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Stiles came home early from a pack meeting on a fall morning, for reasons John Stilinski doesn’t know.
He’s not supposed to know about the pack either, no one having agreed to let him in on the secret, which was stupid, particularly considering the secrets he was already keeping.
John was concerned when Stiles was subdued after the pack meeting, but he chalked it up to a fight with Scott or Derek or Isaac or well...basically John wasn’t unaware of the issues they all have. None of them are all that subtle. He wondered if it had something to do with Stiles’ feelings for Derek.
That one John tried not to think about too much.
But then Scott wasn’t coming around anymore. Stiles wasn’t complaining about Isaac or vague people that John knew meant Peter or Derek.
He was sure the pack was confused when they discovered Gerard’s body left on the porch of the Hale house and a bucket of what tested as his blood on the Argent doorstep two weeks later. Still watched by the hunters, the placement makes it both a warning and a gift.
Gerard’s body was drained of blood but they’re all confused. It’s not ritualistic or vampire or werewolf. The coroner report as well said the body was devoid of blood, far beyond the point of draining, even when they asked him to consider if some sort of cult did this. It was like the blood was sucked out of his body until dry.
John got the call with the report of Gerard, the one that came through very specific channels, at the same time Stiles walked in the house, covered in blood, a wolf pelt around his shoulders and a terrifying smile on his face.
Stiles told John quite happily that he had a new pet named Aiden and wasn’t he pretty. John smiled and agreed that it’s beautiful—Aria taught him to lie well—and said he got called into work because Gerard was found dead.
He refrained from thinking too much about Stiles’ response that he still hadn’t received a thank you card for that yet.
John drove directly to Derek’s apartment. Do not pass go. Do not collect 100 dollars. And pray that it wasn't all in vain. He was met at the door by Peter. “Sheriff. What can I do for you?”
“I need to go inside, Peter. Now.”
“I’m sorry, sir, is this about police business? You’ll need a warrant.” Peter’s smile was false and his tone condescending and John gave way to his rage for a brief moment, shoving Peter into the railing and snarling at him. He didn’t need to be a werewolf for that. “You listen and listen well, Peter Hale.” John sensed the rest of the pack at the doorway. “You are going to fetch Alan Deaton and bring him here. Derek is going to call in any pack members who are not here yet. And we are going to hope to whatever gods you do or do not worship that we are not too late to save you all. Go.”
Peter looked furious at being shoved and thoroughly confused, but at a nod from Derek he left. “Come on in, Sheriff,” said Derek, looking at him cautiously. “We can talk in the living room. Scott, can you call Lydia and Jackson and have them come over?”
Scott dug his phone out, speaking in hushed and hurried tones with worried glances at the Sheriff.
John followed Derek inside. He pushed aside offers of something to drink and declined explaining until the others were back. This needed to be said to everyone.
The first thing out of Peter’s mouth when he returned was a threat. “How do you know about the pack? Did Stiles tell you? That little shit.”
“Do not speak of my son like that,” snapped John. “I’ve known about the Hale pack since before Derek was born. You weren’t told everything, Peter, and you sure as hell didn’t see as much as you thought you did with all your sneaking around. But you should know that. Betas are always on a need to know basis.”
Peter growled and Derek held him back while Deaton placed what was probably supposed to be a calming hand on his arm. “Sheriff, why are you here? I understand if you’re worried about Stiles…”
John shook off Deaton’s grip. “I’m not fucking worried about Stiles!”
The room went silent. Everyone stared at the Sheriff.
Scott found his voice first. “What do you mean you’re not worried about Stiles?”
Lydia seemed to have a guess. “Mr. Stilinski, you don’t need to worry about us. We won’t hurt Stiles. That’s why we pushed him out of the pack, so he’d be safe.”
John swayed where he stood. This was so much worse than he’d imagined. “You kicked him out of the pack?”
“It was for his protection. He kept getting hurt,” said Derek. John appreciated that Derek sounded upset about the choice, like he didn’t want to lose Stiles.
“And the friendships outside of the pack?”
“Stiles couldn’t separate them,” admitted Scott in a low voice. “I know it’s a shitty thing to do but even staying friends would mean Stiles keeps being in danger. I’d rather him be alive to hate me than dead because I didn’t do anything.”
John sat down, suddenly so much wearier than he’d felt in years. “You took away his anchor.”
“Stiles isn’t a werewolf,” corrected Isaac. “Derek never bit him.”
“I know Stiles isn’t a werewolf.”
“Then there’s no problem.” Scott seemed happy about that. “Humans don’t need anchors.”
John shook his head. “I think you’ll find you’re wrong about that, Scott. In fact, there are many who would argue that humans need an anchor more than anyone.” Deaton made a noise of agreement. “But there’s a bigger problem. Stiles isn’t just human.”
Derek’s voice is much steadier than his emotions. “What else is he?”
“Blodrod.” John said the word quietly, waiting to see if any of them recognize the term.
Only Peter did, which made sense. Derek might have heard legends in the form of bedtime stories, but Peter was the one who researched all the myths with the assumption that unseen didn’t mean unreal. “Son of a bitch,” breathed Peter.
“What’s a blodrod?” asked Lydia.
John sighed heavily and began the explanation he’d hoped he would never have to give. He was still angry at himself for not realizing that Stiles’ anchor had switched from him to the pack, but now they needed as much information as he was able to provide. “A blodrod is an ancient creature, nearly as old as demons and angels, but vastly more dangerous. The literal translation is ‘blood red’, referencing both its area of control and the history. Are any of you aware of color symbolism?”
Lydia nodded. “Red symbolizes blood of course, but also passion, violence, war, and many others. The most intense of events and emotions fall under its banner.”
“Indeed. I don’t know how the first blodrod came about, but most stories blame the greed of humans. Certainly not the most far-fetched theory. Their control comes from a victim, or an anchor’s blood.”
Scott interrupted. “Like a vampire?”
“Well, a lot of creatures use blood,” added Allison.
“Yes, they do,” noted John. “And no, Scott, not like a vampire. Vampires, like most other creatures known for their connection to a victim’s blood, use it. A blodrod controls it. There are very few limits to what one can do when you control the very essence of someone. Blodrods are able to control their actions when they have an anchor.”
Jackson interjected this time. “Like a kanima?”
John shook his head. “Kanimas are controlled. Blodrods find control of their humanity within their anchor. My wife found hers in me and later in Stiles. Family was her anchor, and for a long time it was Stiles’ as well. I didn’t realize until you took it away that he’d switched to making the pack his new anchor.”
“So it’s genetic?” clarified Lydia. “Since Stiles’ mom was one?”
“Not necessarily. Her family has a few others in their lineage, but the last known one was several hundred years ago. Aria always suspected after meeting Talia that it was Beacon Hills that triggered two in as many generations.” John saw the looks of fear on several faces and knew he had to clarify his explanation quickly. “A blodrod with an anchor isn’t dangerous to those with honor. And that can mean people who strive to be honorable but aren’t there yet. They are distinctly there for those who seek to use the supernatural for personal gain. The problem is that if an anchor breaks that bond, a blodrod will still seek to protect the anchor, but it no longer has the capacity to draw a line, it’ll go to extremes to get its point across.”
Allison sucked in a breath. “Gerard. That was Stiles.”
“He would have known the threat was already there, but instead of letting your family handle it, or the pack, or even creating a plot that makes sense, he chose the clearest message. Are there any other current threats?”
“An alpha pack,” volunteered Peter. “They’ve been causing problems for a while now, tortured Erica and Boyd and nearly killed a few of us on different occasions.”
John had a feeling. “Do you know the names of any of these alphas?”
“Deucalion, Ennis, Kali, Ethan, and Aiden,” rattled off Boyd in a low and quiet voice from where he sat with Erica and Isaac on either side of him.
“Stiles came home today with Aiden’s wolf pelt on his shoulders,” said John. He didn’t mince words, but he said the words carefully anyway. Better to be respectful when talking about the worst sort of sacrilege to a werewolf. The Hale pack is unlikely to care about Aiden’s fate, but the message Stiles is sending to this alpha pack is abundantly clear.
“Jesus,” breathed Peter.
Derek leaned forward. “I’m still confused, Sheriff. You said you hoped you weren’t too late to save us. If Stiles still has a need to protect us, why are we in danger?”
Scott gaped at him.
“I’m not saying we don’t need to help Stiles. I’m just asking how that puts us in danger.”
“It’s a valid question,” admitted John. “Once Stiles eliminates the obvious threats, his nature keeps him vigilant. Werewolves were first formed out of a desire for power, whether you believe the legends that made the bite a choice, or those that say it’s a curse. A blodrod would see the wolf side as a threat, one that puts the pack in danger, and his ties to the pack would allow him to sever the wolf blood from the human blood.”
“Like a cure?”
“Like your death. A werewolf cannot live with only one nature. The break would kill you.”
Deaton finally spoke up. “Do you know how to get him back to his anchor? Is there some sort of ritual that would subdue the blodrod side of Stiles?”
John was grateful that Deaton had returned the story to the reason he was there. The pack had made it clear early on that they cared about Stiles, and hopefully enough of his son was still left that they could restore his control. “Blood.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
John wasn’t the only one who glared at Peter.
“How?” asked Lydia.
“It will only take a drop or two from each of the members of the pack. Stiles has to drink the blood, which will connect all of you to him far more strongly than normal, and then you have to call him back to you.”
“And you’re sure he’ll come back?” questioned Derek, his tone decidedly worried.
“Unless he’s too far gone.”
“What happens then?” asked Scott.
John didn’t like to think about it, but he has the answer to this for a reason. “Then I tell you how to kill my son.”
Derek and Erica flat out snarled at his words and Lydia’s eyes flashed with anger, even as Scott and the others looked shocked. It gave him hope.
“Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that,” said Deaton.
Peter went to the kitchen and found a wine goblet and a sharp knife, then brought both back to the pack. John continued to direct the others on wording and what they should say. He decided against mentioning how Stiles might react once he was under control again, they could cross that bridge when they came to it. Instead he focused on trying to help the others get Stiles to the loft.
Erica and Scott both called him, getting a reply of ‘busy with a new friend right now, call you back after playtime.’ No one wanted to think too much about what playtime meant.
John called, said he needed to talk to him. Stiles said when he was done taking care of a problem.
Allison suggested they go to Stiles, but John explained that Stiles had to come willingly. If they went to him, or tried to force him, he was likely to turn on the pack sooner. He didn’t mention that Stiles was likely to turn on Deaton, Allison, and Lydia first, as the non-wolves of the pack.
The majority were arguing about what to try next when Derek took a deep breath and howled, so long and so loud that the room shook and the pack went silent. They stayed that way for a good twenty minutes afterwards, when the door slammed open and Stiles stood in the doorway.
“Derek?” he questioned.
John rose and stepped towards his son. “Stiles. The pack would like to restore your anchor. Will you drink?” He indicated the blood. That part was relatively easy, since the blodrod’s nature wouldn’t be able to resist it. At least one aspect was similar to a vampire.
Stiles nodded, strode across the room with a grace that was nothing like his natural self, and downed the contents in one gulp, grinning widely when he’d finished at everyone in the room.
Just like before though, the words weren’t enough. They’d get flickers of Stiles back, but not enough. John had the feeling he knew why Derek’s howl had worked before though, and he severely doubted it was because Derek was the alpha. He’d deal with his opinions about that later. For now, John stepped over to Derek while Scott was pleading with Scott to come back to them; he was getting better results than anyone yet but he still kept losing Stiles after a few minutes. “Derek,” said John softly. “Find my son. There will be no repercussions from me.”
Derek gave John a long, appraising look, then a slow nod.
He stepped up to Stiles as Scott moved away and linked his fingers with Stiles. Derek made a point to catch Stiles’ eyes before he spoke. “Stiles. We need you to come back to us. I know we sent you away. We were only trying to keep you safe, to protect you, but we didn’t realize how much you protect us too. And we need you back now.”
“No, I need to take care of our enemies first,” protested Stiles.
Derek felt like a fist was gripping his heart as he watched Stiles. From the outside, Stiles looked the same to everyone. Same disheveled hair from where he constantly ran his hands through it. Plaid shirts over a t-shirt, eyes bright and amber that set a fire in Derek himself. But those same eyes had nothing behind them. It was like he stared into emptiness and Derek couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Stiles in them.
“We can take care of them together,” he promised. “Together Stiles. You and me. You’re mine, Stiles. You’re mine and I’m yours and I need you to return to me.”
Something flashed in Stiles’ eyes. “Derek?”
Derek brought their hands up so Stiles could see how they were linked together. “C’mon Stiles. You belong with us, with your pack, with me.”
There was another flicker, and then Stiles’ grip on Derek’s hand became impossibly tight and his eyes filled with awareness. “Derek.” His hands moved out of Derek’s grasp and came up to hold Derek’s face. “I’m still pack? And...and I’m yours?”
Derek nodded urgently. “I was wrong. I thought I was keeping you safe but I need you here. I need you.”
Stiles stared at him for a long moment and Derek tried his best to put forth every emotion he was feeling. Stiles kissed him, hard and bruising and demanding. Derek kissed back with everything in him, his hands coming up to Stiles’ hips as he pulled them closer together. He felt Stiles pushing and took several steps back until he was against the wall, while Stiles bit at his lip and licked his way inside Derek’s mouth.
Derek heard the Sheriff say something about how he thought this might happen, that Stiles was definitely back and it might be a good time for the pack to go get something to eat and come back to talk about everything in an hour or so.
“You knew your son was going to jump Derek’s bones?” asked Erica in disbelief.
Derek caught a low chuckle from John. “I figured out how Derek felt about Stiles. And let’s just say I know one of the reasons my wife and I had a very healthy sex life and leave it at that.”