Chapter Text
Monday
November 28th, 2011
The Sheriff's Station, John's office
John sighs as he rakes his hand down his face. "What are we looking at here?"
Stiles bites his lip.
He tries to loosen his shoulders and relax. He doesn't want to explain that he's a killer—a cold-blooded assassin.
He sadly looks at his Dad. "What do you know about Mom's background and history?"
John leans back. Ohh, shit!
He sighs. Why didn't he notice or catch on? He sighs and rubs his face. "She trained you to be an assassin like her, didn't she?"
The shock that John knows about his mom makes Stiles go into survival mode. Meaning ... he locks away all emotions and makes everything clinical and precise to do what he needs to survive—compartmentalizing everything.
Stiles always felt that if someone discovered his career choice secret, he had to survive their disgust or disappointment. He can't bear the thought of his Dad feeling that way about him.
John sees the immediate shift. He remembers Claudia doing the same thing when she thought she was about to be attacked or discarded.
John realizes he needs to tread carefully, so Stiles believes him when he says he still loves Stiles and doesn't find fault with him for this.
Peter leans back and studies Stile, realizing his heart as if he were preparing for a significant battle. Any emotional smells that had gotten past the scent scrubber in his Mate's watch ... just stopped. He sees the emotionless soldier Stiles becomes when he feels threatened or trapped—his ... survival ... instincts in action.
Peter feels like he's in an earthquake when this happens because he can't gauge how Stiles feels or how he will react to anything.
Peter's wolf is nervous, agitated, and suddenly protective of his Mate. Subconsciously, he leans closer to Stiles so he can protect him better. Even though he knows Stiles can defend himself, his wolf still fixates on the thought of a squishy human.
Stiles nods stiffly at John. "It's a bit more than that, Dad. I'm part of ..." He takes a breath, hiding his tensing shoulders and back as he prepares for judgment ... "'... Project Christmas."
John pales and looks around as he remembers the past ... trying to understand how this could have been hidden from him. "Jesus!" He rakes his hand over his face and then through his hair as he accepts that his wife hid much more about their son than he thought. "I'm an unobservant bastard! I should have noticed something. Anything!"
Stiles relaxes a little. He didn't see any judgment about himself or his career.
John takes a deep breath and actively controls his stare so it's questioning and not judgmental or accusing. Thank God for his Black Ops training. He can't show any disappointment towards Stiles. He remembers how Claudia acted when he subconsciously did show disappointment towards her. It took ten years to earn her trust back. "How long have you been active?"
Stiles cocks his head to the side in the confusion that John's curious and not judgmental. "Does ... it matter?"
John shakes his head. "No. Not really. But I would like to know how long my son had been going out and killing people." He holds his hand up to stop Stiles from speaking. "I know the Corporation only goes after killers, terrorists, gun smugglers, drug dealers, and the like. I won't ever think badly of you for taking out people like that. I used to ensure your mother had an alibi on a few of her jobs. I love you, son. I'm proud of you for being able to hide it this long, and from what I saw out there ..." he points to the door, "... you are damn good at what you do!"
Stiles nods. "I started in surveillance when I was five. I made my first kill for the Corporation when I was six. I made my first kill on my own when I was nine. I was officially considered active at twelve when I earned the moniker of The Chameleon."
John nods. "How many kills do you have?"
Stiles shrugs. "That depends on if you count from my official start date or my first kill. Officially, I have 131. Unofficially, it's ..." he looks up as he counts ... "... two hundred ... and ... eighty- ... four. Yeah, 284, because I don't count Apollo. My mind would rather think of Uncle Deucalion taking the credit on that one."
Peter looks at him with narrowed eyes. "That's the second time you mentioned Apollo. You said he tried to abuse and misuse you because you were a child, and Deucalion protected you. You also said Apollo didn't survive you protecting yourself. Would you be so kind as to explain what happened?"
Stiles looks at him. He thinks for a moment, "Why not? I might as well get it off of my chest."
Peter leans forward and adds, "And is that the Alpha werewolf, Deucalion, that you're calling Uncle Deucalion?"
Stiles nods. "Yeah. It is." He makes himself a little smaller as he huddles into himself. "I was on a job to take out a guy that trafficked in stolen children. Apollo was one of our agents, and he was supposedly our spy in his group. Only, he was their spy in our group."
He sighs, "I didn't like Apollo when I passed him in the street. My instincts said he was evil. He didn't know I was a ... spy ... a decoy ... Apollo killed the woman posing as my mom because she caught his attention by studying him and his house. I was out, playing bait at the park, with Deucalion posing as my Uncle. He was the failsafe that ..."
Stiles stops and takes a deep breath. "Failsafe background. Project Christmas' kids have a very close, intuitive, instinctual connection, like close siblings or twins. We have a deeper connection to each other than normal people ... more like werewolves with pack bonds. The Corporation discovered this and considered us more valuable because of it."
He looks at Peter and then back at John. "They always ensure we have backup protection until they're sure we can protect ourselves. Alpha werewolves. I chose Deucalion to protect me because he reminds me of you, Dad. Deuc and I found Neri dead, and Apollo was waiting for me in the house."
Stiles takes a deep breath. "Deuc faked dying when Apollo shot him because only Christmas personnel know about werewolves in the organization. Apollo then took me to his boss, the Candyman. I took a good beating from Apollo while the Candyman watched. We didn't know how depraved both Apollo and the Candyman were. Then ... we learned ... I learned ... that they were more Bluebeard than the Black Beard."
John asks, "Bluebeard? Blackbeard? I don't understand."
Stiles sighs. "Bluebeard was based on Gilles de Rais, a 15th-century pedophile and child murderer who practiced necrophilia on his victims. As in, he tortured and killed them, then had sex with the dead bodies."
Peter grits his jaw as he says, "We use different terms to define types of ... unsubs. Blackbeard is only out for profit and kills anyone and everyone because they have no loyalty. Bluebeard means a homicidal necrophiliac, only ... he liked the body still warm. Meaning, he killed them while he fucked them. We called him the Candyman because he liked preying on kids. We thought he only stole them and sold them for money. There was a small portion ... maybe ten percent ... that he killed and destroyed the bodies in ways that almost made it impossible to identify them. Now ... I think it was to hide he had sex with their bodies."
John sits up straight, "What!!"
Stiles shakes his head and holds his hands up to calm his Dad. "He never touched me like that! Deucalion was on the balcony by then. He overheard the Candyman's order to Apollo and Apollo's answering laugh ... and it pissed him off. I mean, it royally pissed him off so badly that he saw red, and he wasn't aware of what he did to the man. Deucalion literally ran through the closed balcony door to get at Apollo to protect me."
Stiles takes a deep breath and buries any remembered feelings of fear of Apollo and the Candyman. "Deuc dismembered and gutted Apollo while I stabbed an ink pen through the Candyman's eye. I then kicked the pen through his eye and into his brain. Instant lobotomy."
He looks at Peter. "Deuc carried me out of there and brought me to his Emissary to help heal the damage I received from the beating. It wasn't life-threatening or anything, just bloody inconvenient. He gave me credit for the kill with my handler and the big guy."
Stiles helplessly looks at John. "I've always been grateful for Deuc saving me like that. Twice, he lost control and saved my life. I owe him more than I can ever say." There's no way he's telling his dad about the car crash. Nope ... no way.
John leans forward. "Well, then ... he has my thanks and appreciation. I'll keep your secrets—all of them. I'm not too thrilled that you're sleeping with both of the Hales, but at least I know they both consider you their Mate. That means they'll protect you and keep you safe." He holds his hand out to Peter. "You can call me John. I reluctantly accept you and Derek as ... husband material for my son." He grimaces at the word husband.
Peter smiles and takes his hand. "Thank you, John." He hands John his card. "Please, call me if you ever need anything. Either Derek or I will always be a phone call away."
John gives him a sardonic half-grin. "I may just do that, Peter." He gets a sly grin on his face as he looks at Stiles. "Werewolves ensure that their Mates are provided for and safe, correct?"
Peter nods. "Of course." He nervously asks. "Why do you ask?"
John smiles as he studies Peter. "Stiles' jeep hasn't had any repairs in a while and is now unreliable. I think it would give us a little more peace of mind if you ensure it gets an overhaul and a long-overdue tune-up."
Peter smiles as he looks at Stiles' open-mouthed face. He does like the thought of that.
Stiles closes his mouth and crosses his arms over his chest as he pouts. "You aren't supposed to gang up on me. That's not fair! Two ... no ... three against one ... isn't fair."
John holds out a hand to Stiles, waiting ... "Keys!"
Stiles grunts and slaps his keys into his Dad's hand. "You understand that I only agree under duress ... and the fact that I'm outnumbered?"
John takes the keys with a smile and then hands them to Peter.
Peter pockets them as he calls his favorite mechanic to pick up the blue beast.
Tara knocks on the office door.
Stiles and Peter get a text as John gets up to answer the knock. "Cleaners dealt with the amateur assassin squad from the dying Argent hunter."
They both delete their texts.
John lets Tara in.
Tara nervously says, "Sherriff? The EMTs called to say that your prisoners escaped after causing the ambulance to crash. They got away. The EMTs have some scrapes and bruises but are okay."
Zane must have been among the EMTs.
John nods, thanks her, and closes the door.
He returns to his seat at his desk. He leans back and looks at Stiles. "I take it a cleaner crew took them out and disposed of them?"
Peter and Stiles look at each other, nod, and then face John.
Peter says, "That's a pretty fair assumption that I would not disagree with."