just sex?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Stiles bit his lip and shook his head, “No,” he whispered, “it’s not just sex.”
“Ok,” he smiled, “just wanted to make sure.”
“Can I go and,” Stiles blushed, “die or something?”
John laughed and nodded. His son ran up the stairs, muttering to himself. Still laughing, John helped himself to Stiles sandwich.
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After a particularly long shift, John arrived at home, more than ready to fall asleep. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard odd noises coming from his son’s room. He looked at his watch; it was six in the morning. Six o’clock on a Saturday morning.
“Stiles?”
He started back up the stairs. The noises stopped. John stopped at his son’s door and knocked.
“Stiles?” he called out.
“…yea?” his son’s voice cracked. He heard some rustling. Sighing, John opened door. Stiles was sitting up in his bed his eyes wide, “Hey dad,” Stiles waved at him, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” John closed the door behind him. He looked around his son’s room. There were clothes littering the floor. The closet door was opened. John looked inside. There was nothing there.
“Dad?” Stiles asked, “is…something wrong?”
John frowned, “I thought I heard something,” his son swallowed and his eyes went to the window.
“No I mean,” his son rubbed his hands together, “I mean, yea, yea I’m ok,” his eyes kept darting to the window; the open window. John reached the window and looked outside. At first, he didn’t see anything, but then he noticed something. A shoe print. He sighed and turned to his son.
“Are you and Scott still climbing into each other’s windows?”
Stiles blinked. He pulled at his comforter, “Um…maybe?”
“Of course,” John closed his eyes, “what was Scott doing here?”
“Oh, you know,” Stiles shrugged, “just hanging out and stuff.”
Stiles eyes twitched. John hummed and looked back at the shoe print. It wasn’t a sneaker. Somebody else had been in his son’s room.
“I see,” he thought about busting Stiles then and there, but decided against it. He didn’t really have any evidence. He just knew someone had been in his son’s room minutes before he arrived; someone who his son had been intimate with, “well, go back to sleep. You still have a couple of hours before school.”
“Alright,” his son sighed and pulled the covers over his bed, “night dad.”
John looked back out the window. He looked at the open closet, “Good night, Stiles.”
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Tara came to him a couple of days later. She looked nervous but determined. John would recognized that look anywhere.
“Oh lord,” he mumbled, “what did Stiles do now?” he stood up and reached for his jacket, “did the school call again?”
“No the school didn’t call,” she breathed out, “can I shut the door?”
“That bad, huh?” John shook his head and sat back down and waved his hand at the door, “alright…what did Stiles do now?”
Tara closed the door and sat down. She cracked her knuckles and avoided John’s eyes.
“Last weekend I was over at the mall, looking for a present for my niece and nephew. When I was coming out I saw Stiles,” she bit her lip, “and he was with somebody.”
John nodded, “Who was he with?”
“I,” Tara shook her head, “I don’t know. I’ve—I’ve never seen him before,” she puffed out her cheeks, “they looked…pretty,” she clapped her hands, “well, they looked pretty close if…you know what I mean.”
“I see,” he leaned back in his chair. Somehow, he knew Tara wasn’t done.
“John,” Tara continued, “it wasn’t a boy—I mean it was,” she sighed, “I just mean that…he looked older than Stiles.”
“Older?” John smacked his lips and ran a hand through his hair, “how much older?”
Tara winced, “The man had to be in his thirties—at least.”
John groaned and thumped his head on the chair, “Thirties—“ he repeated, “My son was with a man, who looked to be in his thirties,” he stared at Tara, “how…close were they?”
His deputy blushed, “Ah, well…I saw them holding hands and, um,” Tara cleared her throat and looked down, “and I saw them kissing.”
The footprint outside Stiles window popped into John’s mind. He remembered how nervous Stiles had been. He remembered the noises he heard. John grimaced. Stiles had sneaked his boyfriend into the house. Damn it.
“Ok,” John nodded, “Ok,” he looked at his deputy, “thanks for telling me, Tara. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” she stood up and opened the door. Before leaving, Tara turned back to him, “Is Stiles in a lot a trouble?”
John chuckled, “Yes,” he hissed, “yes he is.”
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He didn’t wait for Stiles to come home. Instead, John parked outside the school entrance and waited. John sat inside the car and looked straight ahead, trying to figure out what to do and what to say to his son.
A year ago, Stiles came home pining over some student teacher. He bemoaned the fact that he couldn’t date the guy. John somewhat jokingly told Stiles that he could date whoever he wanted, as long as they were five years younger than his father. John didn’t really think Stiles would take him up on that. Someone knocked on his window. He looked up. Stiles was staring at him. His eyes were wide and his face was pale. John lowered the window.
“Hey dad,” Stiles coughed, “what’s up?”
John opened the door and started the engine. Stiles gulped and quickly got inside. He hunched over his back pack and didn’t say anything. They drove to the house in silence. When they got home, John got out of the cruiser first. Stiles remained inside the car.
“Son,” John breathed out, “get out of the car.”
Stiles got out of the cruiser, his eyes on the ground. John sighed and walked toward the house. His son followed. He opened the door and headed to the kitchen. John opened the farthest cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Stiles fell on one of the chairs.
“Dad,” Stiles didn’t look up at him, “what’s going on?”
John didn’t answer him. He grabbed a small glass and poured himself some whiskey. He sat down next to his son and stared at the amber liquid.
“Ok,” Stiles voice cracked, “dad, you’re kind of freaking me out here. What’s going on? Did—did something happen?”
“Scott wasn’t in your room,” John said, before throwing back the whiskey. The alcohol burned his throat. Stiles cringed. John kept going.
“Tara said she saw you by the mall the other day,” his son’s breath hitched, “she saw a boy with you,” John stared at his son, “a man. She saw you kiss that man.”
“OK,” Stiles stood up, his hands in front of him, “I can totally explain.”
John closed his eyes, “You’re dating an older man.”
Stiles groaned and rolled his eyes, “You make it sound so dirty,” he took away John’s glass, “he’s not like, my sugar daddy or anything.”
“Oh my God,” John covered his face, “Stiles…”
“Well, he’s not,” Stiles sighed and put the glass in the sink, “I met him a few months ago, at the dinner. I kind of bumped into him and…I don’t know,” his son smiled, “we kept bumping into each other and then we started to talk and…” he shrugged, “I don’t know…” he made a face, “it just kind of happened?”
John stared at his son.
“Hey, remember when I had a crush on my TA, and you told me that I could date anybody I wanted as long as they were at least five years younger than you? Well—“ he flailed, “Liam is ten years younger than you.”
“Ten—“ the sheriff blinked, “Jesus, he’s thirty five years old?!”
Stiles rolled his eyes again, “Dad…dad,” he sat down again, “I really like him. He’s…he’s awesome.”
John rubbed his face. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do.
“He was here, wasn’t he?” he looked at his son, “that day, when I came home early,” he remember how Stiles had looked, “he spent the night, didn’t he?”
“That was kind of my fault,” Stiles said, “Liam wanted to leave after—“ he stumbled over the words, “well, he wanted to go but I told him to stay for a few more minutes and I guess…we fell asleep,” Stiles laughed, “funny, huh?”
John got up and went into the living room. He sat down on the couch. His son was dating a thirty five year old man. His seventeen year old son was dating a thirty five year old man. Stiles followed him into the living room. He sat on the coffee table.
“I know what you’re thinking,” his son said, “Stiles, you’re only seventeen years old, he’s thirty five, what are you thinking, how are you sure he’s not taking advantage of you—“
“You’re seventeen,” John moaned, “seventeen.”
Stiles bit his lip and looked away, “Dad…” he said, “I really like him. He’s just—“ he went quiet, “he just seems to get me you know?”
All the fight went out of John. He looked at Stiles. His son’s eyes were bright.
“Does he make you happy?” John asked, already knowing the answer, but dreading it all at the same time. Stiles grinned.
“Yea,” he said, “he makes me really happy.”
John felt tired, “Ok,” he reclined against the couch, “ok,” he felt old, “why don’t you go up and do your homework?” John scratched his head, “I’ll come up and talk to you later.”
“Ok,” Stiles said, “I’ll just—“ he stood up, “I’ll just go and do some homework and…yea ok, I’ll go.”
When John heard Stiles go into his room and close the door, he went back into the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and served himself some more before going up to his room. John heard Stiles talking to somebody on the phone; probably Liam.
Once he was inside his room, John drank his whiskey and sat down on his bed. Stiles was dating an older man. Stiles was dating a man who was ten years younger than John, but eighteen years older than his son.
“God,” laid down on the bed. The sheets felt cool against his skin. He turned to the left. A picture of his wife stared back at him, “Claudia, what am I going to do?”
The picture didn’t answer him. John grunted and smashed his face into his pillow. John thought about bringing charges up against Liam. He thought about going down to the station, and bringing the guy in on statutory rape charges. However, Stiles would deny any and all charges and he’d probably never forgive John for arresting his boyfriend.
I’ll be eighteen in a month
He turned Stiles words around in his head. In one month, Stiles would be considered ‘legal’ and free to continue dating Liam. The sheriff wouldn’t be able to do anything. He couldn’t do anything now not without alienating Stiles.
“Damn it,” he pressed his palms into his eyes, “Damn it.”
John stayed in his bed for an hour, mulling over his options. He couldn’t accuse Liam of anything and he couldn’t forbid Stiles from seeing him. What he could do was tell Stiles to bring his boyfriend over for dinner, so that John could talk to him. He wanted to know what kind of man dated a seventeen year old.
“Oh Claudia,” he looked at the picture of his wife, “God I wish you were to help me deal with this,” he sat up on the bed. His back cracked. Yawning, John stood up and headed to Stiles room. His son was still talking on the phone.
“Stiles?” he knocked three times, “Stiles, can I come in?” he heard Stiles stumbling around the room, still talking. John put his ear up to the door.
“…yea…..worry….ok….me too…bye….”
He stepped back from the door. Stiles answered it a second later, his cheeks flushed, and with the phone still in his hand.
“Hey Dad,” Stiles licked his lips, “what’s up?” he tried to smile. John shook his head and stared at the phone in his son’s hand.
“Can I come in?”
The door opened wider. John stepped inside. His son went and sat on the bed, the phone still in his hands. John sat down on the chair. He bent forward, his hands on his knees. He coughed and rolled his shoulders.
“I’m not happy about this,” John sighed, “I’m really, really not happy about this.”
Stiles face fell. He turned away from John, holding the phone tighter between his hands. His son took a breath.
“I know,” he said, “am—“ he looked up away John, “I knew you would freak out but—“ Stiles winced, “I’m grounded, aren’t I?”
John grunted and shook his head, “I don’t know,” he answered, “Stiles I just—“ he frowned, “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me, I’m…” he thought about what to say, “I’m not happy,” John said, “I’m not happy that you’re dating a man who’s eighteen years older than you but…” he smiled, “you’re kind of right I,” he laughed, “did give you permission, in a way,” John stared at his son, “granted I didn’t think you’d go for someone that old but…”
“I can still date him?” Stiles dropped his phone on the bed, a grin pulling at his lips, “you’re not going to arrest him or forbid me from seeing him?”
“No,” John shook his head, “I’m not do anything,” Stiles looked ready to jump for joy, “BUT,” John pointed a finger at his son, “I want to meet him.”
His son’s face fell, “Wha—no” Stiles waved his hands in front of him, “Dad, come on, really? Dad—oh my God no,” Stiles turned around and fell down face first on his bed. John snorted, “that would be so embarrassing! I mean,” Stiles drove his head deeper into the covers, “I’m already seventeen years old and Liam coming to meet you and, ugh!”
“Will drive the fact that your seventeen years old home?”
Stiles didn’t look up, but John could feel his glare, “Yes,” he mumbled into his comforter, “Dad,” his son whined, “do I have to?”
“That depends,” John said, “do you want to keep seeing him?”
Silence for a second. Stiles grabbed his pillow and covered his head with it. He nodded. John chuckled and got up. He paused by the door way.
“Dad?” Stiles said, his voice still muffled by his comforter and pillow, “thanks.”
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A week later, Stiles told John that he’d be bringing Liam over. John said ok and spent the rest of the day with a ball of anger and fear sitting in his stomach. He bothered Tara the entire day, asking her how Liam looked, what he was like. His deputy just shook her head and said,
“He’s a little taller than Stiles, and I think he had a beard,” she paused, “he had blue eyes. I don’t know, I didn’t really get a good look at him.”
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When he got home, John took a quick shower and stood in front of his closet for thirty minutes, trying to figure out what to wear; and then he spent five minutes berating himself for caring. Putting on some jeans and a blue shirt, John went down into the living room. Stiles and his boyfriend would be arriving soon.
John stared at the clock and rubbed his hands together. His chest felt tight. He could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking. John turned on the TV and tried to find something to distract himself with. Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang.
“Dad?” Stiles voice drifted through the door, “Dad it’s me,” John turned off the TV, “me and Liam.”
“Ok,” John told himself, “ok,” he got up and walked to the door. He touched the doorknob and paused. This was it. He was going to meet the man who had been dating his son. There was no going back. He opened the door. John stared at his son.
“Hi dad,” he didn’t look at the man beside Stiles, “this is my boyfriend,” Stiles turned to the man, “Liam. Liam, this is my dad, Sheriff Stilinski.”
John straightened up and turned to face the man.
“He—“ he stopped. He blinked. John looked at the man before him and felt his heart stopped.
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Claudia had spent three months tracking down her ex-boyfriend. She wanted him to sign away his parental rights so that John could legally adopt their son.
“I don’t want his money,” she told him, “I don’t want anything from him. I just want him gone.”
John met Stiles biological father at the courthouse. Claudia was by his side, playing with Stiles. The man had walked through the courtroom with his held high and a smirk on his lips. He looked at Stiles as if he was a disease. He walked right up to John and stuck out his hand.
“Peter,” he grinned, “Peter Hale. Nice to meet you.”
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“Dad?” Stiles asked, “Dad are you ok?”
John stared at the man in front of him. He was broader and his hair was shorter but his eyes; his eyes were the same cold shade of blue as they were in the courthouse.
“Dad?”
The man grinned. John felt himself shaking. He knew—Peter knew who Stiles was. He knew who Stiles was when he took his son to bed.
“Hello Mr. Stilinski,” Peter greeted, baring his teeth, “it’s nice to see you again.”