eeyore9990:

Stiles meets him at the door when he returns home after a very long shift, which is when John knows that his plans for a nice, relaxing evening have just gone to shit.  Exhaling all the air in his lungs, John slumps against the doorjamb, not even bothering to cross the threshold before he groans, “What the hell have you done this time?”

As expected, his son squawks and flails his arms for a few seconds, his mouth moving a mile a minute as he assures all and sundry – or just John – that it’s not his fault.  He’s completely innocent.  He had nothing to do with the…

John tunes out Stiles’ excitedly chattering voice, the spill of words becoming a static background hum – a reflex natural to every parent of every teenager ever, he’s pretty sure –  and his eyes skate past his son when something moves in the house behind him.  His hand is automatically reaching for his gun when he realizes what – or rather, who – is standing there, tongue lolling out of his mouth in a ridiculous attempt to look harmless.

Right.  Because 200 pounds of fully-shifted werewolf could ever be harmless. 

Scrubbing a hand down his face, John gently pushes Stiles out of the doorway with one hand to allow him entrance to his own goddamn home while tiredly pulling his cellphone from his back pocket with his other one.  Looking directly at the over large black wolf blocking the hallway to the living room, John mutters, “Kid, what the hell were you thinking?”

“What?!  It’s not my fault this gorgeous beast followed me home from lacrosse!  Obviously his owners aren’t taking good enough care of him if he so easily came home with me.  Isn’t that right, boy?” Stiles croons, dropping to his knees to scritch behind one of the ‘wolf’s ears, making John turn a look of horrified incredulity on them both.

“I…I…” is all he can manage to stutter for a few seconds, too wrapped up in the fact that his son is treating one of the Hales like a common house pet.  “That’s not a dog, Stiles!” 

Stiles rolls his eyes, turning to give John a flat look, which turns into a scrunch-faced giggle when the ‘wolf drags the flat of its tongue from the base of Stiles’ throat up across his face, managing to catch the uptilt of his nose.  “Aww, I love you too, boy,” Stiles murmurs, burying his head in the thick ruff of the ‘wolf’s neck while the ‘wolf smirks up at John.

Yes.  It smirks.

“I’m calling your mother,” John hisses, too low for Stiles to catch.

The ‘wolf’s ears flatten and its fluffy butt hits the floor, tail tucked firmly under its ass as a low whine rises from its throat.

John stabs Talia’s contact a little too triumphantly, bringing the phone to his ear when it starts to ring, only a little amused to see how the ‘wolf is trying to crawl under Stiles.  When Talia picks up, John clears his throat, raises his eyebrows at the ‘wolf, and says, “Good evening, Talia.  This is John Stilinski.  I’ve found that ‘wolf you were looking for…”

Which of course, just makes Stiles splay his body out over the ‘wolf in a protective gesture – only partially ruined by the fact that the ‘wolf is bigger than his scrawny son – and whines, “Daaaad, he’s not a wolf!  There are no wolves in California!”

John shoots a quelling look at his kid before stomping his way into his kitchen to grab a soda from the fridge.  When he knows he’s out of his son’s hearing range, he sighs into his phone, cutting off Talia’s anxious questions to say, “He apparently followed my son home from lacrosse practice.  In his full shift form.”

There’s a moment of pure quiet before he hears Talia sigh.  “Oh dear.”

“Look, I know how important it is to you to protect your secret, but–”

“No, no, Sheriff.  John.  If he’s managed a full shift…”  Talia sighs again, and the sound of it – half-amused, half-resigned – makes John’s eyes flick to the cabinet where his bourbon is locked up.

Instead of reaching for the good stuff, though, he pinches the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to think through the logistics of breaking Beacon Hills’ biggest secret to his too-nosy kid.  Honestly, it amazes him that Stiles hasn’t already figured it out on his own.  

“He didn’t scare your son, did he?” Talia asks softly.  “If Stiles is frightened of him, that might make things a little awkward.”

John snorts.  “Stiles is convinced he’s just a big dog.  Because there are no wolves in California.”

“All right, John.  Just… Derek, I know you can hear me.  I’m coming over and I expect you to be there waiting for me.  I hope you’re happy with yourself, young man.  I taught you better control than this.  John,” she says again, pitching her voice just a little lower.  “I’m so sorry about this.  Don’t worry about Stiles.  We’ll explain everything to him.”

“Everything?” John asks, wincing and barely managing not to bang his head into the freezer door.  On purpose.

“Well.  Since it looks like he’s Derek’s mate, I thought that would be appropriate.”  

John looks at the can of soda in his hand and puts it back, reaching for the cabinet.  Bourbon, it is.