Only He saw

Dad Jokes

John opened the door, his eyes drawn immediately to the hunched over, fatigued figure of Peter Hale: The man to answer all of his questions.

"Sherriff."

"Peter. It's John."

"John." Peter intoned, waiting restlessly for Stiles' father to move aside so he could speak to Stiles.

The relationship between the two had grown strained as they waited for the pale, broken boy to come back to them, and the tension had only increased after his awakening, jealousy ripened Johns mind and soured his view of the Were. He'd been more of a father to Stiles when he'd needed it the most, and that was something John wanted to forget...

As the Sheriff ushered Peter inside, he worried for what he would find out, the world that his son had apparently been hiding from him. Fear overtook anger, but an overwhelming sense of protectiveness spurred him into the living room, he wanted to protect his son...be the best father he could be. John knew his life was changing now, perhaps for the worst, or maybe for the better. Only, it could bring his small family together. Unmeasurable grief and joint survival bonded the two, a paternal link between the two: so, so much love.

Stepping wearily into the room, John sat next to his circumspect son, who shuffled to the side, as if cautious of contact. The Sheriff looked at Peter, who sat awkwardly across from him in the cramped armchair. Now was the time for answers.

"So. What do you have to say?" John accusingly stared at Peter, grimly watching him shifting restlessly in the chair.

"Well, I..." The man looked hopelessly at Stiles, asking silently if Stiles wanted John to know everything. Stiles nodded. He was scared, more scared than ever before, but he didn't want to lie to his Dad...not anymore.

Peter started again, purposely coughing, before telling the Sheriff everything that had happened. The pack, Cora, The Argents, Stiles being banished, how the two met, and what the flashback had shown.

Two hours passed, The Sheriff asked questions, listened, aghast, and cried furiously for all the wrongs against his son. When Peter showed John his claws, he sat back down from his pacing, resigned to the realisation that this was real. This crazy, supernatural world had clashed with his black and white one, and finally, he was seeing in a sickening technicolour.

Stiles sat silently for most of this, but occasionally, the two older men could hear his hitching breaths as the re-telling opened old wounds.

"....but what did Stiles' flashback mean?" John was numb, shocked beyond relief, yet, like his son, was still searching without abandon for the answers he wanted so much.

Peter looked at Stiles, smiling for the first time that day.

"It means, Mr Stilinski...that your son is a spark."

Stiles' eyes widened, his quiet breaths stopping momentarily, as he took in the news. He had, of course, read extensively on the subject in the Hale library- which renewed a pang of pain- so he knew that a spark was a human, of course, he was human, that had a small 'spark' of magic inside them, often a product of great trauma. Stiles had enough of that.

John narrowed his eyes, squinting suspiciously at the Were. "What the hell is a spark?" He growled, losing his patience when he saw Peters widening grin.

"Someone who unknowingly developed a 'spark' due to an obsessive amount of trauma. Magic." Stiles interrupted Peter before he could utter a word, his monotone voice changing to a wondering one...He had magic! Him! Stiles Stilinski. He smiled, a small, content smile, because deep inside of him, there was an ember glowing through the deep, dark smoke of his feeling, and now he knew it was there, maybe he could turn it into the fire it had the potential to be!

"Yes. Magic." Peter smiled encouragingly at Stiles, the boy had gone through so much and maybe the appearance of the unexpected spark could ignite the boy's passion for life again.

After much more questioning, interrogating, and confusion later, the three men felt much more at ease: The Sheriff knew what his son had been hiding for so long...werewolves...Fairies...Peter could sense the flicker of gratitude from John, and he was beginning to help mend Stiles! And Stiles. He was a spark! That was one hell of a development...

Stiles had emerged from his cocoon of bedding, now sitting straight on the sofa, tentatively smiling at his dad and Peter, the latter making his heart warm, and something small blossom inside his ribcage, he wasn't scared to feel anymore.

As John disappeared through the door to create a- no doubt unsavoury, but created with pride- lunch, Stiles surged up off the sofa, launching himself at Peter, who caught him, astounded but greatly pleased at the beaming grin on his face. He buried his face in Stiles' neck, scenting the boy and reassuring him. He was pack now. Both of the Stilinskis were.

"I'm a spark? I'm a spark!" Stiles' muffled voice reached Peters' ears, and he smiled happily.

"You're amazing."

Stiles stiffened against Peter, who immediately wondered if his spur of the moment comment was too much, but was relieved when Stiles melted against him.

"You are.." Stiles pushed Peter away before smiling at Peter through bleary, tear-stained eyes. "You really are amazing, Peter Hale..."

John emerged into the room, balancing two trays precariously on shaken hands, staring at Peter and Stiles as they hugged each other, coughing loudly, he smirked as the two sprung guiltily away from each other,

"I made lunch."

"Thanks, Pops."

"Maybe I should go..." Peter awkwardly shifted, turning towards Stiles, but looking at the door.

"No! Uhh, no..." Stiles blushed, his red face observed by the knowing Sheriff.

"Yes, please stay, Peter." John pushed one of the trays toward Peter, before leaving the room to fetch the third. Stiles watched him, disgruntled.

Peter sat down next to Stiles, angling his body to face Stiles.

"You...you do know you're amazing with or without a spark, right?" Peter looked intently at Stiles, who looked away, red returning to his cheeks.

"Hmm..." He stared at the ground, unbelieving and adamant he had no self-worth, unaware that Peter believed the exact opposite.

"It's the truth. A spark is great, I get that, but you are so, so much without that! Being human isn't something bad. All packs rely on and need Humans to ground the Weres. And...If we're going to make this pack work...we need you." Peter earnestly searched Stiles face, looking for the doubt and disbelief he wanted to get rid of.

Stiles looked astounded, but grinned, his tired eyes brightening. "Yes! Oh my fucking god...yes! Yes, we can be a pack!" He laughed, the disbelief making his joy ten times better.

"Language..." The Sheriff muttered mildly, but the comment lacked any real heat. Stiles turned to him, grinning.

"Sorry, Pops...Or should I say, Packmate."

John chuckled, hiding his surprise beneath the disgruntled humour. "Dad is fine, y'know"

"I'm just happy!" Stiles pushed playfully at his dad, nimbly avoiding a smack as he stole the chocolate bar off of his plate.

The Sheriff sighed, and said, deadpan: "Hi, Happy...I'm-"

"NO" Stiles screeched, hastily plastering his hands over John's mouth. "Wowww, dad. You promised no dad jokes!"

The three laughed, once again filling the household with joyous laughter, and Peter, Stiles and John felt like they'd all got a family again.