Hellhound on my Trail - SerenaLight17 (2024)

Chapter 1: Welcome to Beacon Hills

Chapter Text

The back of his shirt clung to his nape with the sweat sliding down from his hairline, dampening the crisp white of the collar. The sensation of cotton against his overheated skin was disquieting and made him resist the urge to scratch his neck to get rid of the sensation. But before he could resort to such drastic measures as peeling off his skin, Jordan settled on pulling off his suit jacket first at the stop sign, depositing it on the seat beside him as he continued to follow the directions of the GPS.

Right turn there, next exit here, two-forty meters, one-thirty meter, forty meters, and so on till he found himself driving past a sign proclaiming “Welcome to Beacon Hills”.

From the sign onwards, Jordan could recall the way to his grandmother’s house as if he had been there just yesterday. He had to brace his temple against his palm to recall that the last time he had seen his grandmother was before he signed up for the Afghanistan war six years ago and that back then she’d been a sprightly old woman, who always had caramel toffee in her dress pocket and a wide smile to give. Now, he was returning from the war where he had left his innocence and faith in humanity.

Even now, he could still recall the vibrating recoil of the guns he’s fired, the sharp and overwhelming tang of copper hovering in the air, and the ringing in his ears as an IED would go off somewhere to his left. Or had it been his right? He couldn’t remember correctly anymore. Even now, the empty stretch of road leading into Beacon Hills transformed into the dust-covered barren desert of Afghanistan. No signs of life on either side of him save for the sharp uptake in his breathing to be back there, the weight of his vest and weapons weighing him down in his seat.

Jordan had to pull to the side of the road, turn off the car and rest his forehead against the steering wheel and breathe the way his mandated therapist had told him to. Inhale for four seconds, hold and then exhale for the same duration.

He went through the exercise a couple more times till he stopped feeling the cold sweat beading at his hairline, and hesitantly peeked over his steering wheel to find the tree-encased road of Beacon Hills before him once more.

The rest of the drive goes by without incident.

Pulling into the driveway of his grandmother’s old home, Jordan found himself sitting in the car for a minute longer, simply admiring the structure from his childhood encased in a timeless bubble. It was still that vibrant teal with the grey tiled roof as immaculate as he remembered it to be. An infallible part of him knew that the inside would be much the same as if had been the last time he had been here as a young boy.

Flexing his fingers over the leather of the wheel, Jordan stepped out of the vehicle and made his way towards the covered porch, the keys to the property jingling as he fished them out of his slacks and stopped in front of the light brown door. A welcome mat at his feet.

Unlocking the door, he stepped into the living room with its moss green couch and armchair, the pearl green paint, rug, and white bookshelves on either side of the window, framed by various family portraits that had been left to gather dust since his grandmother’s departure from this world. To the left of the living room was the heart of the house, the kitchen with its light wood flooring, wood top center island, white cabinets, and hanging light fixtures. The machinery and utensils are left undisturbed in their designated spaces with the dining room to the left of the kitchen. The table and chairs were in dark wood to contrast with the flooring, his Granma used to wink when he’d once asked about the lightness of everything else compared to the dining room.

Jordan heaved a heavy breath to return here, making his way to the couch and flopping down on the textured green upholstery and sending up a cloud of dust that had him coughing and swiping at the air before throwing his head back in resignation, wondering what was he doing here.

There wasn’t much to how he ended up here if Jordan thought about it.

He returned from the Afghanistan war following its end and found himself not only unemployed but also homeless with his mother having passed when he was still a young boy and his father working himself to the grave during his deployment, and no siblings to speak of. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with himself, living out of his suitcase and cheap motels, trying to figure out what to do next, when a lawyer contacted him not even two months after he landed back on US soil.

The lawyer had been the utmost professional, informing him that his grandmother – his mother’s mother, the only living grandparent he had – had passed away a month ago, buried in the graveyards of Beacon Hills, and had left everything in her name to him. That was everything including her home. This teal cottage is flanked on both sides by houses, with a small front garden and a good backyard with a swing set.

So Jordan did the only logical thing, he packed up his meager belongings, paid his respects to his grandmother, and was now moving boxes into her living room.

The place had three bedrooms, one on the ground floor, past the staircase, and two bedrooms upstairs with a small study in the attic. After having gone through all of the rooms, Jordan decided that the bedroom on the ground floor was good enough for him with its bath and closet, and exit point to the side deck, and proceeded to move his suitcases and boxes in there before doing the most important thing. Unboxing his weapons and hiding them in strategic corners, the war not having left his bones just yet.

Jordan had been coming downstairs from hiding a shotgun under the window seat on the landing leading to the second floor when he caught sight of something red from the corner of his eyes. His heart jumped to his throat and his vision narrowed as he muffled his steps, reaching for the baton in the open laundry room and making his way towards the intersection.

“Hiya!” A person leaned forward from behind the wall.

The suddenness of the boy’s appearance made Jordan stagger back and trip over the folds in the rug, landing on his backside with a groan and overactive heartbeat as he stared up at the ceiling. Struggling to get the trembling of his hands back under control with his breathing far too loud in his ears.

Lifting his head from the floor, he found a young boy standing at his feet.

He couldn’t have been older than ten years old with shaggy brown hair, sun-kissed freckled skin, wearing jeans and a t-shirt under a red flannel, and a backpack slung over his shoulder. The boy rocked on the heels of his feet before crouching down as Jordan sat up at the base of the stairs, frowning at the boy who watched him with sparkling whiskey eyes.

“Are you moving into Grandma Mary’s house? You can’t do that, Grandma Mary said she’d give it to her grandson-” The boy chatted at him as Jordan slowly pulled himself to his feet with the help of the banister, the boy jumping up as well.

“-I am her grandson,” Jordan informed him and looked over his shoulder at the open doorway, certain that he had not only closed the door but locked it as well. “Did you just break in here?”

“-Oh! You’re her grandson? Jordan, right? Grandma Mary had so many stories of you! Said you were such a smart boy and that when you learned how to ride a bike and wouldn’t come back inside. She said you’d only come back if they gave you caramel candy, so she started keeping them with her for you-” The boy trailed after him as Jordan inspected the door, nothing indicated a forced entry nor were there any scratches on the lock suggestive of lock-picking – not that Jordan thought the boy was capable of picking a lock – which meant the boy had a key.

“-Do you have a key?”

“I’m Stiles by the way! Hi! Grandma Mary used to watch over me when I was younger and when my dad was busy with work,” The boy, Stiles’s voice came from further away, Jordan whirling around to find that the boy had made himself right at home by depositing his backpack on the couch and was rummaging through the cupboards and fridge. “Boy, you don’t have any food at all, you need to go grocery shopping. If you can survive till the end of the week which is in two days anyways-”

“-It’s Tuesday-” Jordan frowned at the boy's words and watched him make his way around the dining room, touching everything and putting them in different places before continuing to talk as if he had never been interrupted.

“-Then we can go down to the store together and stock up on supplies, what do you say?”

“Style-?” He sighed and watched the boy march to the bookshelves and pull out books at random before putting them back, throwing up dust in the process.

“-Stiles,”

“Right, do you have a-”

“-By the way, will you be renovating?” Stiles cut him off as he looked up at the wall and walked backward with a hand on the couch to guide his movements. “I think the living room could use some changes, but then Grandma Mary made it to be like this, but now you’re moving in, so I think maybe change the paint? This color reminds me of puke. Isaac once threw up during PE because the coach was making us do suicide runs and his puke was this color, I can’t look the walls the same again since then. Maybe beige? What’s the time?” He stopped long enough to look at Jordan in the doorway.

The barrage of information left Jordan paralyzed for a moment, trying to tease apart the threads he was tangled in before registering the question had asked and automatically looking at the watch on his wrist.

“It’s fifteen-twenty-”

“-Oh! I have to meet up with Scott,” The boy grabbed his backpack from the couch and marched passed Jordan and onto the porch. “See you, Jordan!” Stiles waved over his shoulder and ran down the sidewalk.

Jordan found himself waving back and closing the door, locking it once again, and cursed to realize he never got an answer to whether Style? Stiles? Had a key to this place. It wouldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibilities if his grandmother used to watch him when his father was at work, the question of Stiles's mother nagging at his mind before deciding that was a little too offensive to ask. What if his parents were divorced? He would not want to open up that can of worms.

Pressing his forehead to the wooden structure, Jordan felt as if he’d been wrung through a typhoon. A typhoon in the shape of a ten-year-old middle schooler who spoke a mile a minute and probably didn’t even breathe between words. The presence of the boy felt like some form of a fever dream that left his hands feeling clammy.

He had barely regained his composure from the encounter when rapid knocking on the door had him pulling it open, only to find Stiles thrusting a Tupperware into his arms, a sandwich held between his teeth as he waved and ran down the sidewalk to his bike. Mounting it and paddling down the street before Jordan could once more comprehend the bizarre experience.

The Tupperware was one of those fancy ones with three sections. The biggest is occupied by cold sandwich halves, one of the smaller ones filled with granola, with the last portion housing crunchy cucumber slices. It took Jordan looking down at the contents to realize the boy had given him lunch before rushing off to his friend’s place. Something grateful blooming hesitantly against his ribcage at the sight of the food, and found himself sitting down on the kitchen floor with his back to the center island and looking out at the living room.

He could see what Stiles meant by renovating. Everything had a very elderly cozy feel to it, no doubt, but Jordan was here for a fresh start, and maybe renovating was exactly what he needed to do just that.

Maybe he’d change the living room walls to a soft sky blue with white wainscoting, sell the sofa set and replace it with a light grey sectional couch instead, change out the rug, and add another bookshelf. Then maybe change up things in the kitchen – add a few more utensils and repaint the cabinets into a dove grey, white got dirty too quickly in his opinion.

He was chewing on the granola when he decided that he was going to paint the entire ground floor soft and less obtrusive blue, change the white to something like dove grey, darken the flooring, and make some furniture changes to the place. Jordan dusted his hands, having emptied the entire Tupperware and put it into the sink for washing before surveying the promise of a fresh start.

But first, he had to open the windows to let out the stale air and dust off the surfaces.

Chapter 2: Stilinski

Chapter Text

Jordan wasn’t sure where to begin.

Last night he had decided on the renovating, which meant that he should put off moving his stuff out from boxes until everything was ready, but to make it ready, the renovations had to begin.

Maybe get rid of the furniture first, then the paint, and then the floors? Once that was done, add furniture and then move in. That seemed the most logical progression to him, he had to make the downstairs bedroom functional anyways, and he could use the money he would get from selling the furniture and then add something extra from his savings.

It was a start, no doubt, but first, he needed coffee.

Which he didn’t have, now that he looked into the cupboards and recalled their barrenness.

He could ask the neighbors, but then he’d have to introduce himself and that was a daunting feat he wasn’t mentally prepared for yet. Maybe he could go to the grocery store and pick up coffee, but that would require him to interact with people so early. His dilemma forced Jordan to rest his forehead against the overhead cabinet in indecision.

A knock on his door had him straighten and grumble, making his way over and open the door to find young Stiles sauntering in like he owned the place, Jordan throwing his head back and heaving a breath; quietly asking for patience from a higher deity.

“Did you decide what you’re going to do with the place?” Stiles asked instead of a greeting as he made his way into the kitchen, depositing another lunch box and thermos on the kitchen counter before pressing his back to the edge. “Brought you breakfast by the way, since you’re going grocery shopping with me and because I wanted to know what you’re going to do with the place. By the way, I don’t know how you take your coffee so I just left it black and you can put stuff in, but now that I think about it you wouldn’t have milk or sugar with you. Oh, I think we’d have to go grocery shopping earlier then, get you the basics. How about today, after school?”

Jordan let the boy chatter away with his wayward train of thought before shuffling towards the counter, opening the lid of the box, and feeling his lips part in surprise at the sight of another three-sectional lunch box. One portion was stuffed with granola while the other had Greek yogurt, the smallest portion housing fresh fruits like blueberries, strawberries, and sliced bananas. Jordan licked his lips at the breakfast, fishing out a spoon from the drawer and mixing the granola and yogurt before crunching down on it.

“I’m thinking of painting the walls blue-”

“-Dark, light, grey, mid?”

“I’m thinking of something along the lines of a light sky blue,” Jordan answered readily, Stiles humming and looking around as if he could picture it. “Add some wainscoting, paint the white to a shade of grey, darken the floors, and change the couches to of those L-shaped sofas and add more bookshelves,”

“Huh, that would look good, I think,”

“I think so too,” Jordan huffed out a laugh and took a sip of the coffee, humming in contentment at the scalding bitter liquid. “Who cooks by the way? The lunch yesterday and the breakfast are delicious,” He hummed to himself and continued to eat another spoonful, looking up to find the boy watching him over his shoulder with a broad grin.

“You liked it? That’s great!” Stiles beamed and bounced on his toes. “Anyways, I got to go now, I have school. But after school, I can show you where to get paint and furniture from, and then we can go grocery shopping,” He waved, and just like that, the boy left in a whirlwind of movement, making Jordan think that maybe that’s how every interaction with the boy would go: at the boy’s leisure with not so much as a by your leave.

Jordan shook his head as he continued to eat, deciding that he’d search and find places he would like to buy the furniture off his hands.

He had made some headway in the furniture department by the time Stiles showed up again.

The boy arrived in a flurry of flailing limbs, tripping over the threshold and nearly colliding headfirst into the wall, and beamed wide at him with a greeting. He immediately hurtled questions at him like if he’s had lunch or if they should go for some pizza because Stiles wanted some pizza, and that he excused himself from the Hale house – a name which sounded vaguely familiar to Jordan from his Granma’s stories of Beacon Hills – and it was pizza day on Wednesday. Jordan braced his chin on his knuckles as he watched the boy flitter through the space, zooming from one corner to the other and making his words grow distant and then close and then low and then loud with his movement.

“You didn’t go grocery shopping without me, did you?” Stiles demanded even though he was standing in front of an empty fridge that Jordan got functional last night. “What did you do all this time?”

“I found places that would like to buy the furniture, actually. I was waiting for you to come back for grocery shopping like you asked me to,”

Jordan didn’t know why he did.

He could have very easily gone to the nearest general store on the GPS and bought groceries in peace, but something in him revolted at the thought of leaving the boy behind, especially since he had been kind enough to supply Jordan with food and coffee since his arrival. Stiles was loud and talked excessively, yes, but he didn’t so much as pry into Jordan’s personal life like people won’t to do with a new arrival in a small community like Beacon Hills. Besides, who knows, maybe the boy could fend off obtrusive questions out in public by dominating the conversation so hard people won’t be able to get in a word edge-wise. Jordan knew he couldn’t speak once the boy started.

“Really? Who’d you find?” Stiles whirled in his direction where he sat on the dining table with his laptop open, Jordan turned the screen to show the boy the webpage, and found him immediately scrunching his nose. “Did you talk to Annie or James?”

“Annie or James?”

“Did you talk to a lady on the phone or a man?”

“Man, why?”

“No, no, no, you should talk to Annie, she’s the boss and would give you a far better deal on the sofa set than James would. How much is he offering you?” Stiles shook his head and took out a flip phone from his pocket before dialing the number given on the page.

“Uh…$400 for the whole thing, couches and bedroom,”

Stiles nodded to the words and put the ringing phone to his ear, moving away from Jordan, but not before asking him to order pizza. A double pepperoni special for Stiles, please, he had managed to get out before the line connected, and Stiles's excited voice grew further away with the boy’s movement. Jordan huffed out an amused laugh and ordered the pizza as asked, supplying the boy with some food for once and let him enjoy his negotiation. Who knew, maybe Stiles would manage to get an additional $50.

Jordan had hardly put down the phone after giving the order that Stiles came back with a bounce in his step and enlightened him: “See, that’s why you should talk to Annie for these deals. She’s willing to take everything for $600,”

“Wha-!” Jordan spluttered and burst into laughter. “How’d you do that?”

“I have my ways,” Stiles winked at him and made his way over to the dining table, lugging his backpack with him to the dining table, sitting down, and pulling out his homework.

Jordan chuckled before going back to his laptop, deciding that he’ll take a look at some paint samples and get an idea for the type of furniture he wanted in his room.

Stiles managed three minutes of quiet – Jordan counted before he began to speak on the history of mathematics while he did his math homework, finishing that before pulling out another subject and effortlessly talking about the development of science over the years and comparing the Dark Ages to the Enlightenment era. Jordan quietly watched the boy do his work and listened to him, adding comments and questions for clarifications in between, figuring out the boy knew a lot about a lot.

When the pizza arrived, Stiles stood beside Jordan, who paid and spoke with the delivery boy, asking him how his brother’s throat was and if they managed to finish their deck. The boy readily answered Stiles’s questions with a smile and ruffled his hair, bidding his farewell to them and left them standing in the doorway.

“That’s Camden,” Stiles grinned wide at Jordan who arched a brow for clarification. “He’s my classmate, Isaac’s, brother. I really like Isaac,”

“Isaac is the one who threw up in PE and the wall color reminds you of that?” Jordan recalled one bit of information he had been able to tease apart in his hurricane of words yesterday. The boy startled at his words and gawked up at him in surprise before nodding in confirmation. The elder couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression on the boy’s face and ruffled Stiles’s hair before gesturing for him to follow him inside and to the dining room. “Come on, let’s eat pizza and then go pick up some paint before grocery shopping,”

“Yes!”

*

After some back-and-forth discussion, they decided to get paint samples first, pick out the wainscoting and wooden flooring, and then order the furniture for later before they’d make their way to the grocery store for a major shopping trip.

Stiles gave him the directions and then bounded beside Jordan as they made their way into the home depot, the boy keeping up a stream of steady chatter that suddenly pattered out before he stopped walking entirely. Jordan turned around at the lack of sound and movement and found the boy bowing low to something, the elder turning in the direction to find an elderly couple bowing back to him by one of the cars in the parking lot. Jordan furrowed his brows, unsure if he should bow as well knowing Beacon Hills housed numerous supernatural creatures and he didn’t want to offend anyone by accident. But before he could decide on anything, Stiles straightened with far more grace than Jordan expected him to be capable of, and waved to the duo before running to catch up with him.

“What was that?” Jordan asked once they entered the store, Stiles skipping beside him and waving to the people he passed as they called out greetings to him.

“What?” Stiles looked back at him with furrowed brows and watched Jordan gesture behind them as if to indicate what happened in the parking lot. “Oh! Yeah, that’s the Fayed Alpha and Alpha mate, hence the bow. They’re here from Colorado to visit their son, Alex. They probably stopped by to get some stuff for the garden shed they were making. They’re also Derek’s grandparents and since I’m Derek’s mate, they bowed back, it’s a werewolf respect thing. At least that’s what they taught me,” He enlightened and led the way to the paint aisle.

Jordan frowned at the boy’s back, once again taking a moment to parse out the various strings of information that had been thrown at him before stopping with him in front of the paints, taking to look at some of the cans as he digested the words. The Fayed Alpha and Alpha mate were Derek’s grandparents, which meant that their son, Alex, was Derek’s father. They were making a garden shed. Stiles was Derek Hale’s mate and therefore knew a good amount, if not a lot more about the etiquettes of interacting with the supernatural – such as bowing to the Alpha and his mate. That led to a lot more questions than he would have liked.

“You’re a werewolf’s mate?”

“Yup!” Stiles popped the p at the end and held out cans of blue and grey paint for Jordan to look through. “Derek knew I was his mate the moment he and his mom came to visit my mom in the hospital when I was born. Derek is three years older than I am, but we’ve known we were mates since we were kids, and I spend at least one or two days at the Hale house, plus we go to the same school, and sometimes Derek comes and hangs out with me,”

“You like him?”

“I love him,” Stiles looked at Jordan with such conviction that even adults didn’t harbor. Maybe that was the power of being a mated pair, he couldn’t know, all he knew – vaguely – was that werewolves mate for life and know who their mate is.

“You going to marry him?” Jordan teased, pinching Stiles’s cheek, the boy flushing a deep red and stammering in embarrassment. Fumbling over his words and stomping petulantly before marching away. Jordan was unable to not acknowledge how cute the kid was.

“Fine! Pick out the paint yourself!” Stiles shrieked at him before disappearing down the bend. Jordan chuckled at his retreating figure, never having realized how easily the boy got flustered, but wasn’t too worried, knowing he’d find the boy soon enough.

After a quick consultation with one of the staff, Jordan loaded the required number of tins into his cart and grabbed the necessary accouterments before wandering towards the aisle with the wooden flooring. He was looking for someone to direct him to the correct aisle when he found Stiles standing in front of the hulking figure of a man dressed in what looked like animal bones and cargo pants, their face covered by a bear skull.

Jordan’s stomach twisted into knots, the sense of danger making the hair on the back of his neck stand up on edge as he slowly made him towards the boy who was flailing in an animated conversation. He wasn’t sure if the boy was even aware of the danger the man posed with their cart full of hardware equipment and their hulking stature – not only dressed like an animal but could very easily pass off as one with the strength visible.

“Stiles,” Jordan called out tentatively, the boy turning over his shoulder and waving to him with a grin. The animal-slash-man turned its hollowed skull towards him. “Who’s your friend?”

“Jordan this is Bjorn Stoll, he’s a Berserker,” Stiles gestured to the man. “Bjorn, this is Jordan Wilson-”

“-Jordan Parrish,” Jordan corrected and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, subtly moving him back to his side. Just in case. “I’m Mary Wilson’s grandson,”

“She left her house for you,” The man’s voice echoed and resounded from the confines of the skull, deep and rumbling through Jordan’s chest like an animal growl that activated the fight-or-flight response in his lizard brain. Something in his mind forced him to straighten and stand tall, a snarl stuck under his chin just waiting to slip past his lips. “We all adored Grandma Mary, I still use the recipe of her soup whenever my kids come down with something. I am sorry for your loss,”

It felt like a whiplash.

The response this man elicited in his lizard brain as opposed to the sincerity of his words. Jordan left floundering for a second, trying to calm the hunter-response encoded in his DNA, and cleared his throat to get his voice to come out without the undercurrent of a growl.

“Thank you for your condolences, and thank you all for having looked after my grandmother,”

“She looked after just as much as we did for her. I hope the outside paint still looks good, we all helped her refresh the paint last summer,”

“It…” Jordan faltered again, blinking to realize how close-knit this community actually was. “It looks just as I remember it as a boy,”

He couldn’t decipher the expressions, but the Berserker let out a sound that came off as a pleased rumble and nodded, excusing himself to pay for his haul and leaving Jordan and Stiles alone once more.

“Bjorn makes the best apple pies, I hope he makes some for you as a welcome thing,” Stiles spoke and looked into the cart. “Should we get the flooring now?”

Jordan nodded numbly, reeling from the experience – never having met a Berserker before – and followed with Stiles's hand in his own as he chattered about the people he met while he roamed around the store and led the way to the flooring.

After the floors, they managed to pick out the furniture as well. Jordan picked out a grey sectional sofa with a matching ottoman and a pair of navy blue armchairs for the living room. They also picked out a wooden platform bed with matching side tables, an ottoman bench, and a dresser for the downstairs room as well, the salesclerk informed him that his furniture would be delivered to him by the end of the week which gave Jordan plenty of time to get everything in order.

Jordan loaded everything into the cruiser, Stiles flittering around him and talking about what his list should include for the grocery shop. The boy jumped into the passenger seat once everything was loaded and began giving directions to the store the moment they pulled out of the parking lot.

The grocery store was much bigger than Jordan had anticipated. Another thing he did not anticipate was how they’d be stopped by every single patron, so they could chat with Stiles and then be introduced to Jordan.

Jordan felt he’d met more than half of Beacon Hills by the time they got to the fresh produce aisle. Stiles would provide him with some basic information about whatever person they’d met, Jordan had accepted so many condolences and offers of aid that his mouth was running dry. Despite all the chatting, the boy had engaged in with the people, Stiles still could berate Jordan for the products he was putting in his cart. The boy took them out and replaced them with healthier alternatives, Jordan just rolled his eyes and pointed out that he wasn’t going to get diabetes at his age.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles challenged. “How old are you?”

“How old are you?”

“I’m 9!”

“Well, I’m 15 years older than you, mister,” Jordan couldn’t help but stick out his tongue at the boy before putting the double-stuffed Oreos back in the cart along with the chocolates and cereals he had picked out. God, he’d missed this stuff in Afghanistan.

“Type 1 diabetes can happen at a young age!”

“Type 1 diabetes is often due to a family history of diabetes, and my family history is as healthy as a horse, Stiles,”

“No, we are not getting Oreos and Cheerios and Twix and KitKat-you’re an abomination as an adult!” Stiles put the Oreos back, making Jordan shake his head in exasperation. This boy, honestly.

“As an adult, I can make my decision and deal with the consequences,”

“The consequence is death-”

“-Stiles?” A soft lilting voice intoned from behind Jordan, the man turned around to find a woman with soft brown hair and soft blue eyes making their way towards them. “I thought I heard you,”

“Hi, Mrs. Martin,” Stiles waved to her, Jordan putting the Oreos back in the cart while he was distracted. “Making lasagna today?” He gestured to the lasagna plates and tomato sauce in her basket.

“Ah yes, Lydia has been begging me to make lasagna for the last three days,” Mrs. Martin sighed before turning to Jordan. “Who is this? I don’t think I’ve seen you around,”

“No, ma’am, I’m Jordan Parrish, I just moved here yesterday-”

“-He’s Grandma Mary’s grandson!” Stiles clarified as if Jordan wasn’t capable of doing so himself. “I’m showing him around,”

“Oh! Grandma Mary’s Jordan, oh, yes I’ve heard about you,” Mrs. Martin held out her hand to him. “I’m Natalie Martin, pleasure finally meeting you and I’m sorry for your loss. Grandma Mary was a beloved part of our community,”

“Yes, thank you, I’ve heard everyone holds fond memories of her,” Jordan gave a cordial smile, and shook her hand.

They stood and talked for a little while longer before they went their separate ways; Mrs. Martin went to the register, while Jordan and Stiles made their way to the dairy aisle.

“So what is she?” Jordan asked as he picked out a milk carton and put it into the cart.

“What?”

“Mrs. Martin, what is she?”

“Uh…Human?” Stiles tilted his head in confusion. “No, yeah, she’s human,”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, but Lydia is a banshee,”

“Berserker, Werewolves, Banshee,” Jordan noted as he pushed the overflowing cart down the aisle. “What other supernatural creatures are there?” He asked when he noticed Stiles was frowning at the Oreos he could see in the cart.

It worked in distracting the boy but led to a full history of Beacon Hills, the home of the born werewolves, and how each new creature came to reside here through the centuries. Through the time that they put the groceries on the conveyer belt to get scanned, paid, and packed them, Jordan heard about the Peace Treaty of Beacon Hills that ensured that all the supernatural creatures co-existed in peace without stepping on any toes.

He learned about the Banshee, the Berserkers, the Werecoyotes and Werejaguars – the bitten and the born – and the Kitsune family that moved here recently. Jordan learned that Sirens were real and that he should probably never get too close to one, then he also found out that there was a segment in the preserves where the Fae folk resided and was warned never to eat anything they ever offered, but to always be polite, and that if he ever comes across a gnome, then he should offer them a quarter for safe passage.

Stiles kept up the stream of information regarding their history, their lore and myths compared to reality, and the etiquette of interacting with them.

It was almost like the boy had a mythology book in his brain, Jordan thought absentmindedly as he asked how to differentiate the creatures – like how would he tell if a person is a werewolf, werejaguar, or werecoyote – while he began putting the groceries away with Stiles’s help. The boy had lived out of this kitchen far more than Jordan ever had.

By the time they got all the groceries put away and the paint and floorboard inside, Annie’s team arrived to take apart the furniture. Jordan felt like his brain was overflowing with the multitude of information he had accumulated through Stiles.

The boy had stopped talking about the supernaturals of Beacon Hills long enough to greet Annie and her team: David and Gael. He asked after their families, knowing details about their spouses and children and asking after their wellbeing, making Jordan wonder where Stiles stored – or obtained – all this information. Meanwhile, Annie and Jordan were introduced, the woman politely warning him to never let Stiles do any further negotiations from here on out since the boy knew far too much about everyone and was fully capable of manipulating them, she huffed a laugh and handed the money over to him for the second-hand furniture.

Jordan could only gawk at the woman as she said that, waving in farewell and welcoming him to Beacon Hills before getting into her truck and leaving.

“Woah, it’s so empty!” Stiles spoke into the barren lounge, giggling when his voice echoed.

“Did you blackmail Annie to up the price?” Jordan’s words came out louder than he had anticipated in the emptiness, making him wince and make a mental note to lower his register when speaking.

“Blackmail Annie?” Stiles frowned and shook his head. “Her? No, no. James on the other hand?” The boy shrugged and bounded away.

“Stiles!” Jordan gasped in shock, wincing at the loud volume, and was distracted long enough for the boy to dart upstairs, the elder man shaking his head and huffing out a laugh at the image. This scrawny 9-year-old not only knew everyone and everything, but he had enough information on everyone that he could blackmail full-grown men, Jordan snorted at the thought before bursting into a peal of laughter that had Stiles peek at him from the stairs, grinning at his mirth. It took Jordan a moment to recompose himself, beckoning him back.

Stiles bounded over, rocking on the soles of his shoes, and grinned up at him as Jordan ruffled his hair.

“Come on, let’s have some dinner and then I’ll send you home,”

“Okay!” Stiles nodded and bounded over to the newly stocked fridge.

They ended up making Sloppy Joe's, Jordan was not in the mood for anything overly complicated, as the boy helped out wherever he could. The elder was not surprised to find out that the kid was good in the kitchen too, and couldn’t help but smile to himself when Stiles started humming to himself before softly singing under his breath.

“Why don’t you take out the plates and set the table?” Jordan suggested to Stiles, the boy immediately rushing to do so and squawked when he bumped into the table, Jordan hissing in sympathy. “Are you ok-?” He began to ask but faltered when the doorbell rang.

“Fine,” Stiles waved away and rubbed his side, Jordan putting the pan off the heat and wiping his hands on a dish towel before making his way over to the door, pulling it open to find a police officer standing on the porch.

Jordan knew he had no reason to panic, but the sight of a uniformed authority figure suddenly made him think if he had anything illegal in his possessions. His tongue grew heavy in his mouth when the man turned around, Jordan catching sight of the sleeve patch proclaiming the man to be the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.

“Can…” Jordan’s voice cracked before he cleared his throat. “Can I help you? Sir?”

“Actually, I think I can help you,” The man stepped forward, and Jordan swallowed thickly to notice how broad the man was, especially when he stood with his hands on his hips. “It appears you’re harboring a criminal on your premise,” The Sheriff proclaimed with a stern expression, cold sweat breaking out on Jordan’s temple as he gawked at the man, trying to figure out what he was saying.

“A criminal?” Jordan floundered, shaking his head because it was just him and Stiles and before he could say anything more, the man leaned forward in the doorway and called, their voices echoing far too much in the empty living room.

“Stiles Stilinski, I will give you to the count of three to get your ass out here-”

“-Stiles?” Jordan stammered in shock at the man’s words, holding his hands up to appease the police officer, trying to understand what was going on.

“1-”

“-But, but sir he-he did nothing wrong-”

“-2-”

“-I think there’s been some misunderstanding-!”

“-3-!"

“-I’m here! I’m here!” Stiles slid across the hardwood flooring in his rush to escape the kitchen, catching himself against the wall before straightening and grinning at the Sheriff who gave him a deadpanned look in return. “Hiya, Dad,”

Dad,Jordan wanted to shriek in question, gaze darting from the Sheriff to Stiles and then back to the Sheriff. This must be some sort of joke, there was no way the man was the father. No way. Jordan had been convinced the man was closer to his age, maybe with a handful of years between them. The man was young, not Jordan young, butyoung. He probably was just elected as Sheriff, his face clear of any signs of aging save for the few stress lines and the crow's feet at the corner of his eyes or the smile lines at the edge of his pink lips. He had bright eyes and soft-looking hair, there was no way this man was a day over thirty, did he have Stiles young?

“Sir-” Jordan tried to understand, reaching for Stiles to keep him at his side.

“Did you blackmail James Miller?” The Sheriff narrowed his eyes at the boy, hands at his hips like a disapproving parent.

“Oh, come on! He was clearly ripping off Jordan!”

“That’s not the point, where exactly did you get information to blackmail him from?”

“I-uh-look it’s not my fault you left your work laptop on the dining table!”

“It’s password protected!”

“BHPD is not a very secure password, Dad!” Stiles reasoned, the Sheriff grabbing Stiles by the shoulder and pulling him over the threshold as if he would give him a stern talking to.

“Could someone please tell me what’s going on?” Jordan intervened before the man could start scolding his son, the Sheriff looking up at him while Stiles threw him a grateful smile, pulling away from his father’s hold to stand beside Jordan, pinching the side of his t-shirt.

“Of course!” Stiles grinned and gestured from Jordan to the Sheriff and then from the Sheriff to himself. “Jordan, please meet Beacon Hills’ Sheriff and father to innocent little moi: Noah Stilinski. Dad, meet Grandma Mary’s grandson: Jordan Parrish who just moved in yesterday,”

“Welcome to the community, Parrish,” The Sheriff held out his hand for Jordan who shook it and was startled by the firm grip the man had. “A word of advice, never let Stiles rope you into anything, he’s always up to no good,” The man glared pointedly at his son who shrugged.

“Please call me Jordan,”

“Dad, we made sloppy joe, you want some?”

“Stiles, I think you shouldn’t impose on Mr. Parrish any longer,” Sheriff sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Come on, buddy, let’s go home. Thank you for spending time with my son, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you too often, Jordan,”

“Oh, no, he’s been a great help actually. Told me a lot about the dynamic of the place and helped with shopping for paint and groceries,” Jordan waved away the man’s words. “He’s no bother, really,”

“Are you sure about that? I have no issue throwing him in a holding cell for the night for trespassing-”

“-You wouldn’t!” Stiles gasped. “I’m a minor, you can’t do that,”

“You watch me,” The Sheriff taunted with no heat, Jordan figuring out the man wouldn’t do that.

“No, no, there is no need for that, but are you sure you won’t join us? I think I’ve made too much sloppy joe for one man,”

The Sheriff looked to his son who was bouncing on the toes of his shoes, looking imploringly up at his father before he turned to the new resident and found the young man looking just as eager. God, his kids got his claws in the man already.

“If it’s not an imposition,”

“Not at all, please come in,” Jordan stepped aside to let the Sheriff inside.

Jordan plated the food and pretended he couldn’t see the Sheriff having words with his son in the dining room before he brought the food to the table. The three of them sat down and Jordan got to watch the dynamic between the father and son which comprised a lot of Stiles grousing at his father to eat healthily, and that just because he was eating a sloppy joe now didn’t mean that Stiles wouldn’t feed him vegetables for the rest of the weak, the man deaf to his son’s threats as he savored the food.

“The next time you blackmail someone through illegally obtained information, I get to eat a burger with curly fries,” The Sheriff threatened in turn, his son squawking at the words and flailing.

“Rude, old man”

“Illegal brat,”

Jordan had to press his lips tight together to keep from giggling at their interaction. The rest of the dinner passed by in relative peace. The Sheriff insisted on washing the dishes since Jordan cooked and kept his son entertained the entire day, both of them getting ready to leave once Stiles had gathered his belongings.

The Sheriff thanked him once again on the porch, Jordan waving it away while Stiles waved in farewell, putting his hand into his father’s bigger palm as they ambled down the sidewalk and towards the house next door. Jordan huffed a laugh to realize that – of course – this boy was his neighbor, and waved once more when Stiles turned to him from his stoop and waved erratically at him before heading inside. Jordan followed their example and turned inside as well.

Pressing his back to the door, he breathed in the silence, frowning at how odd it sounded now without Stiles to fill it, and decided he might as well lay out the tarps for painting the walls tomorrow.

Once he had everything protected, Jordan thought he might as well begin painting and cracked open the first can of Rhythmic Blue and began painting over the color of Isaac’s puke, the correlation stuck in his head.

Chapter 3: Cookies

Chapter Text

Jordan found it difficult to sleep since having returned from the war, always waking in a state of panic and immediately reaching for a weapon that was no longer there as if he were under attack. His body was too strung up and his mind was unable to comprehend that they were no longer in an active war zone.

This was the third time he was waking with sweat soaking his hairline, making his hair limp, and gasped for breath with how fast his heart was racing to supply oxygen to all organs.

Groaning, he put his face in his hands and struggled to regulate his breathing. Once he felt calm enough, he looked around at the room he was inhabiting now simply to assure himself that he was well and truly alone.

Even though his sleep wasn’t very restful, at the very least the house was coming along great.

He had made a trip back to the home depot to buy another color of paint for the bedroom, painting the wall behind the bed a forest green to complement the furniture which had arrived at the end of the week as promised. The platform bed was comfortable, exceedingly so. He put it opposite the entrance with windows at his back looking out at the back garden – a project on his list – the matching dresser to the bed’s left and windows leading out to the deck to the right.

Jordan had spent one evening sitting out on the floor of his deck – taking a break from installing the new floor – with the sun setting at his left and a cool bottle of beer in his hand when he realized that his deck looked out at the Stilinskis’ bedroom windows.

He realized that when he’d caught sight of the Sheriff bustling about in the left window getting ready to leave and the right one was Stiles’s room with the way Jordan caught sight of the boy zooming past the window multiple times within ten minutes. When Stiles had noticed this fact too, he had waved at Jordan from across the way. The boy had been so energetic with his waves that he had all but toppled off his feet and fallen on his side before jumping up and waving with a little less enthusiasm than before.

Jordan had choked on his beer in his laughter and waved back in greeting.

Stiles hasn’t been over for the remainder of the week.

So the boy hadn’t seen the finished product yet.

Jordan knew the boy had school and friends…so many friends, so he didn’t expect a repeated visit from the boy any time soon. Yet, after the nightmare, he found himself venturing out of the hall and towards the open-concept living space.

The walls weren’t the color of Isaac’s puke anymore, instead, they were a very soft sky blue with white wainscoting and crown moldings. The couches had been replaced by the grey sectional sofa and armchairs, with the kitchen kept pretty much the same except for the cabinets being a dark grey to go better with the black countertop. He had kept the dining table but painted that room the same blue, and changed the flooring of the entire ground floor to darker wooden floorboards. It was all very soothing, and complement each other, Jordan felt, and he couldn’t help but think that Stiles would think so too.

Jordan had spent his first week in Beacon Hills renovating his ground floor, he didn’t have any plans of changing the two upstairs bedrooms, but he thought about making the attic into a study – having come across some pictures in a catalog that inspired him. But then what would he use the study for? It’s not like he had any plans of starting a job any time soon – he wasn’t even sure what he’d do – then again, maybe he could go back to school given that he’d enlisted in the army immediately after high school.

Maybe he could look into online classes…after he finished all his little projects, that is.

It was far too early to be up, Jordan noted once he caught the time displayed over the oven. He didn’t turn on the lights, instead flopped onto the sectional sofa and pressed his back into the back of it. Grabbing the throw blanket from the back, he pulled it over himself and stared out at the view of his driveway the window provided.

Maybe he should invest in some blinds, Jordan thought and closed his eyes, soothed by the fact that he could hear if anyone broke into his house and react immediately in the close vicinity of the kitchen.

Monday morning found Jordan having turned his back to the window, face buried in the space between the pillows, arm thrown over his head with a leg dangling off the edge of the couch, and sound asleep with sunlight illuminating the sky blue interior.

Stiles wondered how people could sleep with so much sunlight in the room as he ladled a spoon of the overnight oats into his mouth, making his way around the ground floor, wanting to see the finished product. He had to admit, just the color change made a huge difference, the entire place looked lighter now and livelier. In Stiles’s opinion, Jordan could use some pictures to brighten up the place and make it seem like it was lived in. Then again, Stiles had a lot of opinions – not all of them good.

He couldn’t contain his squeal of delight to see the bedroom, bouncing on his toes with the spoon hanging out of his mouth as he saw the finished product.

Stiles could still recall how the room had looked when Grandma Mary would have him sleep there. There used to be a wrought iron bedframe that hurt like anything when Stiles would bump into it, the dresser and side tables had been white to match the bedframe and the room had been plain and white. Now, it had personality with the green accent wall behind the bed, the low-lying wooden platform bed and cream blinds, and the darker wooden flooring complementing the wall and furniture. Again, Stiles thought there should be more personalized touches in this space like his room had posters and pictures, his study table and books, and a telescope which he got for his birthday. Jordan needed hobbies.

Speaking of bedrooms reminded Stiles that he can see Jordan’s deck from his window, and bounded over to the window to his right and found that, yep, he could see the side of their house pretty clearly over the fence.

The sound of Jordan’s groan from the living room had Stiles make his way back to the front of the house. Crouching low with the mason jar of overnight oats in his hand and the spoon hanging from his mouth as he rested his chin on the armrest over Jordan’s head and watched the man slowly wake up.

Jordan was nice, Stiles thought, he liked Jordan and was endlessly fascinated by the man with the baby face. When Stiles met him the first time, he was convinced he was a high school student, maybe around Laura’s age, and wondered how the state could let a minor own a house. But then at the store, Jordan had told him that he was fifteen years older than Stiles, meaning Jordan had been fifteen when Stiles was born. So if he had been fifteen nine years ago, now he was 24 years old. He was like…an adult adult.

He had such pretty brown hair, and his lashes looked really delicate Stiles thought as he watched them flutter then his eyes opened and he stared up at the ceiling before sitting up with his back to him.

“Morning!” Stiles chirped around the spoon. His smile fell immediately when Jordan let out a shout, whirling around with his eyes blown wide and flashing a fiery orange from their usual green that had Stiles stagger back. The man’s face pale, fingers clenched into fists, and shoulders hunched up to his ears as if he were ready to attack.

“Jesus Christ! Stiles!” Jordan’s voice didn’t have the frightened exasperation of the startled, Stiles realized with his heart in his throat and his stomach sinking at the underlying growl he could hear in the exclamation. No, his voice thundered loud and harsh and unrelenting like his Dad’s did that one time when Stiles had run out onto the street chasing after his ball. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jordan demanded with so much anger it had anxiety clawing at Stiles’s throat, his hands trembling around the jar, struggling not to drop it and make a mess, the spoon wobbling in his mouth.

“I’m-I-I’m sorry-I-sorry, I didn’t-I didn’t mean to” Stiles tried to apologize for scaring him. He was used to being around the supernatural who could always hear him or detect him but he forgot he shouldn’t do this to people who can get frightened. But-clearly, clearly Jordan wasn’t human; human eyes don’t glow-

“-Get out!” Jordan snarled, Stiles biting back the yelp that threatened to escape him and skittered over the wooden flooring, trying to get his feet under him before running out of the house. The door slammed shut behind him.

Jordan’s chest felt tight with his erratic breathing, a fine sheen of sweat coating him with how hot he felt. He was almost certain smoke was coming out of his ears with the rage that coursed through him. With a snarl, he threw the blanket off himself and marched to the washroom to take a shower to cool down.

The shower helped him get out of that angry headspace, some resentment still lingering at the back of his throat as he made his way to the kitchen to start the machine for coffee, but faltered at the sight of a Mason jar on his counter. Picking it up, he twisted the cap off and could smell the rich fragrance of cinnamon coming from, what he now realized was overnight oats. He knew he didn’t make this, heart sinking to realize that Stiles had brought him breakfast, and Jordan had yelled at him, driven him out in response to his kindness.

Jordan groaned, pressing his face into his hands at the thought of his failure. Yelling at the kid who not only plied with him food over the first few days, but also helped him so much with the furniture negotiation, directing him to the stores, introducing him to the dynamics of Beacon Hills including what to do, what not do to, what to avoid, and he’d yelled at the boy.

God, he felt horrible about it, even more than he did before when he recalled the panicked expression the boy had at his yelling.

If this guilt didn’t kill him, the boy’s father just might for upsetting the Sheriff’s son.

He had to apologize. Apologize and sit down with the boy and talked to him about breaking and entering his house, or not letting his presence be known. Stiles could talk a mile a minute, why the hell didn’t he make any sound when moving? Why hadn’t Jordan woken at his arrival, was he that far gone? Maybe he could put a bell on his door to announce Stiles. Yeah, maybe he’ll put a bell on the door.

Sighing in defeat, Jordan pulled out a spoon from the drawer and ate a spoonful of the oats.

Jordan froze as the taste hit him, eyes wide as he stared at the jar, trying to figure out how the Stilinskis managed to bottle the taste of fresh cinnamon rolls into a jar of oats. Now, he was definitely going to make something for the kid and apologize to him.

He’d bake him a cake, and write ‘I’m sorry’ in capital letters in frosting. No, maybe brownies. Or cupcakes? f*ck it, he’ll make two-no, three, batches of Grandma’s cookies for the boy. Yeah, yeah, he’ll make cookies.

Right after he savored the heavenly goodness of cinnamon rolls in a jar.

Once he’d cleaned out the entire jar and washed it, Jordan set down to gather all the ingredients he needed to make the cookies. He had made them so much with his grandmother whenever she’d come to visit that it was practically muscle memory to him.

By the end of two hours, he had so much batter he could probably feed an army and started rolling them onto the baking tray. He only had one of those so the baking process took the most time: when he’d have to set their shape, put them in the oven, let them cook, and then take them out and let them cool enough to be removed from the trey. He got bored by the monotony of the shape and decided to entertain himself by making larger cookies for one trey, and then small tiny ones for the next trey, and by the end of it all he had three different-sized batches. One was large cookies, one was the normal size, and the third was all tiny cookies Stiles could put into milk and eat as cereal.

Every surface in his house was occupied by different-sized cookies he was waiting to cool down while Jordan stood at the window in his living room looking out at the Stilinski house, gnawing at his nails as he waited for Stiles to return home.

How would he apologize? Say he’s sorry, just like that? Especially after the terror he can recall on the boy’s face at his yelling. God, he doubted the kid’s dad ever yelled at him, and he pretty much figured the mom wasn’t in the picture. Who was Jordan to yell at him for saying ‘morning’ of all things? Stiles had brought him breakfast. Again, Jordan had messed it up. He should probably do more than just apologize with cookies, right?

While Jordan contemplated this dilemma, he saw Stiles trudge down the sidewalk and head to his front door, head bowed low and eyes fixed on his shoes as he unlocked the front door and marched inside.

Whatever Stiles wanted, Jordan was ready to do for him if it got that despondent look off his bright little face.

God, he’d known the kid a little over a week and already he would do anything for him.

Whirling around, Jordan found the biggest container he owned and began stacking the cookies inside, deciding to put the large and normal ones together and the tiny ones in a separate container just in case Stiles wanted to make cereal from them. Once he had the containers and Stiles’s Mason jar, he began to make his way towards the door and faltered at the sight of flour on his hands, and looked down at himself to find himself covered in baking ingredients.

Hissing at himself, Jordan put everything on the counter before rushing to the bedroom, peeling his shirt off and replacing it with a fresh grey V-neck. He had stuck his head through the neck he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled around in the direction of his deck with his heart in his throat, remaining still for a moment, trying to figure out what it was that he saw before the flicker of movement has him moving closer to the window. Pulling his arm through the sleeves and lowering the hem, he squints through the window and freezes to find someone scaling the side of the house.

“No,” Jordan gasped, heart pounding and blood rushing loud in his ears as he watched the figure jump into Stiles’s open bedroom window. “No!” He yelled, rushing to his closet and grabbing the handgun on the top shelf, loading the magazine, and running out of the house.

Sprinting down his driveway and across the sidewalk to the Stilinski front door, gun held in one hand as he tried the doorknob, the door swinging open under his hands. Jordan muttered a prayer of thanks that he didn’t have to search for the stairs, finding them to his left and immediately ran up them, looking for the boy’s bedroom.

He barely took a moment to breathe when he saw the two closed doors at his right, lunging for the first one and swinging it open with his gun held out before him. Gasping with breath, heart pounding and vision narrowing at the contorted features of a creature crouched low with canines protruding and nails sharpened into claws, Stiles stood stunned behind the creature.

“Jordan! Wait, wait!” Stiles shrieked at the sight of the gun pointed at the creature. “It’s Derek! This is Derek! Don’t shoot!” The boy exclaimed, rushing to stand before the creature who slowly straightened, his features smoothing out to that of a boy who couldn’t have been older than twelve eying him suspiciously over Stiles’s shoulder, gripping the boy’s flannel.

“Derek?” Jordan gasped, unable to get his breathing under control or reduce the pounding in his ears, trying to recall why that name sounded familiar. “Derek…your-your mate, Derek?”

“Yeah! Yeah! This is my mate, Derek Hale,” Stiles nodded enthusiastically, taking a hesitant step forward but still keeping Derek behind him. “You remember I told you about him?”

“Yeah-yeah, but-” Jordan’s face contorted at the sudden tightness in his chest that shot out to his arm, the pain forcing him to collide into the wall behind him as he struggled to get breath into his lungs.

Their chest heaving as he tried to breathe, barely able to make out what the boys were saying across from him. Jordan let out a panicked sound when the boys tipped to their side, trying to reach out to them but his body wouldn’t listen. The pain intensifying in his chest had Jordan clutching at his heart, panic and fear flooding his system. Oh God, he was going to die and he didn’t even get to apologize to Stiles. The room began spinning around him, Jordan’s legs giving out under him before both Stiles and Derek were in front of him.

He could see Stiles’s lips moving, but he couldn’t hear anything, he couldn’t understand what either of the boys was saying and blearily watched Derek say something to Stiles before he pulled out his phone and held it to his ear.

“-Dan!” Stiles’s voice filtered through the haze of fear when the boy grabbed his hand and pressed it to his chest, over his heart, the loud thumping of the boy’s heart out of sync with his erratic pulse. “Jordan! Breathe with me,” He was saying, but his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater, muffled in distorted, but the words made Jordan focus on the rise and fall of Stiles’s chest, Jordan trying to match the slow and steady pace, struggling to control his breathing.

“Derek, my blanket,” Stiles said without looking away from Jordan, keeping his intense whiskey eyes on him as the other boy went over to the bed and grabbed a thick green blanket off the bed, and draped it over Jordan. He vaguely noticed that it had a weight to it, but wasn’t too heavy.

He didn’t know how long they sat on the floor, with Stiles keeping the same steady rhythm to his breaths while Jordan tried to follow, managing to get his breathing under control to match Stiles. Suddenly Jordan felt exhausted, throwing his head back against the wall, feeling sore and wrung out, before scrunching his nose to realize that he was covered in sweat, ew.

“You okay?” Stiles asked softly, still keeping Jordan’s palm pressed tightly to his chest, the elder nodding.

“I made…” Jordan slurred, trying to get the words out. “I made you cookies.”

“Really?” Stiles grinned, smile wide and blinding as he turned around to talk to Derek who was shuffling uncertainly behind his little mate. “Did you hear that, Derek? He made me cookies!” Derek took his eyes off Jordan to smile down at the boy, the lack of attention on him made Jordan feel like that had been the only thing keeping him conscious before his eyes fluttered closed.

Chapter 4: Potluck

Chapter Text

The smell of smoke and the shouts of soldiers dying woke Jordan with a gasp, the man shooting upright in bed, choking on the air and grasping for a weapon that wasn’t there – his panic skyrocketing along with the beeping growing faster in his ear.

“Easy there,” A voice burbled from somewhere to his left, Jordan’s gaze hazy and unable to comprehend where he was. Was he back in a military tent? A motel? Was he at home? “You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re at the hospital,” The voice continued to soothe, Jordan blinking rapidly and stuttering on his next exhale, trying to calm down his breathing as his vision cleared.

He was in a hospital room, the rapidly slowling beeping was the heart monitor over his head, an IV drip attached to the inside of his arm with a standard hospital blanket draped over him. Jordan struggled to recall how he got here. He remembers having felt horrible for having scared Stiles and made him cookies, he recalls seeing the boy come home from school, and just as he was about to go over, he had seen someone climb in through his bedroom window-

“Stiles!” Jordan choked, frantically looking around. “Where is Stiles?”

“Easy there, Jordan, we don’t want you pulling out that IV,” The words made Jordan turn to find a nurse hovering at his side, one hand placed firmly on his shoulder to keep him in place. She was older than him, definitely, with stress lines embedded into her forehead and smile lines near her lips, plump apple cheeks, and golden skin that reminded him of a Mexican friend he had made in the Army. She had her dark hair in a braid and wore purple hospital scrubs, the name tag on her chest read ‘Melissa’. “You with me?”

“Yeah,” Jordan managed out, wincing at how the word grated against his throat, realizing how parched he was. “I-is there water?”

Melissa nodded and poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the portable table at the foot of the bed, handing it to him and steadying his hold with fingers at the base of the glass, directing him to take slow easy sips.

“Is Stiles alright?” Jordan asked immediately once he felt his throat moisten.

“He’s alright,” Melissa smiled in reassurance. “I’ll call him inside once I’m done here, so Jordan, can you tell me what you remember?”

“God, uh…I made cookies for Stiles but saw someone enter his room through his window and panicked, thinking he was in danger, but I can’t-I can’t really remember if I actually managed to get there because I felt like I was having a heart attack. Was I having a heart attack?”

“Well, we did some tests, and they came back clear, so you’re healthy as a horse, and from what Stiles was able to tell us we realized what you experienced was a panic attack,”

“A panic attack,”

“Yes, it feels like a heart attack without the fatality of it and is oftentimes triggered by something. Do you think that your panic attack was triggered due to a perceived danger to Stiles?”

“God, I don’t know, I haven’t been back in civilian life for more than a few months,” Jordan groaned, ears heating in embarrassment at his discomposure, not sure how to handle everything now when he’d been so used to the war zone the last few years.

“Yes, Stiles mentioned you’re ex-military,” Melissa nodded as she continued to write on her clipboard. “Recently returned from Afghanistan, correct?”

‘Stiles mentioned’, Jesus Christ where was this boy getting his information from? Wasn’t he a 5^th grader? How does he have access to Jordan’s background information, or did his Dad run a background check? He could understand the logic behind the Sheriff conducting a background check on new residents for the safety and security of the community, but something in his bones told him that Papa Stilinski was not the type to do something so invasive; and even if he were, Jordan is certain the man would have the decency to ask him directly instead of going behind his back.

“Yes…”

“Would be okay with meeting our trauma counselor?”

“Trauma counselor?”

“You’re a war veteran, you’ll be experiencing difficulties readjusting to civilian life. It helps to have someone objective to talk to and have guidance through this process,” Melissa smiled in reassurance. “Just come in for one session and see if it’s for you. If not then no harm done, and if you feel you can benefit from the session then that’s a good thing too, no?”

“I guess…”

“Alright, I’m done with my questions, you can leave once this IV bag finishes,” She gestured to the IV hanging over his head. “Would you like me to send Stiles in? He’s been waiting outside,”

“Yes, please,” Jordan exhaled in relief and expectantly looked at the door when Melissa stepped out, restlessly drumming his fingers over the covers and swallowing thickly, heart pounding in tune with the second’s hand of the clock.

The door creaked open and Stiles peeked his head in, Jordan letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, immediately sagging into the mattress and beckoning the boy to him. Something about the wide sunny smile he got in return warmed Jordan to the core, the boy skipped inside and hoisted himself onto the edge of the bed. Jordan was too busy watching him to notice that the door never fully closed, much less realize when the Sheriff and Derek came in as well.

“You okay, kiddo?”

“I should be asking you that!” Stiles laughed at him. “You came in guns blazing! What was up with that?”

“I saw someone climb up your window and thought they would hurt you. You were alone at home-”

“-Derek, this is why you have a house key,” The Sheriff’s voice had Jordan look up to find him standing by the door with Derek at his side, the other boy with his arms crossed over his chest and pouting. “Stop climbing up the wall into the window, see how you scared Jordan?”

“Sorry,” Derek grumbled without turning away, immediately stepping forward when Stiles beckoned him to come closer, the younger boy effortlessly taking his hand into his own.

“If you ever see someone climbing into my window, it’s usually the Hales, they hate doors for some reason,” Stiles teased and tugged at a strand of Derek’s hair, the older boy swatting him half-heartedly. Stiles resulting beam was so precious it made Jordan resist the urge to coo. “So introductions! Jordan this is Derek Hale-”

“-Your future husband,” Jordan teased immediately, Stiles squawking and flailing around, hitting him on the leg as both Jordan and Noah laughed at his indignation and red face. Jordan turned to Derek who was flushed a delicate pink himself at the title. “Hello, Derek, I’m Jordan Parrish, I moved into Grandma Mary’s house recently,” He struck out his hand for the boy, Derek tentatively took it, his nose scrunched up as if he smelt something acrid.

Oh right, werewolves probably have sharper senses, the disinfectant smell of the hospital must be torturous for the boy.

“Yeah, you’re her grandson, Stiles told me,” Derek nodded once he let go of his hand

“Speaking of Stiles,” Jordan turned to the boy who immediately sat up at the shift in tone from light to serious. “Care to tell me how exactly you got my background information?”

“Stiles,” The Sheriff groaned, rubbing at his temples.

“What? Like it’s hard,” Stiles scoffed, immediately counting off what he knew on his fingers. “Only child, son to Emma and Ryan Parrish. Enlisted in the Afghanistan war at 17. You’re currently 24 years old, though, to be fair you told me that yourself at the store-”

“-Stiles,” The Sheriff stopped his rambling by placing a hand on his shoulder, his son turning to look at him with wide baleful eyes. “We’ve had this conversation before, this is an invasion of privacy. You did not ask Jordan if he was comfortable with you knowing all this, much less publicizing it without his consent. How would you feel is someone found out everything about you without you saying it was okay to do so?”

Stiles frowned at the words, thinking about it in those terms, and hunched his shoulders closer to his ear. Jordan wanted to say that the kid was curious and excitable and clearly had far more resources and skills up his sleeves, and sweep this all under the rug, but he could understand how the Sheriff would like to take this instance as a learning experience for his son. He was the father, after all. A young, fit, good-looking father.

“I wouldn’t like that very much,” Stiles muttered to his father’s question, fiddling with his fingers, and pouting at his lap. Derek beside him made a sound that could pass off as a whimper as he encircled Stiles’s wrist in consolation. “I’m sorry, Jordan, I should have asked you before searching you,”

“No, you shouldn’t be searching him at all,” The Sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“It’s okay, one step at a time, right?” Jordan tried to appease the police officer, placing a hand on Stiles’s forearm, unable to understand what was it about the boy that made him give him so much leeway? Was it the fact that he was young? “The take away of today was not to invade people’s privacy, correct?” Jordan looked pointedly at Stiles who nodded in understanding.

“I’m sorry for today morning,” Stiles apologized, Jordan’s shoulder lowering to know that he wanted to apologize as well.

“And I’m sorry for yelling,” Jordan apologized, holding out his hand for Stiles. “Forgive and forget?” He suggested, the younger boy beaming at him and gave his outstretched hand a firm shake.

“When can you leave?” Derek asked, Jordan turned to the IV over his head.

“When this bag is finished,” He pointed to it, both boys turning towards the Sheriff, expectantly looking at him as the man grimaced and rubbed at his nape. “Is there something going on?”

“Well, we’re doing a…sort of potluck welcome party for you at the park-”

“-You’ll get to meet everyone! The Hales and Scott and Isaac, even Lydia will come-!” Stiles began to say before his father placed his hand over his mouth to get him to stop interrupting. Jesus, the man’s hands were huge, and covered nearly the entirety of Stiles’s face.

“Yes, yes, a lot of people will come, they want to formally welcome you to the Beacon Hills Community, but if you’re not feeling up to it, we can postpone,”

“No!” Jordan shook his head, something warm seeping through his bones at the thought that the whole community was coming together to welcome him. “No, I’m sure everyone was looking forward to it, I’d love to be there,”

“You sure?”

“Bjorn is bringing his apple pie!” Stiles pulled down his father’s hand to announce, Jordan could recall Bjorn, the Berserker they met at Home Depot. “And we’re bringing chicken casserole-!” He managed to get out before his father muffled his words again, the other hand ruffling his hair.

“Should I bring something?”

“No, no, just yourself,” The Sheriff waved away the question, missing the way Jordan’s ears pinked, or the funny look Derek shot him before his attention was redirected to his mate who was beginning to grow restless and squirmed on the bed trying to get away from his father’s hold. Derek took Stiles’s hand and helped him off the bed once his dad released him, both boys standing together. “You boys off to somewhere?”

“I want to get some juice from the vending machine,” Derek informed, heading towards the door.

“You got change on you?” The Sheriff called after them, already rummaging through his pockets.

“Yes, sir!” They heard Derek call behind him just as the door swung shut.

Jordan huffed a laugh to watch Stiles skip out beside the somber-looking Derek, they seemed to be opposite to him as an outsider; even their clothes were opposite. Stiles in his green flannel and Derek in his black t-shirt. Stiles swinging their hands between them, the older boy just going along with it.

“I’m sorry about Stiles,” The Sheriff apologized and took a seat on the spare chair once they were alone, Jordan turned to him in confusion. “For looking into you and scaring the crap out of you,”

“Oh,” Jordan realized what he meant. “It’s a little intimidating to know exactly what he’s capable of, if I’m honest,” That and it was mighty impressive that he had the skills and resources to do as much at his age.

“Trust me if I knew how he was doing it, I would have put a stop to it,” The Sheriff threw back his head and sighed.

“I think it’s his…uh…vetting procedure. Maybe he feels more secure knowing the person he’s interacting with isn’t a-a-wanted criminal or something,” The Sheriff arched a brow at him at the words.

“Your baby face being a wanted criminal?”

“Hey, your 9-year-old son has my military file on hand,”

“Touché,” The Sheriff chuckled. “What unit?”

“Oh, I was an EOD technician,”

“Bomb disposal?” The Sheriff confirmed with eyebrows rising high, eying Jordan’s seated figure with something close to intrigue.

“I’m good with machinery and had the steady hands and depth perception for the job,”

“Impressive,”

Jordan flushed at the compliment, squirming restlessly at his own reaction, and cleared his throat before looking at the IV drip that still had one-third of the way to go. As they waited for the IV bag to finish, Jordan and the Sheriff got to know each other.

Jordan told him about the changes he had made to the ground floor and his plans for the backyard and attic, avoiding conversation about his time in the military.

In turn, Sheriff – or Noah, as he insisted to be called – told him that he had recently been elected as Sheriff after his predecessor retired and that even though he was relatively new to the position, he had four years of experience as the Deputy Sheriff. He told Jordan that he was born and raised in Beacon Hills, and met his wife when she had moved here with her family at the start of high school. He regaled with his romantic epic with his wife Claudia Gajos and told him that they got married when they had barely graduated from college because she had been pregnant with Stiles, Noah having joined the police force after hearing the news to provide for his family.

“So you did have him young,” Jordan exclaimed before gasping at his own words, giving a sheepish smile to the Sheriff who chuckled. “It’s just that…you don’t look old enough to have a 9-year-old son, is all that I meant,”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” The Sheriff shook his head at the words. “But yeah, we had him young, and then Claudia was diagnosed with prefrontal temporal dementia, and died when Stiles was 3,”

“I-” Jordan faltered, chest squeezing at the realization that even though he figured Stiles’s mother wasn’t in the picture, he wouldn’t have thought she’d died. “I am so sorry for your loss,”

“Thank you,” The Sheriff gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s been me and Stiles since then, on the days I had to work late shifts, Grandma Mary was more than happy to watch him for me, and then when he grew older and started going to school, he’d often times stay with Scott or at the Hales, even Isaac’s on a few occasions. Boy, they aren’t kidding when they say it takes a village to raise a child,” He chuckled to himself.

“I think you’ve done a wonderful job with Stiles,” Jordan mused to himself. “He’s a very kind and warmhearted boy, and even I can see that what he does, he does it out of the goodness of his own heart. Did you know he brought me lunch on my first day here? A Tupperware of sandwiches and granola, and the next morning he brought me breakfast and coffee,”

“Ah! I was wondering where the Tupperware went!” Noah slapped his knee at the words, chuckling and shaking his head. “Stiles and I do a weekly meal-prep on Sunday, and yesterday I noticed we were short of a Tupperware and lunchbox. It was with you,”

“I’m sorry about that, I’ll be sure to return it as soon as I get discharged,” Jordan hunched into himself.

“Nah, don’t worry too much about it,” Noah waved him off and reclined into his seat. “As long as you enjoyed the food,”

“It was delicious, especially this morning's oats,”

“Which one was it?”

“It had cinnamon in it,”

“Ah, yeah, that one is my favorite too, tastes just like-”

“-Cinnamon rolls, exactly,” Noah grinned at him then, Jordan noticed that father and son were very open with their affection and attention, the smile making him feel warm inside just as the door opened and Nurse Melissa returned with the two boys in tow.

“Mr. Parrish, Deputy-I mean, Sheriff,” Melissa greeted.

“Please, Melissa, you’ve known me since I was younger than Stiles, no need for titles,”

“I’m on the job, I have to,” She huffed and rolled her eyes at him as she made her way over to the IV bag. “And don’t forget the casserole or I will have your head on a spike,”

“Jesus, woman, I am bringing the casserole,”

“Melissa, are you bringing your buffalo chicken dip?” Stiles inquired and bounced on his toes, the nurse turning towards him and crouched down to be at face level.

“I’m bringing a fruit salad this time,” She booped Stiles’s nose who went cross-eyed at the gesture.

“Ew,” The boy proclaimed, Jordan having to bite his lips to keep from laughing at the way the Sheriff tried to cough and hide his own laughter when his boy pouted at the news and wriggled onto his father’s lap, Derek obediently at his side.

“Stiles,” Noah choked out, trying hard to fight off the smile on his face.

Melissa smiled up at Stiles before pinched the Sheriff’s knee, making him jerk his leg up and away from the attack.

“Assaulting an officer, Melissa?” He teased and rubbed his knee, the woman sticking her tongue out at him and turning back to the job at hand.

Jordan answered whatever questions Melissa asked, relieved to know he could be discharged now, and handed his belongings back to him.

“Oh, I have your handgun,” The Sheriff enlightened when Jordan began taking out his clothes and shoes from the clear plastic bag. “I’ll be needing to see a permit for that, buddy,”

“Of course, sir,” Jordan nodded to the words.

“I’ll settle the boys in the car, see you outside,” He enlightened and ushered the boys outside, leaving Jordan to get changed. Melissa handed him the card of their in-house psychiatrist before he left, Jordan pocketing the card before heading out the doors.

Jordan had enough time to shower and change before heading over to the Stilinski household. On the drive back from the hospital, the Sheriff had told him to come to theirs so they could head out together and so Jordan wasn’t left alone to fend off the wolves – both figuratively and literally. Jordan had readily agreed at the logic and was let in by a Sheriff who had also showered and changed out of his uniform into a comfortable Henley and jeans, pulling on a jacket.

“You sure you’re not going to get cold in that?” The Sheriff jerked his chin at Jordan’s t-shirt.

“No, no, I run hot,” He reassured with a wave, stuffing his hands into his pocket as he rocked on his heels in the doorway. “Ready to go?”

“Yup, let me get the boys,” Noah nodded and called out to Stiles and Derek from the base of the stairs before he head off down the right to somewhere.

“Jordan!” Stiles came running down the stairs, Derek chasing after him, begging him to slow down. The elder shrieked when Stiles launched himself off the steps, Jordan stepping forward just in time to catch the boy, clutching him close and bracing his hand with the other arm wrapped around his back. “You smell good!” Stiles leaned back far enough to proclaim, Jordan letting out a slow breath to calm himself, knowing that one of these days, this boy would most definitely give him an actual heart attack.

“Please don’t jump off the stairs like that,” Jordan told him, Derek at his feet and nodding vigorously at the words. “You could get hurt,”

“Aw…okay,” Stiles pouted before nodding vigorously and wriggling in his hold till he was let down again so he could drape himself over Derek’s back who bore his weight with a fond smile.

“Okay, boys, ready to go?” The Sheriff came down the hallway with a casserole dish in his hands, ushering everyone outside. They took a baby blue jeep to the park, Stiles keeping a steady stream of chatter which Derek responded to, Jordan and the Sheriff content to listen to the boy and add comments.

When they arrived at the park, Jordan noticed a lot of people had come out, some of them setting up foldable tables for the food, while others occupied the spaced-out picnic tables while others set out picnic blankets. No soon had the car come to a stop when Stiles and Derek jumped out of the car and ran over to a larger group comprising of all ages.

“Those are the Hales,” The Sheriff enlightened as they got out of the car. “Come on, I’ll introduce you,”

Jordan got introduced to the infamous Hales – the only born werewolves of Beacon Hills – their Alpha and Mayor of Beacon Hills, Talia Hale who was Derek’s mother, her mate Alexander, her brother Peter Hale and his daughter Malia Hale who was in Stiles’s class; then her children: Ajax, Laura, Derek, and Cora, and extended family. They welcomed him happily, and Jordan remembered the etiquette Stiles had told him and bowed to Talia and her mate, both of them looking shocked at the gesture, but ultimately pleased that Jordan knew about it.

He got to see Bjorn the Berserker again, this time with tins of apple pie with a little child beside him and his wife, greeting them with a right fist pressed to his chest, the Berserkers returning the gesture. He waved in greeting to Mrs. Martin, her husband Charles, and little Lydia who was pointed out to him by Stiles in passing before he was gone running towards her.

Jordan waved to Melissa when she arrived with a taller gentleman and a little boy who immediately ran off toward Stiles. Noah led him towards them with a hand on his elbow making the necessary introduction to Melissa and Rafael McCall and their little boy, Scott.

“Oh! Scott is your son! Stiles told me a lot about him,” Jordan realized, Melissa and Rafael chuckled and nodded.

“The boys have been best friends since they were in diapers,” Melissa huffed out a laugh, Jordan smiling at the thought that this boy was surrounded by so many people who loved him.

Noah was telling him about the latest arrival, the Yukimura’s, and asked if he wanted to be introduced to the sole Kitsune family of Beacon Hills when Stiles came barreling into his legs, another boy with curly blond hair at his heels with Derek beside them.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Jordan asked, ruffling Stiles’s hair.

“Jordan, Jordan, this is Isaac!” Stiles huffed out, Jordan lowering himself to his knee to be at face level with the boy who was hiding behind Stiles.

“Hello, Isaac, I’m Jordan,” He introduced, the boy peeking at him from around Stiles. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Stiles told me a lot about you,”

“Really?” The boy asked sheepishly.

“Yup, he says he really likes you and your brother,”

“Really?” Isaac gasped in delight, his eyes lighting up at the words, staring at Stiles in awe as the boy laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Of course, dude! You’re one of my best friends!” Stiles exclaimed and led them away to head back to the rest of the children and continue their game, Isaac jumping beside Stiles who made sure the boy wouldn’t stray too far from him.

“Come, I’ll introduce you to the Lahey’s,” The Sheriff clapped him on the shoulder, and steered him in the direction of a blonde woman who stood beside the boy who had delivered their pizza on his second day in Beacon Hills. Camden, if Jordan wasn’t mistaken.

Jordan lost track of how many supernatural he had met, but from the pleased smile on their faces, he knew that he was getting the etiquette lessons right. He got introduced to various adults before Stiles introduced him to their children and told him the kid was either in his class, Derek’s, Laura’s, or Ajax’s. The clear distinction in ages helped him to know how to interact with them, knowing Stiles and his friend were nine, Derek’s class fellows were eleven so middle schoolers, and Laura and her acquaintances were fourteen meaning they were in high school and getting ready for the PSAT, while Ajax being the oldest was grouped with the seventeen-year-olds like Camden, who were getting ready to take their SATs.

“You’re pretty good at this,” The Sheriff bumped his shoulder by the table, Jordan narrowly avoiding upending his plate on his shirt as the Sheriff chuckled at him.

“Good at what?” Jordan inquired as he licked the ranch dip off his thumb, turning to the Sheriff with a tilted head.

“Socializing, and remembering their names or whether they’re a super or not,” He cracked open two beer bottles, holding one out for Jordan who thanked him. “Where did you learn the etiquettes?”

“I was trained in bomb disposal, learning the basic biodata of a few people isn’t all that hard,” Jordan informed and took a swig of the cold hoppy beer. “As for the etiquettes, thank Stiles, he told me all about what supernaturals reside here and how to interact with them,” He co*cked his head in Stiles’s direction who was leading a march of children somewhere like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, Jordan smiling to himself at the image before turning to the Sheriff.

“Have you thought about joining the police force?” The man asked, Jordan arching a brow at the non sequitur. “I think you’d do amazing on the force if nothing else, I could divide the supernatural cases with someone who won’t offend them by breathing,”

Jordan snorted at the words, covering his mouth with his forearm to keep from throwing out his mouth full of beer, shaking his head in amusem*nt.

“To be honest, I haven’t thought about a job, yet. I came to Beacon Hills because I was homeless after returning from the war when I heard Grandma Mary had left me her house,” He shrugged. “Right now I’m taking things one step at a time, and I think I’d like to get help for the PTSD before I throw myself into a job like the police force-”

“-No, right, of course!” Noah backtracked, shaking his head. “You’re right. Damn, sorry about that,”

“No worries, Sheriff,” Jordan bumped his shoulder with his to show him that no harm was done before walking over toward Melissa who wanted to introduce him to someone. The younger left the Sheriff standing stunned by the food tables as he watched him walk across the ground.

After the very warm welcome Jordan received, he found it easier to interact with the community when he ventured out of the house. Most of the time he was accompanied by Stiles who would show up at his door every Monday and Friday after school, and then drag him out of the house and away from whatever project he was busy with – insisting that Jordan needed to get some fresh air or he’d grow mold. Jordan would huff at him but follow him.

Sometimes they’d walk around Beacon Hills, saying hi to the people they passed; other times they’d venture into stores and do some window shopping, or take part in whatever activity was being conducted at the community center to pass the time. Whenever they’d return back from one of those activities, Stiles would either insist on sitting and reading with Jordan – well, Jordan read the books on the supernaturals and collaborated on the information with Stiles’s while the boy himself would play around with a few of the toys Jordan had gotten for him. Or another activity they’d do was to watch some movies together and have dinner until the Sheriff returned from his shift and without fail invited Jordan to dinner over the weekend.

It became routine for them, that Stiles would spend his Monday and Friday afternoons with Jordan, and Jordan would come over for dinner; sometimes he’d make something, but most of the time he and Stiles would wash the dishes after food since the Sheriff would do the cooking. Most of the time it would end with Stiles and Jordan throwing soap bubbles at each other and giggling before they’d both straighten and be on their best behavior when they’d hear the Sheriff coming closer.

Both of them would giggle secretly when the sheriff would leave again, Jordan bumping his shoulder with Stiles’s, the boy grinning up at him with the intensity of the sun, warming him from the inside out.

Yeah, Jordan thought as he handed another plate to Stiles to dry, he could get used to this.

Chapter 5: Camouflage

Chapter Text

Stiles had once sat down with him and told him about his entire week, how on Monday and Friday he spends time with Jordan after school – “To make sure you don’t start growing moss, of course”; “Of course, Stiles” – and then on Tuesday and Thursday he alternates between the Hales or Scott, and if he spends those days with the Hales, then he spends Wednesday with Scott and vice versa. The Sheriff spends the weekends at home, so Stiles gets to hang out with his dad while Jordan comes over for dinner.

Knowing the boy’s packed routine, Jordan figured the best time for him to visit the psychiatrist Melissa told him about would be Wednesday.

On his first visit to the trauma counselor, he was startled to be met with the familiar face of Mrs. Natalie Martin, later finding out it was actually Dr. Martin. She smiled and waved away his embarrassment before having him sit down and talk about what led him to her.

He had multiple reasons: the sleeplessness, the flashbacks and nightmares, the hit to his self-esteem, the hypervigilance, the panic attacks, but quite honestly the thing that had led him hear was the frightened look on little Stiles’s face at his aggressive reaction to the fright the boy had given him. That’s what made him realize things were getting out of hand, and the following panic attack cemented that realization. So he told Mrs.-Dr. Martin, about it.

She asked him questions to clarify and tried to get him to talk about his time in the war, but Jordan found him unable to do so.

They had left it at that for the first session.

She had prescribed him some medication for the nightmares.

The first time he had taken it, he slept well into the afternoon and woke feeling disoriented and like he’d been run over by a truck. Granted he did not have any nightmares, but still, the effects felt too much for Jordan and he found himself halving the dosage.

It was in the second session that Dr. Martin recommended Cognitive Processing Theory, a 12-week course that required him to talk about how the war – the trauma affected his life. That was easy, he couldn’t sleep anymore, didn’t feel safe, felt like there was a-a wall of glass between him and the rest of the world; he got angrier quicker, felt unnecessary aggression towards things that didn’t warrant it, and that horrible sense of guilt and the never-ending question of “why did I live” playing in his head in a loop. Over the next few sessions, she asked him to write it all down in as much detail as he could manage.

Jordan had filled an entire notebook with the events of the war.

Now they were supposed to ways to process everything and how to cope with it all.

It was grueling, it made Jordan angry. He couldn’t stop pacing the office as Dr. Martin told him all the things he needed to hear, but that didn’t mean he wanted to.

It was horrible, and he found he couldn’t bring himself to be around people for the rest of the day and holed himself up in his little bedroom wishing for everything to go away.

He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep, but woke up with darkness outside the window and bathing the room and a constant tapping on the window looking out to the deck. Grunting, he pushed the covers off his head, squinting up to find the Sheriff standing under the light, tapping on the window and waiting for him to respond. Huffing an annoyed breath, Jordan staggered out of bed and staggered towards the porch door, swinging it open to greet the Sheriff with squinted eyed.

“I brought take out. You weren’t answering the front door,” The Sheriff greeted, holding up a brown paper bag.

“What? Don’t have an illegal house key like your son?” He asked as the Sheriff stepped inside.

“Stiles has a-You know what, I don’t even want to know,” The Sheriff sighed in resignation and didn’t stick around in the room as he made his way out into the hall and towards the kitchen. Flipping on light switches as he went and creating an overall racket with him opening and closing cupboards and drawers in search of cutlery and plates.

“I’m assuming he has a key,” Jordan rubbed a hand over his face and followed him out, bracing his elbows on the kitchen island opposite the Sheriff. “Because the alternative is that boy knows how to pick locks, and I don’t know which one I find scarier,”

“The picking locks would be scarier because then that means I need to get a safe whose existence Stiles doesn’t know about,”

“You have a terrifying son,” Jordan agreed and took the glass of water the Sheriff slid over to him.

“That boy is a werewolf’s mate, he attracts supernatural creatures to him like a beacon! And if that wasn’t bad enough, he can never stay out of trouble. My-my Stiles senses are constantly in overdrive,”

“Stiles senses?” Jordan snorted, giggling into his glass.

“You know, like those-that cartoon thing-Spidey senses! Spiderman! Stiles probably made you watch it,”

“It’s on the list, but we haven’t gotten around to seeing it, yet,”

“That is a travesty that needs to be fixed immediately,” The Sheriff stated, sliding over a bowl of steaming Chinese takeout to Jordan and then leading him to the living room. Seriously what was it with both father and son acting like they owned the place, Jordan thought without any resentment and watched the man flip through the CDs before putting one in and then joining him on the couch with his bowl. “Don’t tell Stiles we had takeout, he’d chew me alive, that beast,”

“Whose he with?” Jordan chuckled and played around with his food for a moment before following the Sheriff’s example and taking a bite. The first burst of flavor on his tongue made him realize how starved he was, thinking that this was probably the best Chinese he’s had in a while.

“He’s spending the night with Scott, said he’ll go to the Hales’ from school tomorrow,”

“Mr. Popular,”

“I don’t know where he gets it from,” Noah shook his head and watched the cartoon movie. “Neither Claudia nor I were ever that outgoing,”

“The kids are friendly, everyone loves a friend,” Jordan stated and turned to the TV as well.

“Sometimes I’m scared that he’s too friendly, that he’ll interact with the wrong crowd and get seriously hurt,” Noah murmured lowly as if he were afraid saying it out loud would make it a self-fulfilling prophecy. “He’s all I got, I don’t know what I would do if something ever happened to him,” The Sheriff grunted, putting his bowl on the coffee table and rubbing at his face in resignation.

“Hey,” Jordan straightened from where he’d curled up into the corner of the couch so that their knees bumped together. “Stiles has Derek beside him, who seems to be the more sensible of the two-”

“-You’d think!” Noah laughed and shook his head. “Derek is such a pushover for Stiles, he’d do anything the boy asks of him,”

“Sure, probably, but then Derek would always be there to protect him if things backfire, right? You’re not going to lose him, Noah, he’s got people watching over him.” Jordan reassured, the Sheriff turning to look at him with an incomprehensible look in his eyes. “And besides, if anyone got wind of Stiles being hurt, I’m sure all the supernatural creatures of Beacon Hills would band together to protect him. I’m almost certain Bjorn the Berserker would lead the charge,” His words had the Sheriff snort in laughter, shaking his head before picking up his bowl and reclining back into the couch with his food.

“He does have this weird ability,” Noah hummed in thought, silently chewing his food, gaze unseeing on the movie. “Thanks, Jordan,” The Sheriff knocked their shoulders together, the younger huffing and waving away his gratitude, because just Noah’s company made him feel better too after today’s therapy session.

Who’d have thought all he needed to feel like himself was some good company and good food, the Amazing Spiderman was a bonus.

They finished the movie even though they’d eaten their fill, humming the theme song under their breath as Jordan served Bjorn’s apple pie with ice cream. The Sheriff stared down at the desert before chuckling and picking up his bowl, both of them going out to the porch to sit out on the cool September night, just talking about the mundane like their music choices and their experiences at concerts. From there they talked about their wildest memories, giggling and laughing to each other before the Sheriff said he should be heading back, waving farewell to Jordan on the porch as he marched down the sidewalk and to his own house.

Jordan was curious to know what stories Stiles would regal him with when he came to visit the day after tomorrow. He had the most amusing experiences when he spent the night with his friends.

One time, Stiles had come running to him to tell him about the camping he did in the backyard of the Hale house with Derek and his siblings, and how they had been sharing horror stories around the bonfire when Ajax scared them all from behind. The image Stiles painted had Jordan holding back his laughter at the boy’s indignation.

Another time he had sworn he’d seen a ghost roaming the McCall hallway after dinner and had refused to stay until Rafael searched the entire house top to bottom and assured him that there was nothing there. Even then, Stiles had criticized the man, telling him that he was supposed that every room was “clear” like they did in the movies.

Jordan wasn’t disappointed when Friday rolled around and he met Stiles on the front porch, the boy immediately launched into the story of how he and Scott played pirates at the McCall residence and were meant to find a treasure and decided and burying Mrs. McCall's jewelry box in the backyard, then forgot where they had buried it. They spent the entire time before dinner digging up holes trying to find it again.

Jordan had laughed at the story as he made some waffles for the both of them, Stiles bouncing around the house and speaking louder to be heard.

Then Stiles told him about the game of Marco Polo they played in the preserves surrounding the Hale House, and how it was unfair that he was always the first one caught given that the werewolves could use their senses to track him. So to avoid that, he rolled around in the leaves and mud to mask his scent but still got found by Laura who laughed at how dirty he’d gotten.

“That’s smart!” Jordan praised as he put the plate of waffles with ice cream before Stiles, the boy licking his lips and kicking his legs as he dug in. “You know what, maybe we should get you camo gear to hide in plain sight,”

“Camo gear?” Stiles asked around his mouth full.

“Camouflage,” Jordan wiped the edge of his mouth with his napkin. “It's clothes that can blend into a forest with the colors, I think I have my gear lying around somewhere,” He thought absentmindedly as he looked over his shoulder towards his room, trying to recall where he kept it.

“Will you teach me? I want to win from the wolves!” Stiles exclaimed excitedly and bounced in his seat.

Jordan wanted to suggest that maybe they don’t do that but then thought maybe this would be a good opportunity to not only tire out the boy and give him something to do but also give him some basic survival training. Just because he was the boy who ran with wolves, it did not mean he should rely solely on them.

“Sure, why not?” Jordan decided, telling Stiles to finish his food while he went and got changed into his camo gear.

It felt weird and nostalgic being back in the rough cotton of his uniform. The cargo pants and button-up, his combat boots’ weight both a familiar and strange sensation. Jordan made sure to pack a small bag of essentials and a first aid kit – just in case Stiles got hurt – and his gun.

“Woah!” Stiles exclaimed when Jordan returned, clapping excitedly and squealing in delight. “You look just like a soldier!” He jumped high with his excitement, Jordan snorting at the words and ruffled his hair.

“Come on, let’s take a look in your closet to see if you’ve got anything similar,” Jordan took his hand and led him out the door and to the Stilinski house.

Surprisingly, Stiles had a full camo set, finding out that he’d dressed up as a solder for Halloween last year. His outfit was complete with a small Velcro vest and helmet and combat boots.

Realizing he had the gear, Stiles eagerly got changed into his old costume and thundered down the stairs, eager to go and learn camouflage skills. The boy’s eagerness lighting something excited in Jordan’s chest as he ruffled his hair and led him to his car, deciding the preserves would be the best training ground.

The first thing Jordan did once they’d walked a good amount into the preserves was to demarcate their limits, carving x’s into the trees to show to Stiles that they would not go outside this area, the boy nodding in eager understanding.

“Okay, first things first,” Jordan dropped his backpack to his feet and crouched down to be at face level with Stiles. “There are certain shapes that give away your location. Your enemy will be on the lookout for something that will separate you from your surroundings, like a helmet, something shiny, your boots,” He tapped the ankle of his boot before he began to take off his wristwatch and tucked away his keys.

“So, to throw off your enemy, you can put small vegetation like leaves and branches in your helmet and on yourself to blend in better with the surroundings. Make full use of your surroundings because that is where you’ll be hiding. So take the leaves and debris and hide yourself with it. Take some mud and covered any exposed skin,” Jordan continued to lecture, putting leaves and branches in his own uniform and hair, covering his face with mud. The little boy listened in riveted silence, mouth agape as he imitated what Jordan was doing. “Just like that,” He encouraged and helped smear mud over the spots he missed.

“To hide better, you need to make sure that your colors match that of your terrain,” Jordan demonstrated by holding out his arm against the natural backdrop of the preserve, Stiles gasping to notice that it matched. “So, for camouflaging with your surroundings you have to keep your shape, color, outline, and texture in mind,”

“You’re going to count to close your eyes and count to ten, and I’m going to hide within the area I marked, okay? Then you come and find me,” Jordan instructed to show him how camouflage worked, the boy nodded and screwed his eyes shut, and began counting.

It felt almost like his training days all over again, this time without the oppressive presence of their trainer and without survival on the line. But that didn’t mean Jordan wasn’t going to teach the basics to the boy.

After the number ten echoed through the clearing, Jordan could see Stiles begin searching for him, peeking around trees, jumping out of corners, and moving the leaves and underbrush around.

Jordan put an end to the search when he could see the boy getting frustrated.

“Stiles, over here,” Jordan called from his vantage point on a lower branch, pressed against the bark of the tree, and noticed the boy turn in his direction but was unable to make out where he was. “On the branch,” He provided and huffed a laugh when he squinted up at the branches trying to catch sight of his outline.

It wasn’t until he stepped away from the tree that Stiles noticed him and gasped, jumping and squealing, demanding to know how he did it and to teach him as well.

“I used the exact things I just told you about,” Jordan jumped off the branch and landed on his feet. “I’m going to count to 10 and you’re going to hide, okay?” He told the boy and began to pluck out leaves and branches from his hair, wiping the mud off his face. Stiles nodded eagerly and began running through the clearing just as Jordan started counting.

Jordan heard him crunching the undergrowth to his left before he finished counting, getting up and walking in that direction, peeking around the bark to find Stiles with his eyes squeezed shut and pressing his back to the bark.

“Try to hide in shadows,” Jordan announced that he’d found him, the boy jumping up in shock and pouting at him. “Shadows are lighter towards the end and darker the deeper you go,” Jordan grabbed Stiles by the shoulder and pointed out the dense vegetation past their demarcated clearing, pointing out how much darker it was the more they looked deeper into the forest.

“When hiding from the enemy, stick to the darker parts of the shadow and try to stay behind trees and bushes so that the enemy has to look through all that vegetation to try and find you. If you’re wearing your camo gear they would have an even harder time and maybe even walk away from you,” He told him and led him back to their starting point. “Also avoid stepping on branches and leaves, they can give away your location. Be light on your feet so they can’t hear you moving,”

“That’s so cool!” Stiles stared up at Jordan with stars in his eyes, the elder clapping him on the shoulder and telling him to try again.

This time, Stiles was getting better at muffling his footsteps but stepped on a crunchy leave at the last minute. He didn’t hide behind a tree, instead, Jordan found him tucked behind a thick bunch of bushes and gave himself away by shuffling.

“You should have sight of your enemy, but the enemy should not be able to see or hear you,” Jordan announced and helped the boy out of the bushes, Stiles giggling as he was cleanly lifted off his feet. “When the enemy is within range, hold absolutely still and be as silent as you can manage,” He led him back to the start.

“You’re doing great, Stiles, let’s try once more and then I’ll teach you some basic survival skills, okay?”

“Okay!” Stiles nodded as Jordan turned around to start counting.

The third time, Jordan was proud to note, Stiles did wonderfully. He incorporated all the advice Jordan had given him and hid in such a place that had the elder struggling to find him. Looking through bushes, peering up at branches, and looking through bushes. He probably would not have found Stiles had the boy not gotten restless and began squirming giving himself away, hidden under foliage and leaves at the base of a tree, giggling when Jordan came to retrieve him.

“Awesome!” Jordan beamed at him, taking him back to where he kept his backpack and pulled out a flask of water and a towel to wipe Stiles’s face from mud. “You did really well!”

“Will this let me win from my friends?”

“Your human friends, definitely, but I think your werewolf friends use the sense of their noses more, so you should do what you did for Marco Polo, cover your scent as much as possible. If it’s through washing yourself in a lake or covering yourself by the foliage, you mask your smell.” Jordan recommended and pulled out the leaves and twigs from Stiles’s hair. “But I think your supernatural friends can hear your heartbeat, so they’d find you even then,”

“Aw shucks,” Stiles pouted, Jordan chuckling at him before pulling away to sit on his heels, the boy brightening up immediately as he waited for what the elder man had to say next.

“Alright, I’m going to teach you 8 basic survival skills. You shouldn’t wait until you’re lost in a forest to know these skills,” Jordan picked up his bag and took Stiles’s hand as they began to venture deeper into the forest.

The first skill Jordan taught him was how to build a fire. Showed him what sort of place they’d want to build it in – an area without trees, bushes, and dry leaves that could catch fire – and then showed him how to make a pit by clearing the ground and making a circle with rocks. They gathered material for the fire: twigs, dry leaves, grass, bigger twigs and sticks, and some big pieces of wood for fuel. They arranged the tinder into a small nest with bigger twigs placed over it like a teepee. Jordan lit it with a box of matches, telling Stiles it was the fastest and easiest way to do it, but if he ever finds himself without matches.

“The other way to do it takes a lot of time and energy, where you rub two pieces of really dry wood together and that friction would start sparks that can be used to fire the tinder,” Jordan explained, demonstrating it to Stiles and then have him take a shot at it. After four minutes of rubbing the wood together, Stiles announced that he will start keeping a box of matches on him from now on, making Jordan laugh with the announcement.

Jordan taught him how to filter water using his t-shirt at the stream in the preserves and how to forage for food. Showing him which natural growing foods were for consumption and which weren’t. Jordan made sure he paid extra good attention to that bit, knowing that some food was poisonous and he wanted to make sure that Stiles understood that. He demonstrated the various knots he should know how to make and had Stiles make them till he got the hang of it, Jordan told him to practice in his free time, the boy fumbling with the string of rope, making and taking apart the knots he was taught. Jordan showed him how to make weapons out of the resources at hand, before telling him that he needs to find a place for shelter: choose a cave or hide up in a tree against predators. They went through basic first aid and showed him how to make a snare for small animals.

By the time they had gone through the basic survival skills along with some basic self-defense over shared sandwiches, the sun was setting behind the trees and it was getting dark. Jordan took Stiles’s hand and led the way back.

It was dark by the time they found their way back to the car, and interestingly, the boy remained quiet through the drive. It wasn’t until they’d stopped at a red light that Jordan realized Stiles had fallen asleep.

Parking in his driveway, he noticed the police cruiser standing outside the Stilinski house, meaning the Sheriff was back from work.

Making his way around to the other side, Jordan opened the door and unbuckled the boy, easily lifting him and stilling at the way Stiles shuffled before nuzzling into his throat, taking a content breath, and continuing sleeping. Wrapping his arms around his neck, Jordan made the short walk to the Stilinski front door, knocking softly and waiting. The Sheriff opened the door and huffed a laugh at the sight of them.

“We went out to the preserves today,” Jordan whispered over Stiles’s head, crossing the threshold into the house.

“Let me take him,” Noah suggested, Jordan faltering, wanting to say that he could do it but made the transfer to the father, and opted to follow him upstairs to the boy’s room.

“He cleaned it up,” Jordan noted, having been here a couple of times when Stiles wanted to show him something really cool he’d come across. The room always had things littered around, but today everything seemed to be in its place.

“More like dad cleaned it up,” Noah chuckled and gently deposited Stiles on the bed, peeling off his shoes and tucking him under the blanket, stroking back his hair before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Jordan stepped back to give the Sheriff space to walk out, closing the door behind him, and noticed the raised eyebrow the elder man shot his camo gear.

“Ah, long story,” Jordan yawned, suddenly realizing how tired he was. “I’m beat. We’re still on for dinner tomorrow?” He confirmed as they made their way down the stairs and towards the front door.

“Yup, I’m making creamy garlic chicken,”

“Need me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself,” Noah assured from the doorway, Jordan chuckling at their familiar exchange and waving before making his way back to his house, ready to get some sleep.

*

Noah and Stiles arrived at Jordan’s door early on Saturday afternoon, the Sheriff instructing Jordan to put on some shoes and come out for a walk with them to the park. Jordan had faltered, knowing he was going to meet them in a few hours for dinner anyways, and was taken back at the invite, but went as instructed. Grabbing a prepared backpack he had started keeping with him since Stiles came into his life, and put on his shoes before stepping out the door, locking it behind him. He had barely turned around to face the father-son duo when Stiles grabbed his hand and walked between the two men, skipping down the sidewalk and chattering all the way to the park.

“Stiles’s class is going down to the National Park for a five-day camping trip on Monday,” Noah informed when they arrived at the park, Stiles released his hold on them and rushed towards the slides, seemingly catching sight of someone he recognized and immediately engaging in conversation with them. “He’s been bouncing off the wall in excitement since yesterday when the trip was confirmed, and it was driving me nuts, so I told him that we’ll go to the park and burn off some of that energy,”

“A five-day camping trip,” Jordan echoed. “Isn’t that long for fourth graders? Are parents okay with it?”

“Surprisingly they are,” Noah nodded and sat down at a bench with Jordan. “Especially since two of my deputies will go for some added security, and park rangers will be there as well. Besides, they plan to use this opportunity to use nature to demonstrate what they’re learning in classes: work and fun,”

“All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy,” Jordan muttered the idiom to himself, chuckling with a shake of his head, and relaxed into the bench, eyes tracking the hyperactive boy with the intensity of a hawk. His leg jerked in readiness when the boy staggered over the sand, righting himself before he could fall, and continued to chase after his friends.

“You’re going to give yourself ulcers like this,” Noah snorted, Jordan tilting his head at the words, momentarily tearing his gaze away from the boy to level the Sheriff with an arched brow. “You’re constantly on guard, stressing yourself out over Stiles, the stress is going to give you ulcers. The boy is tougher than he looks, he can handle a few scrapes here and there, Jordan, no need to coddle him,”

“I’m not coddling him,” Jordan denied, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

“Oh yeah? Then can you honestly say that I won’t find a first aid kit in that bag of yours? Or a box of juice and some snacks?”

“Stiles is prone to accidents-”

“-And they make him stronger, he’s not fragile,”

“I never said he was,”

“Then there is no need for you to be hypervigilant,” The Sheriff shrugged. “Take a breath and relax,”

“You can never take your eyes off children his age, you never know what mischief they’d get into without supervision,”

“For God’s sake, we’re at a park! Surrounded by other parents and children, nothing is going to happen,”

“You don’t know that,”

“As the Sheriff, I can say with confidence that our children are safe,”

Noah watched Jordan bristling under his cross-questioning with amusem*nt lacing around his ribs, tickling his throat with a laugh at the way the younger man squirmed in his seat, fingers flexing against his arms and eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to come up with a response that got across the fact that Jordan was just being prepared for the worst without belittling the Sheriff’s position and job. The internal conflict grew more amusing with every passing minute. Noah would have burst into a fit of breathless laughter watching the emotions play out over Jordan’s face had Stiles not come barreling into them, the boy effectively shouldering his father in the gut and forcing him to hunch over in pain.

“Dad! Jordan! Will you please play tag with us?” Stiles asked imploringly of both adults, ignorant of the damage he brought to his father’s liver. “Please! Please! Please! Please! Please!”

“I’m more than happy to play, Stiles,” Jordan crinkled his nose at Stiles, the boy mirroring the crinkle before the man threw a smirk at the Sheriff. “I don’t know if your dad has the energy for it, though,” He shrugged innocently as he took the boy’s hand and got up from the bench, Stiles bouncing up in delight.

“Brat,” The Sheriff coughed under his breath, earning a stuck-out tongue from the younger at the name before he turned back to Stiles and his friend. Noah follows behind them.

Somehow, Stiles was ‘it’ in the first round, the boy tagging his dad who gave a sound of defeat for a minute before sprinting towards Jordan. The soldier immediately took off in the other direction with a burst of laughter. Noah managed to tag Jordan after three laps around the play area, letting out a triumphant breath of relief which was short-lived when the man tagged him right back and took off in the direction of the children, hoisting Stiles into his arms, making the boy burst into a fit of giggles as he created distance between them.

The Sheriff wasn’t in bad shape, not at all, but he was more for long-distance running than sprinting. Jordan, on the other hand, looked like he could run circles around them all day long, that too with a 60-pound Stiles held in his arms.

“Come on, Dad!” Stiles called out in glee from her perch on Jordan’s arm. “You’re ‘it’!”

Noah waved away his probing, bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath as he narrowed his eyes at the two boys on the opposite end of the park.

“Let your dad catch his breath,” Jordan called loud enough for the Sheriff to hear. “He’s an old man now, you see-” The last word got stretched out into a squeal when Jordan caught sight of the Sheriff running towards them from the corner of his eye, the soldier immediately sprinting out of his range, the three of them laughing loud and raucously.

Noah chased them around the park, zipping past obstacle courses, and between benches, hiding behind other parents and trees, Stiles’s laughter was loud and unrestrained through the area as Jordan held him close and ran away from the Sheriff.

He didn’t know how long he’d been chasing them around the park, but what he knew was that his heart was beating out of his chest, face an ugly red from exertion, and sweating through his shirt. No criminal chase pushed him this hard as trying to catch Jordan did. Noah wheezed, shaking his head and giving up by lying down on the sand of the playground, lying there and staring up at the clear blue sky.

It couldn’t have been more than two minutes before Stiles came bounding over to him, leaning over his head with the biggest victory smile on his face, the Sheriff rolling his eyes when the reason for that smile came to stand by his ribs. A self-satisfied smirk on that bastard's face as he braced his hands on his knees and cooed down at the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.

“I hope we didn’t tire you out too badly,”

Noah huffed an incredulous breath out, knowing that Jordan was off guard enough for Noah to grab him by the shoulder and drag him down into the sand with him. The two of them wrestled, rolling around until the Sheriff had Jordan lying face down in the sand, one knee pressed into his lower back with his hand twisting his arm back in a restraining hold.

“Tag,” Noah grinned from behind him, Stiles bursting into a fit of giggles at Jordan’s stunned look. “You’re it,”

“You play dirty,” Jordan huffed and straightened when the Sheriff released him. “Sir,” He tacked out just to be a brat, Noah rolling his eyes at him and helping him to his feet.

“Come on, Stiles, let’s head home. I need to get dinner started,” The Sheriff co*cked his head towards the exit, his son nodding with a bounce and immediately took one of their hands in each of his own and began leading the way back, excitedly proclaiming about how fast Jordan was.

“And he was holding me, Dad!” Stiles exclaimed, bouncing on the pavement before turning to the man in question. “How’d you do that?”

“Well, in the army, our load can be from anywhere between 70 to 120 pounds, so you, Mr. Stilinski, were as light as a feather to me,” Jordan informed and booped Stiles’s nose, the boy gawking in awe at the words, vibrating with his delight.

“Can we do that again, sometime?”

“Stiles, the man is not going to carry you around,”

“Is that cuz you can’t carry me anymore?”

“You’re a growing boy, Stiles, you’re going to get heavier by the year,”

“Yeah, but Jordan can carry me as long as I’m 120 pounds and if I’m 60 pounds now and if I get one pound heavier each year, he can carry me till I am 18, Dad!” Stiles proclaimed, violently shaking their conjoined hands, delighted by the prospect, Noah shook his head while Jordan chuckled knowing that’s not how weight distribution would work for Stiles, but kept quiet to allow the boy this little delight.

“Well, I’m not going to carry you around just because I can, but sometimes maybe, in emergencies, I can do so,”

“Can you carry me now?”

“Is it an emergency?”

“I’m tired?”

“No, you’re not,” Jordan huffed in response at the attempt and ruffled the boy’s hair with his free hand as they made their way back to the Stilinski house.

“Hey, could you get Stiles into the bath while I start on dinner?” Noah asked of Jordan, who nodded and immediately ushered Stiles upstairs while the Sheriff made his way to the kitchen to start cooking.

The chicken was in the pan, mashed potatoes boiling and veggies cooking in the oven when Jordan and Stiles returned, both freshened up and giggling to each other. Noah never understood what those two found so funny, but didn’t pry.

Jordan left Stiles in the living room to watch some cartoons and went to help Noah with dinner, setting up the table and mashing the potatoes.

The Sheriff tasted them from over Jordan’s shoulder before suggesting some more butter.

“Stiles will chew you out for that if he knew,” Jordan snorted and added more butter.

“Good thing you won’t tell him then,”

“Maybe I should tell him, you clearly need to watch your diet if you can’t keep up with us,” Jordan teased, Noah let out an affronted sound and slapped Jordan with the dish towel over his shoulder, the younger bursting into a fit of full-bellied laugh at the action.

They ate dinner with light chatter, Stiles and Jordan washing and drying the dishes before the young boy ran over to the lounge and let Jordan put the cutlery and plates back in their designated places. Wiping his hands off on a towel he came into the living room to find Stiles jumping on the couch with the Sheriff balancing on the armrest of the sofa, arching a brow in question till the boy called out to him.

“Jordan! The floor is lava!” He shrieked, Jordan gasping, and jumped onto the nearest elevated surface which happened to be the sofa. His leap onto the couch sent the Sheriff tipping back precariously till Jordan grabbed him by the front of the shirt and tugged him forward so that he fell onto the seat at his feet.

They bounded from one elevated surface to the other, laughing and giggling at each other’s attempt to avoid touching the floor.

Noah called the game to an end when Stiles somehow managed to climb onto the mantelpiece and almost upturned all the pictures displayed. Jordan lifts the boy off the mantle with a fond laugh, telling him that they can read instead, Stiles agreeing under the condition that he chooses the book.

Jordan agreed, taking the Jungle Book when Stiles brought it for him. The three of them settled down in the living room as Jordan cracked open the cover and began reading.

They read through the first few chapters, Noah mesmerized by the soothing tenure of the younger man’s voice, taking in the sight of Jordan lying on his couch with Stiles cuddled between him and the back of the couch, the boy wrapped around him like an octopus with his face smushed into Jordan’s shoulder, contently listening to him read.

Noah got lost in the story as well until he noticed Jordan’s voice crack in the middle of the sentence, the man clearing his throat to settle the dryness, and the sheriff getting up to get him a glass of water. Just as he was about to return with the glass, a call came from his deputy at the station, Noah’s heart sinking with the thought that he’d have to come in, picking up the phone with trepidation and exhaled a breath of relief when Clark only wanted to let him know about some things he was adding to the inventory. The Sheriff let him know he was fine with it, knowing that they had nothing better than to do on the graveyard shift on the weekend.

Shaking his head, Noah returned to the living room with the glass of water and stilled to find both Stiles and Jordan having dozed off. Stiles was asleep with his face in Jordan’s neck, the man’s nose buried into Stiles’s hair, one hand wrapped securely around the boy’s side with the other holding the book to his chest.

Noah’s heart grew warm and tender at the sight of the both of them asleep on his couch, something stinging the back of his eyes to know that Jordan was a soldier with PTSD and felt both safe and comfortable enough to let his guard down in their house.

He would deny it to this day that there were tears in his eyes at the sight.

The Sheriff stood taking in the scene for a moment longer before opening the camera on his phone, making sure the flash was off before taking a couple of dozen pictures from different angles. Jordan shifting had him freeze, watching the man release his hold on the book, letting it flutter to the floor before he turned to curl around Stiles, the boy snuggling deeper into his chest and dozing contentedly.

Releasing the breath he didn’t know he was holding in, Noah walked over to their sleeping forms on silent feet and picked up the book. Putting it on the table, he grabbed the weighted blanket they had forgotten here from one of their movie nights and draped it over the both of them; amusem*nt tickling his lips at the way both of them sagged under the weight, falling deeper in sleep.

Turning on the lamp in the far corner, he turned off all the other lights, making a round through the house to make sure all the doors and windows were locked before looking in on Jordan and Stiles once more before heading upstairs to get some sleep as well; knowing that since his son had gone to sleep a little later than usual, he could sleep-in on Sunday.

Hallelujah!

Chapter 6: Capture the Flag

Chapter Text

Jordan awoke to something pressing into his ribs and digging into his lungs, a pained groan escaping him as he rolled over to get away from the sensation and let out a shriek when there was nothing to bear his weight, sending him toppling to the floor with a dull thud.

“What-?” Jordan slurred, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes, and looked around, finding himself wedged between the sofa and coffee table. Looking around, he found two armchairs on either side of the living room and took another moment to recognize the pictures on the mantle place to belong to the Stilinski’s.

The sound of breathless wheezing had him look up and narrow his eyes into slits at the Sheriff who was bracing himself against the archway leading into the living room from the dining room. Choking on his laughter, red in the face with the effort of keeping himself quiet. Grumbling in distaste, Jordan grabbed one of the pillows that had fallen to the floor and threw it at the elder man, hitting him in the side and forcing him to fumble in an effort to catch it. The Sheriff curled around the pillow, pressing it to his chest as he looked up at Jordan on the floor and held up a finger to his lips before pointing to the sofa.

Sitting up, the younger man faltered to find Stiles curled up on the sofa, still sound asleep and rubbing his face into the cushions as if searching for something, a distressed whine escaping his lips at being unable to find it.

Some instinct buried deep into his chest told Jordan to lie back down with the boy, Jordan pulled himself back onto the couch, lifting Stiles with him, and put the boy onto his chest. Gently nuzzling into his soft brown tresses that tickled his chin and wrapped his arms around him, feeling the boy sag in contentment.

Jordan didn’t think he’d be able to fall back asleep, not after the way he woke up, but he was more than content to simply stroke through the boy’s hair, and let him wake at his own time.

Flickering his gaze up to the boy’s father, he stilled to see the adoring smile on the man’s face, an unfamiliar emotion shining in his eyes as he let out a slow shuddering breath and waved. Quietly slipping back to the dining table where Jordan just noticed he had some paperwork laid out.

Jordan watched him work from his place on the couch, Stiles asleep on top of him as the Sheriff flipped through files and collaborated facts with other documents spread out, signing his signature at the end of the page before moving on to the next thing. Jordan combed his fingers through the boy’s hair throughout.

He wasn’t sure when the boy woke, but he had been content to lay on top of his chest and be spoiled for a bit before he announced that he wanted eggs for breakfast.

“Mhm?” Jordan questioned, turning his chin down to look at the top of the boy’s head. “Eggs and bacon?” He inquired, noting the way the Sheriff perked up at the suggestion from the dining table.

“No, bacon is high in fat, we’re watching Dad’s cholesterol,”

“Okay,” He agreed readily, rubbing a firm path up and down the boy’s back, feeling him sag heavier onto his chest. “How about egg, spinach, and cheese?”

“Cheese?” Stiles hesitated, Jordan biting back his laugh at the way he could see the Sheriff deflate at the prospect of not getting any bacon or cheese.

“In moderate amounts,” Jordan reassured, the boy humming in thought, swinging his foot against Jordan’s knee before agreeing with a decisive nod against his solar plexus.

“In five minutes,”

“Okay,”

They continued to lay there for a little longer than five minutes, Stiles floating in a soothing place between wakefulness and sleep before he finally shook himself awake at the grumbling of his stomach and pushed himself up, sitting with his whole weight on Jordan’s stomach. The man let out a short huff of breath before the boy clambered off, almost kneeing him in the gut in the process, but didn’t at the last minute when Jordan helped him off.

“Go freshen up,” The Sheriff instructed the both of them from his place. “I’ll fix things here,” He assured them, watching the two of them venture in different directions: Stiles heading for the bathroom upstairs while Jordan walked over to the guest room, where some of his clothes had ended up somehow. Jordan had decided early on in his friendship with the Stilinskis that he would just not question it at all.

Taking a quick shower and changing, Jordan came out to find Stiles sitting on his dad’s lap as the Sheriff explained the paperwork he was looking at, something about inventory.

“But why you gotta do that?”

“Because I’m the sheriff and I have to make sure that everything we ordered is accounted for,” The Sheriff informed. “To make sure that we’re not short on supplies at the station,”

“That’s a lot of paperclips,”

“We tend to have a lot of reports,” Noah chuckled and ruffled Stiles’s hair.

“Stiles how about you and I make breakfast and let Dad finish his paperwork so we can annoy him without any paperwork afterward?”

“Awesome!” Stiles exclaimed, wriggling off his father’s lap and rushing towards Jordan, immediately taking his hand in his own.

“Betrayed by my own flesh and blood,” The Sheriff exclaimed in mock offense, Stiles giggling at his theatrics as he led the way into the kitchen.

Jordan gave Stiles eggs to beat while he got the spinach cooking, frying the eggs into an omelet while the younger boy put the toast into the toaster and brought out the plates and cutlery. Carefully putting three glasses down next to it and slowly filling them with orange juice as Jordan plated up the first batch of eggs and toast before quickly moving on to the next.

Stiles insisted on putting the spinach and cheese himself on his omelet. Jordan hoisted him onto his hip, tilting him away from the fire, and held out the bowl of spinach to him first before giving him the bowl of cheese, letting him sprinkle his desired amount over the cooking egg. Putting him back on the ground, Jordan finished cooking the egg and plated it up before making his with the leftover spinach and cheese.

Jordan carried two plates while Stiles carefully carried his own, the glasses of orange juice having found their place on the dining table which the Sheriff just finished clearing with all his paperwork.

The three of them ate with contented chatter, Stiles talking about his excitement for the camping trip, Jordan telling him what to watch out for and not to cause any trouble for the teachers, while the Sheriff ran the list of things they had to pack for him.

“Is Derek going too?” Jordan sing-songed to Stiles, the boy growing red and flustered, squirming in his seat at the question.

“No! No, Derek is in middle school! This is our class trip,” Stiles flapped his hands around and huffed. “Cora is going, though,”

“Oh, Derek’s baby sister, right?” Jordan recalled the four Hale siblings. “So that means Scott, Isaac, and Lydia will too?”

“Yeah!” Stiles perked up to hear Jordan being able to recall his friends’ names. “They’re all in my class!”

“Who else is in your class?”

Jordan will never regret the way Stiles’s face lights up in excitement and gets to talk about things from his life, the elder man wonders if he does not get to talk about it to others, knowing that the boy’s chatter can get a bit overwhelming, but he doesn’t think anyone ever snubs him. Do they? He knows the Sheriff doesn’t. Sure, the man looks mildly resigned to be on the receiving end of one of Stiles’s rants, but the man always ends up invested in the story anyways. Was it possible that other adults didn’t treat him like that?

While the Sheriff packed a bag for Stiles in the living room, Jordan learned all about the twenty students that reside in Grade 4 Aquamarine.

He was familiar with Scott, Isaac, Lydia, Malia, Cora, and Kira; but then he also got to learn about Jackson and Danny, Erica and Boyd, and the others. Also learning a few details about them in the process.

Jordan had learned that if they let Stiles talk without any interruption, he gets so invested in telling everything he knows that you end up learning details which is not possible for a 9-year-old boy to get by himself. Just adds proof that Stiles is probably hacking into profiles like he did with Jordan. They still hadn’t figured out if he did it just because he could or if he did it out of some need for security.

But for whatever reason he did, it allowed Jordan to know which child to watch out for and whose parents were good to know in a pinch or who had a more…stricter approach to parenting. Like Jackson was actually his mom’s sister’s son, but was taken in by the Whitmores when his mother abandoned him, which is why he acts so pretentious and obnoxious so no one can see how abandoned he feels inside. Or the fact that Boyd has a lot of siblings, not biologically, but the fact that he lives in a foster home and struggles to study at home. Not that-not that Jordan needed to know these details.

“Okay, take a breather, Stiles,” Noah halted his son’s chatter with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing the small bone there, making his boy squirm and stop to take deep breaths. “What do you boys want for lunch?”

“How about some grilled sandwiches?” Jordan suggested.

“With fries,” The Sheriff nodded.

“With carrot sticks!” Stiles corrected, giving a look to his dad until the man relented with a put-upon sigh that had Jordan chuckling.

Somehow Jordan found himself spending the entirety of his Sunday with the Stilinski’s – not that he had any plans – and played baseball in the backyard with Stiles before lunch. The three of them enjoyed their sandwiches and veggie sticks out on the deck, noting that the weather was getting colder, Noah making a note to add a jacket to Stiles’s backpack.

They played a quick card game after dinner, before Jordan bid them farewell, Stiles needing to go off to bed early with the camping trip in the morning.

Both Stilinski’s arrived early Monday morning to say bye to Jordan before they head off to school. Jordan told the younger boy to enjoy himself and not cause trouble for the teachers, the boy acknowledged the words, but one could only hope that he adhered to them, Jordan thought with a fond shake of his head before heading out for a jog around the area.

The next two days found Jordan renovating his closet. The small walk-in-closer cluttered with his clothes and shoes, having no system whatsoever and overall rather unimpressive.

He spend Monday afternoon taking measurements and looking through catalogs to figure out what he should do. Tuesday morning found the closer having thrown up his clothes everywhere in the room, Jordan having figured out what he wanted and gone to Target to buy the necessary equipment, building the stuff out on his deck before beginning the installation.

On Wednesday, he was halfway done with the installation when he decided to get ready for his appointment with Dr. Martin, fingers jittery at the thought of yet another vulnerable session, and swallowed thickly as he head out the door. He had barely locked the front door when his phone rang, Jordan looked down at frowned to see the Sheriff calling him.

“Hello?” He picked up the call immediately, knowing the man was at the station and didn’t call usually.

“Stiles is missing,” Noah gasped out, voice strung high and anxiety making it tremble, Jordan freezing on his porch at the words.

“You’re at the station?” Jordan found his voice come out far steadier than he felt, receiving a confirmation in return. “I’m on my way,” He assured and head towards his car.

Jordan had passed by the Sheriff’s station countless times on his ventures out to the store, finding it easily enough and parked outside. Barely recalling to lock his car behind him before rushing into the station and towards the front desk.

“Where is the Sheriff?” He asked of the deputy, the man giving him a grimace in response.

“I’m sorry, it’s not really a good time to meet him-”

Jordan didn’t stick around long enough to hear whatever excuse the man was trying to come up with and marched past the desk and into the station. Everyone was somber and quiet, murmuring lowly to themselves while the deputy from the desk tried to call out to Jordan. He was deaf to their calls, rushing towards the Sheriff’s office and barging in to find Noah sitting on the couch against the wall, head held in his hands and two more deputies standing in front of him, speaking in low voices.

“Sir-!” The Deputy from the front came staggering after Jordan before faltering when the Sheriff waved him away.

“When you say missing,” Jordan immediately began, feeling something hot bubbling in his chest. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“The camp instructors said they were playing capture the flag within the bounds of the campsite, and Stiles’s team gave him the flag to protect,” The Sheriff clenched and unclenched his fingers in his hair. “They’ve been searching for him for the last 3 hours,”

“There are supers in his class. Cora Hale is in his class,” Jordan felt his heart sink at the words, legs trembling at the thought of that young boy being hurt or worse. “Why-how-aren’t they able to get a read on him?”

The Sheriff could only shake his head, not sure how to get his words to cooperate.

“Noah, we should go there,” Jordan walked over to him, the other deputies moving aside to let him kneel in front of the Sheriff, placing a comforting hand on his knee and trying to get the man to look at him. “Come on, get up, and get some deputies, the K-9 unit. Let’s go and find Stiles,” The two deputies behind him shared a glance at the words, Jordan ignorant to their presence.

“Okay,” The Sheriff let out a trembling exhale, fingers shaking as he got up from the couch, Jordan right beside him. “Okay, let’s get two cruisers and a K-9 unit as well, they might be able to track him. Let’s… let's go,” The deputies nodded and rushed out to do as instructed.

“I’m coming with you,” Jordan announced to the Sheriff, the man faltering for barely a second before nodding. Both of them headed out of the office and to the back where the cruisers were parked.

They managed to get four deputies and two K-9s named Bomber and Pistol, all of them setting into the cruiser and driving off towards the National Park which was almost two hours away.

“Tell the team at the campsite to continue search efforts till we get there,” Noah instructed, rubbing at his forehead as he sat in the back of the cruiser with his shoulder pressed to Jordan’s, gripping his wrist for comfort. “How are the other kids?”

“Everyone else is accounted for, they’re all pretty shaken up,” The Deputy in the passenger seat, Ferrell, reassured before turning in his seat to speak to the Sheriff. “We’ll find Stiles, don’t worry, sir,”

“He’s probably up to some mischief and didn’t realize the time pass by,” The one driving, Deputy Strauss tried to lighten the tension, earning halfhearted chuckles before silence descended over the car once more.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Jordan asked after a moment, looking at the Sheriff who sat staring out the window, leg bouncing and fingers kneading the skin of Jordan’s wrist.

“They-uh…” Noah rubbed his free hand over his face. “To give the students a break from their studies, the camp instructors suggested a game of Capture the Flag. Before the start of the game, they showed the students the limit markers, these, these flags creating an enclosure so the students don’t venture too far. Stiles was tasked with protecting the flag for his team, and they began the game. It wasn’t until one of the kids from the other team complained that Stiles’s team was cheating by hiding the flag because they couldn’t find it, that they realized that no one had seen Stiles since the start of the game. They searched through the entire camp before calling me when they couldn’t find him,”

Jordan’s stomach squirmed in discomfort, something writhing within his chest as he swallowed thickly and nodded, unable to stop himself from imagining the worst. The Sheriff must have felt the uptick in his pulse, pressing his fingers against his wrist a bit more firmly to get him out of his head. Jordan let out a slow shuddering breath to ground himself, shifting his hand to lace his fingers with the Sheriffs.

They managed to arrive at the campsite just before sunset, teachers and instructors standing with tension tight in their shoulders, whispering to themselves when Noah stepped out of the car and walked over to them as the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, the tremor in his fingers the only thing giving away his paternal fear for his son.

“Sheriff,” The two deputies rushed to him. “The Rangers are still looking around the perimeter of the camp and we’ve told other campers in the area to keep an eye for a boy, 9 years of age, brown hair, hazel eyes, around 4 feet tall, wearing camo gear-”

“-Wait,” Jordan felt the breath knocked out of him, head spinning as he registered the words. The Sheriff and Deputy turned to him in question. “He’s wearing what?”

“Um…the teachers say he was wearing a camo shirt and pants,”

“He’s in camo gear,” Jordan choked out, suddenly understanding what was going on, feeling lightheaded and would have staggered back had the Sheriff not grabbed him by the arms.

“What does that mean? Jordan, what’s going on?”

“He’s in camouflage,” Jordan looked at him with wide eyes, heart sinking to think that he caused this by teaching the boy how to hide his presence. “Oh, God, bring me a map of this forest,” He screwed his eyes shut and gripped his hair to understand what the boy was doing.

“Bring the man a map!” The Sheriff ordered before turning back to Jordan with demands clear in his eyes. “Jordan, what is happening? Do you know something?”

“Stiles probably erased his presence, he’s in camouflage and pretty well hidden to prevent the other team from getting their flag. He’s camouflaged his outline and scent most likely, the K-9s might not be able to help us, no wonder why the Supers weren’t able to pick up on him,”

“He doesn’t know how to do that,”

“He does,” Jordan swallowed thickly, feeling the back of his eyes prickling and a lump forming in his throat as he desperately looked back at the Sheriff. “Because I taught him,”

*

They laid out a map on top of the hood of a cruiser, Jordan telling them to search near water trials, look at the trees whose branches are low enough for a boy of Stiles’s statute to climb up on, search through naturally forming caves and near bushes that have berries that can be eaten. Jordan warned them that the boy was in camouflage and most likely hiding within the terrain, so they should keep their eyes and ears open, and investigate any snap of a twig and shuffling in the undergrowth. Look behind bushes, on tree branches, in the dark of the shadow.

“He thinks he’s hiding from the enemy, he’s not going to be so easy to find,” Jordan informed them. “Move out before we lose light,” He instructed, the deputies and rangers breaking apart, venturing into the forest to do as informed.

“You taught him how to camouflage himself?” The Sheriff asked in a monotone, his voice and eyes not giving away how he felt about this, but God, Jordan could guess as to how mad the man was with him at the moment.

“I-Noah, I didn’t think he’d use it like this,” Jordan could feel tears prickling the back of his eyes and his heart thundering in his ears. “He-he told me that he’s unable to win from the werewolves in Marco Polo, so I taught him basic survival skills and how to camouflage himself for the game! In a controlled environment! I told him-I told him the wolves could probably still hear his heartbeat, it was meant to be harmless-” He tried to explain and faltered when the Sheriff turned away from him, grabbed a flashlight, and marched into the forest to look for his son.

Jordan bit his lip to keep from calling after him, trying and tell him that he never meant the boy any harm that he never thought, much less anticipated, that Stiles would use it like this! Jordan braced himself on his knees, a sob building in his throat, never having felt this much stress even in the middle of a f*cking war zone.

Oh, God, why’d he teach the boy how to camouflage? What sort of an idiot was he to teach a 9-year-old boy military-grade stealth tactics?

He could feel his legs give out beneath him, Jordan pressing the back of his knee against the cruiser to just keep standing, knowing he didn’t have the time to wallow in what-ifs and self-pity, or self-loathing.

“Jordan?” A little voice called out to him, forcing him to look up to find Scott standing before him with Isaac, Lydia, Cora, and Malia in tow, a teacher hovering around them.

“Hey, kids,” Jordan tried to give them a reassuring smile, straightening before crouching before Scott, holding out his hand to the boy who walked closer to him, readily placing his palm in Jordan’s open one. “What can I help you with?”

“Everyone is looking for Stiles,” Isaac whimpered, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Jordan’s forearm. The elder man forced back his swallow and nodded.

“That’s right, we’re all looking for Stiles,”

“He’s okay, right?” Lydia inquired hesitantly from behind the boys.

“He is most likely the most okay out of all of us,” He assured with a smile, trying to lighten the tension from these children, knowing they must be scared for their friend.

“I couldn’t smell or hear him,” Cora confessed in a whisper, everyone flinching as the children’s faces immediately fell at the thought, tears welling in their eyes.

“That’s probably because you’re a little wolf right now, Cora,” Jordan reassured. “Your senses aren’t as good as your mom and dad’s; they’re still growing. For all you know, by the time you tried to find Stiles with your senses, he was out of your range,”

“Are you sure?”

“Why else would you be unable to smell him, hmm?” Cora thought for a moment before nodding in understanding.

“You’ll find him, right?” Malia asked.

Jordan hadn’t interacted with Peter Hale’s daughter, just having been introduced to her at the Potluck and heard stories of her from Stiles, but he’d never actually spoken to the little girl. A Werecoyote, if he remembered correctly.

“Yeah, I’ll find him,” Jordan reassured, letting out all of his anxiety with his next exhale, and stood up, ruffling the children’s hair and wiping away their tears. “Now, stay with your teacher, okay? Don’t wander away from an adult, alright?” He instructed, the children nodding and rushing back to their teacher as Jordan grabbed a flashlight and ventured towards the edge of the forest with newfound determination while the sky was bathed in hues of vermillion and reds with the setting sun.

Jordan had a little boy to find.

*

Natural lighting fled the darkness of the forest rather quickly, forcing Jordan to turn on the flashlight after less than twenty minutes of venturing through the terrain. Shining light in the undergrowth, shifting through bushes and venturing into the dark of the shadows in search for Stiles, knowing that’s what he’d taught the boy, as he flashed his lights at the tree branches, hoping to catch sight of his figure. Jordan had to swallow to know that the boy had most like utilized his training and used the resources around himself to make his outline disappear, knowing he had probably covered every inch of his exposed skin with soil to blend into his surroundings.

Jordan hated how smart the boy was.

He was capable of hacking into and accessing private files. He had blackmail material on almost everyone in Beacon Hills. Jordan was certain – but had no proof – the boy could pick locks. Stiles was a gentle and warm-hearted individual who attracted the most dangerous Supernatural creatures to him and then befriended them; his kindness was too big for his little 9-year-old body to contain.

He was quick to learn things he was interested in, and now that had come back to bite Jordan in the ass.

Jordan would never forgive himself if anything happened to Stiles.

The sound of a twig snapping to his right had him whirling in the direction with his flashlight, holding his breath for a moment before venturing in the direction, looking between bushes and around trees to see if he could find Stiles. Letting out a defeated sigh when he found a rabbit burrow instead, realizing that the snap of the twig was most likely an animal.

The buzzing of his phone in his back pocket had Jordan still, praying that they found Stiles, and took out the device to quickly check the message. His hope plummeted to the ground to read a text from the Sheriff telling him that it was getting too dark and they’d resume the search at dawn. Jordan responded to the message by telling him he’d continue searching, ignoring the order for him to come back to the campsite.

Jordan was not a deputy of the Sheriff’s department, he was under no obligation to follow his orders.

He searched in all the places he would use himself: shifting through the undergrowth, scaling trees in search of the boy, venturing deeper and deeper into the forest. He had left the sound of civilization miles back, not entrenched in the complete darkness of the sentient trees, kept company by the soft whistle of wind through ferns and leaves, the skittering of small forest animals attracting his attention in hopes of finding Stiles but being left disappointed by the realization that it was an animal instead.

Jordan could barely see further than his hand, the darkness all-encompassing and sinister, his heart jumping in his throat to think how terrified Stiles would be. The thought of young Stiles huddled against the base of a tree and crying out for his father in fright forced him to redouble his search efforts. He refused to rest until he was sure the boy was okay.

He searched for any signs of a fire, finding two fire pits during his trek, and investigated them, deflating to know they were probably days old. Jordan searched for footprints in the soft soil, hoping that maybe he’d be able to get an idea of where Stiles could have walked to, but the deeper he went, the more the insecurity encompassed him, trying to figure out if a boy like Stiles could make it this far on his own; a shuddering breath escaping him to think of the implication if Stiles wasn’t found in the forest, Jordan quickly shaking the thought away.

He didn’t know how long he’d been walking, or in what direction he was venturing deeper in for that fact, simply following any signs of life in the form of rustling, not willing to rest.

Not yet.

Jordan shone the light above into the tree branches, illuminating a dark feathered owl that immediately swooped towards him, instincts forcing him to lie down on the ground, covering his head and waiting for the threat to pass. After a minute of silence, Jordan slowly lifted his head, shining the light around him to see that the owl had flown away and pressed his forehead to the soft soil, heaving breaths into the moistness of it, and took a moment to recompose himself.

His eyes flew open to register the softness of the soil under his skin, Jordan pushing himself onto his knees as he dug his nails into the ground, recalling what he had told Stiles that day in the preserves.

“If the ground is soft and fragrant like this,” He had told Stiles with a fistful of soil in his hand, inhaling the gentle Petrichor fragrance of it. “And it hasn’t rained there in the past day or two, it means that there is a water source nearby, and you should always aim to stick close to a water source,”

“Stiles,” Jordan gasped, knowing that whatever water source this was, it wasn’t marked on the map, having memorized it by the cruiser and could easily navigate the way back.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jordan strained to hear the soft trickle of water through the whistling of the forest, shining the light on the ground and venturing towards where the ground was moist. His feet picked up pace as he jumped over roots, slapping branches away and struggling through the undergrowth as he followed the soft soil. A breathless laugh escaped him when his shoes sunk into the moisture, leaving a soft indent into the ground, knowing he was close to the waterbody; praying to whatever deity was listening that Stiles had retained that advice and was nearby.

Struggling through a thicket of bushes, Jordan clambered out of their branches, stepping onto the soil, gasping when the ground under his foot melted with his weight. The misbalance of wet ground sent him teetering forward, attempting to correct his posture but ending up rolling down a slope. Jordan rolled down, curling into himself to minimize the impact area, getting hit by branches and leaves, before coming to a sudden stop with a breathless splash.

Jordan spluttered as he sat up, water dripping down the back of his head, his jacket and shirt clinging to his spine as he found himself sitting at the bottom of a creek; his flashlight dropped at the base of the slope, away from the water.

Coughing and shivering, Jordan pushed himself up to his feet, hissing at the sharp pain that traveled up his left ankle. Looking down at his foot, he could figure out that he probably twisted it, finding himself caked in mud. Shaking away the pain, Jordan inhaled deeply and grit his teeth against the pain as he marched towards the flashlight. Washing his hands in the water, and getting mud off the side of his face, Jordan grabbed the flashlight and began walking in the direction of the water flow.

He ignored the flaring pain up his ankle as he ventured over the soft terrain, coursing the fact that he hadn’t worn his combat boots, and climbed over moss-covered rocks. The fragrance was rich and heady as he ducked under low-hanging tree branches, the ground sloping up to his right as he continued to walk further along the creek, noticing that the speed of the water flow was increasing. The humidity in the air was dense, vapors rising off the water and giving it a haunted quality in the middle of the night.

Jordan didn’t know what time it was, knowing in some deep crevice of his mind that it was well past midnight, dawn only a handful of hours away with the fragrance of dew heavy in the air.

Walking over rocks, and hissing when he lost his footing and slid down, almost landing in the creek again, but managed to hold on. Hoisting himself up with a grunt, Jordan ignored how dirty he had become, absentmindedly dusting the dirt off the front of his shirt and wiping his hands on his jeans before continuing along the edges of the water body.

The sound of rushing water had him shine the light ahead of him, frowning to notice that the water was the fastest here and it was rushing down. Jogging the rest of the way towards the fall, he let out a relieved breath to notice it was a small decline, hardly a 3 feet fall, and scaled down. One hand digging into the ground at his right, holding the flashlight with his left to illuminate the path down, slowly descending over mossy and wet rocks towards the gravelly ground.

Once on secure ground, Jordan looked around, finding himself standing at the edge of a small pond within a naturally forming crater, the rest of the forest standing a couple of feet above him.

Walking ahead, Jordan found a rock formation within the confines of the fence. Shining his light towards the other side of the lake, his breath hitched to find a dark opening between the rocks. His heart was pounding and adrenaline pumping through his blood as he ignored the pain and ran across the surface of the pond, slipping and balancing himself by putting a hand down into the water bank before rushing across to the other side.

There were rocks in the wall of soil, stacked on top of each other with a dark opening in the corner, small enough for someone of his stature to commando crawl inside. Holding the flashlight in front of him and illuminating the dark, damp interior, Jordan vaguely wondered what if he came across a feral animal instead, knowing it was too late to think about it when half of his body was already inside. It was a lot deeper than he had anticipated, heart in his throat and dislodging soil when his head rubbed against the roof, trying to get a look inside to figure out how deep it went.

No soon had he lifted his head, dislodging more soil into his face, shaking his head to get it out of his lashes, and squinted ahead of him to find a deeper opening at the end. Crawling forward, Jordan managed to stick his head through and almost sobbed in relief to find little Stiles curled up on the ground, chest rising with slow steady breaths, and an orange fabric clasped tight in his fists; Jordan realized it was the flag from their game of Capture the Flag.

“Stiles,” Jordan wriggled his arm out from under him, and reached out to the boy, combing his fingers through his hair and attempting to wake him. “Stiles, come on, wake up, buddy,”

Stiles squirmed away, shifting and dislodging more loose soil that rained down on the both of them, the feeling of the cold dirt landing on his face had the boy flutter his eyes open and squint at the darkness he found himself in, before turning towards the flashlight. Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, Stiles took in Jordan’s figure and gave him a toothy grin.

“Jordan,” He sighed in relief, immediately shuffling closer to him and sat up in the small cave, head hunched down. “Did we win?”

Jordan wanted to cry and laugh in equal measures, a choked sound escaping him that came out as a half-sob and half-laugh, knowing that only this boy would be so concerned about achieving the task he had set out to do.

“Yeah, buddy,” He stroked back Stiles’s hair, cupping his face as he leaned into his warmth, the boy’s skin cold to the touch. “Yeah, you won,”

He coaxed Stiles out of the cave, slithering out backward, keeping the flashlight in front to illuminate the path for the boy who was able to crawl out on his hands and knees.

Pulling himself out of the hole, Jordan sat back on his haunches, tugging Stiles out with him, and wrapped the boy tight in his arms. The young boy immediately curled into his chest and nuzzled his cheek against his shoulder.

“Hmm, you’re so warm,” He murmured, eyes drooping and words slurred. “M’sleepy, Jordy,” Stiles mumbled, Jordan pressing the boy close to him and holding him till his trembling subsided.

“It’s okay, you can keep sleeping,” Jordan reassured, picking up his flashlight and slowly pushing himself up by bracing the wall of dirt behind him, easing their combined weight on his aching ankle. Adjusting his hold on the boy so that his arms were around his neck with his legs wrapped around his waist like a little Koala bear.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Dad’s at the campsite, waiting for you,”

“Mhm?”

“Yeah,” Jordan let out a trembling exhale as he pressed his nose to the boy’s temple, relief leaving him trembling and worn out at having finally found him. Feeling Stiles’s weight increase, Jordan realized the boy had dozed off and dusted the dirt from his hair as he rested his cheek on his shoulder and began walking upstream. As he began walking, Jordan looked up towards the night sky, seeing that the darkness was a shade lighter than before, meaning that the dawn of a new day was approaching.

The Sheriff hadn’t slept a wink.

He and his deputies had kept a keen eye out on the surrounding forest, hoping to see either Stiles wander through or Jordan return.

Noah had tried to order Jordan to get back when it got too dark, but the man had ignored him. Any other attempt at trying to reach the man has led to a dead end, the park rangers informing him that signals die the deeper one goes into the forest and he was lucky to get enough bars to send a message.

He had paced a track around the campsite in anxious anticipation for something – anything – to happen throughout the night.

As Jordan had suggested they had scoped out water sources, clearing with fruit, and tried to peer up at trees in the darkness to see if Stiles was hiding up on them. They had to pause the search effort when Deputy Strauss got knocked down by getting his foot stuck between a tangle of roots and Deputy Vargas got nearly attacked by a feral fox. His high-pitched shriek had echoed through the forest, heralding all the authorities in the vicinity who sagged to find Vargas curled up on the forest floor.

That’s when Noah had decided that they wouldn’t make any headway if they continued to search in this dense darkness, messaging Jordan to return.

The Sheriff’s department had been keeping vigil all night, watching the sky slowly lightening. It was still a little dark, the sun beginning to make its ascent into the sky, but the nerves were making the Sheriff pace around before deciding that they’d waited long enough and that the surrounding would get brighter as they continued searching.

“Strauss,” The Sheriff called out to his nearest deputy, the man rushing towards him, eyes blown wide. “Gather the others and tell them we’re going to continue searching,”

“Yes, sir,” The man nodded and ran off to do as told.

The Sheriff headed to the cruiser to holster his gun – just in case – and collect some extra batteries. Checking his phone once more to see if there was any news of Jordan and clicked his tongue knowing it would be so much more trouble if they lost a civilian as well. Slamming the door shut, he began to make his way to the edge of the forest but faltered when a commotion from the front of the campsite had him hold his breath and run towards the noise.

Rounding the camp, he arrived at the front and found a single beam of light bobbing between the foliage towards them.

Jordan had returned.

It was still too dark to see without the flashlights, Noah leading the way towards the weaving light that suddenly stopped in its place, lowering from its height to the ground. The thought of Jordan collapsing sent the Sheriff jumping over the roots and running towards the static light, his deputies hot at his heel with the two dogs running ahead.

Noah arrived at the sight of Jordan sitting against a tree bark, legs stretched out before him and halfheartedly fending off the dog’s snuffling and licks, Stiles clasped tight to his chest, the boy fast asleep and ignorant to everything that was going on.

“Jesus,” Noah dropped his flashlight, ran the rest of the way, and grabbed his son from Jordan’s arms, lifting the boy and pressing his ear to his chest. The sound of his strong thumping heartbeat made the Sheriff feel like he was going to collapse right there from relief, clutching the boy close to him and buried his face into Stiles’s chest.

“He’s alright. He’s asleep,” Jordan informed from his place on the floor, the Sheriff turning to him and swallowing down his sound of surprise at the state the man was in.

His hair was in disarray, with dirt, twigs, and leaves tangled into his tresses. His clothes were covered in mud with more dirt smeared across his cheek, his clothes looked damp with the way they were clinging to him, fraying at the edges from his trek through the woods, the soles of his sneakers coming off from the rest of the shoe.

“Jordan-” Noah choked in concern, watching the man brace against the tree bark at his back and slowly lift himself to his feet, face contorting and wincing in pain. The Sheriff noticed how he favored his right leg over his left.

“Deputy Clark, will you please lend me your support for the rest of the way,” Jordan asked politely of the man closest to him, unable to meet the Sheriff’s gaze. The man in question immediately rushed forward and wrapped Jordan’s left arm around his shoulder, ignorant to the way the younger winced and cradled his right side as if he had gotten hurt there, both of them making a slow trek back to the campsite.

The Sheriff and the rest of the deputies followed.

Noah cradled Stiles to his chest as they waited for the paramedics to arrive, the boy softly snoring against his shoulder and making the man smother his amusem*nt into his son’s shoulder as he followed Deputy Vargas when he went to get Jordan’s statement, the younger sitting on top of a log with one of the camp instructors holding a cold compress to his ankle, keeping his foot elevated on his lap.

“Where did you find him?” The Deputy inquired.

“There was a creek about 10 miles southwest from here,” Jordan pressed his knuckles to his forehead, head bowed and eyes closed. “It wasn’t on the map and comes after a steep fall. The only reason I was able to find it was because I fell down the side and landed in the water,”

“You fell?” Noah was unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice, Jordan wincing in his place and gesturing absentmindedly to his ankle.

“It was dark, and the ground under me was soft and moist so I followed that trying to find the water source it was being hydrated from since I told Stiles to make sure to stick close to the water in such situations and told him how to figure out if a water body was nearby through the soil,” He elaborated. “I got up and followed the current to a sort of…pond in a depression. Across the pond, there were these natural rock formations between the roots of a tree, and there are caves there usually, so I made my way over there and crawled into the hole to see if Stiles was in there, and luckily, he was. He still had the flag from Capture the Flag clutched in his hand,” Jordan chuckled and reached into his jacket’s pocket, pulling out an orange fabric and holding it out to the camp instructor who gawked at the other.

“I managed to wake Stiles long enough to get him to crawl out from there, make sure he was okay, before carrying him back,”

“With your ankle?” Deputy Vargas arched a brow, Jordan waving the question away with a noncommittal shrug. “How did you find your way back?”

“Learnt map reading and navigation in the army, wasn’t too hard to retrace my steps,” Jordan’s words slowed, exhaustion weighing heavy on him and making him sag in his place, eyes drifting shut and head bowed to his chest. Noah sat down behind him, shifting Stiles to the other arm, and placed a palm to Jordan’s forehead before he could tip off the log; gently easing him back against his shoulder. The younger dozed off with slow breaths, ignorant to the crowd of Deputies that was watching him with gaping mouths and awed eyes, the man unwittingly gaining their respect.

When the paramedics arrived, the Sheriff passed Stiles off first, the boy’s eyes fluttering at the movement, blinking dazedly around him for a second, squinting at the brightening sky before pulling back far enough to star at the paramedic carrying him.

“Hello,” Stiles greeted with sleep-hazy eyes and a dopey smile. “I’m Stiles, who are you? Where are we going?”

He was unable to hear the paramedic’s response when they walked out of earshot, but the Sheriff couldn’t help and smile, knowing his son was alright. Noah stopped the paramedics when they attempted to lift Jordan off the log and onto the stretcher, knowing that he would wake and would most likely bodily harm them in a state of panic.

Placing his hand on Jordan’s forehead, noticing that he was rather warm to the touch, before calling out to him.

“Jordan,”

“Hmm?” The man hummed in his sleep.

“The paramedics are here to take you to the ambulance,”

“Paramedics?” He muttered. “Send Stiles,”

“They’ve taken him, it’s your turn now. Need the stretcher?”

“Can walk,” Jordan’s eyes fluttered open before he pulled away from where he was leaning against the Sheriff, taking his warmth with him as he swung his legs over the log and braced himself against the paramedic, but walked to the ambulance.

Noah gets into the ambulance where the paramedics were running tests on Stiles, the boy asking about everything they were doing and what it all meant. His son turned to him with a delighted grin when he stepped inside.

“Dad! Dad! Dad! We won Capture the Flag!” Stiles exclaimed, bouncing on the stretcher till the paramedic asked him to remain calm. “Oops! Sorry. Dad, we won Capture the Flag!” He exclaimed in a whisper, the burden being taken off Noah’s heart to know that not only was his son found, but he was completely unharmed if a little dirty. Nothing a bath couldn’t fix.

“Yeah, kiddo,” Noah huffed a laugh, the ambulance doors being shut behind him. “You won,”

Chapter 7: Mischief

Chapter Text

Jordan couldn’t remember the last time he had woken up feeling so numb, wrapped up tightly by a chord that was cutting off the blood circulation to all his limbs. A part of him knew it would be excruciating, but the lack of sensation left him indifferent to his plight. Despite how warm he ran, Jordan couldn’t help the shiver that coursed through his body to witness the consequences of his actions.

He taught 9-year-old Stiles how to camouflage himself, and he had used his teachings and disappeared for hours on end. It was sheer luck that Jordan had been able to find the child, but he couldn’t help the thought process of what would have happened had he not been able to find him. What if that little cave had been devoid of Stiles? Would the boy have roamed alone and listlessly through the large forest? For how long before exhaustion began wearing on him?

A shudder escaped Jordan as he covered his face with his hands, shocked by his idiocy and thinking he was doing something harmless. He used to diffuse bombs for a living, there was nothing harmless about him.

Sliding off the hospital cot, Jordan removed the IV from the inside of his arm and went to change into the clothes lying on the couch in the room before leaving; heading to the front desk to check out.

He faltered at the front doors, something gnawing at him from the inside like a dog chewing off its leg, sending sharp frissons of pain with each piercing canine. Exhaling slowly, Jordan turned back to the nurses’ station, asking for Stiles’s room.

Jordan stood in the hallway leading to Stiles’s room, patiently waiting against the wall, and watched the Sheriff step out, heading in the opposite direction to where Jordan stood and marched down the hallway. Once he was sure the elder man was out of sight, Jordan made his way to the door, knocking before entering to find Stiles sitting cross-legged on the bed, hair devoid of any forest debris, face wiped off the mud he had painted on himself, and changed out of the godforsaken camo gear and into a blue hospital pajama set.

“Jordan!” The boy exclaimed in delight at the sight of the man, Jordan tried to smile at him but felt like he couldn’t get his facial muscles to corporate with him. “What happened?” Stiles was far too perceptive for his liking, seeing through him and being able to pick up on his distress.

“Nothing, I just came to see how you’re doing,”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Does your ankle hurt?”

To be honest, Jordan hadn’t thought about his ankle once, not caring if it was a sprain or a fracture, it didn’t matter to him.

“What about you? Any aches or pains?”

“Nope!” Stiles beamed wide at him, Jordan’s chest clenching to think that he almost snuffed out the brightness of his boy with his thoughtlessness. He could never forgive himself for this. “The doctors say I’m the perfect specimen of health,” He puffed out his chest in pride before shrinking when a thought occurred to him.

“Though Dad was kind of mad,”

“Well, you did scare him, buddy,” Jordan nodded in understanding, head filled with cotton. “You were missing for 16 hours,”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” The boy squirmed in his seat, reaching out towards Jordan as if wanting the man to pick him up, but Jordan couldn’t bring himself to move from his place near the door, knowing he had to leave as soon as possible now that he had checked up on the boy himself. “I-I just got lost in the game, Jordan. I’m sorry,”

“I’m sure you are,” He nodded, gaze unseeing and feeling like a noose was tightening around his throat as he struggled to get his words across. “Stiles, I need you to promise me not to use what I thought you again,”

“Wha-! But Jordan! The Hales-!”

“-The Hales are born werewolves, they’ll be able to track you by the sound of your heartbeat if not by sight, sound, or smell,” Jordan interrupted. “So are the things I thought you really worth it?”

“But I won Capture the Flag!”

“No, they stopped the game because they couldn’t find you, no one won the game,” Jordan stated in a monotone, knowing this is not how he wanted this conversation to go when he noticed the wide-eyed look the boy gave him at the words. “Stiles, please, please just-just don’t ever do this again, I can’t-my heart can’t take it. What would I have done if you had been hurt?”

“But-!”

“-Please, Stiles.” Jordan sagged in defeat, feeling his head pounding. “Please don’t argue with me on this. Not this,” He sighed, the boy pressing his lips together as if he was physically restraining himself from speaking.

Jordan sighed, feeling the energy get leached from him before he straightened and nodded to the boy.

“I just came to see how you were doing,” He confessed, stepping back towards the door as the boy’s eyes widened at his retreating figure. “Bye Stiles,” Jordan called over his shoulder before stepping out of the room despite the way the boy called out for him.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jordan walked down the hallway, ignoring the Hales running past him and towards Stiles’s room, deaf to the sound of Talia Hale calling out to him before resuming on her way with a confused frown.

Jordan couldn’t remember getting a cab from the hospital to the Sheriff’s station where he’d parked his car, but the next time he blinked, he was sitting behind the wheel of his car with the keys held in his hand. He stared at them in confusion for a moment before slotting the correct key into the ignition and drove the route back home.

He knew that the first thing he should do is shower, and clean off the dirt and grime from the forest, but the moment he locked his front door behind him and could see the contents of his closet thrown around the room, every ounce of determination to feel alright evaporated into the air. Jordan’s shoulders sagged in defeat, wanting to lie down on the floor in front of his door, curl up into a ball and disappear from existence.

Things would be so much better without him.

Had he not taught Stiles, young, impressionable, 9-year-old Stiles, military-grade camouflage, the boy would not have attempted it during their game of Capture the Flag. The boy would not have missed, or crossed, the boundary limit and ventured deeper into the forest to win a stupid game. He would not have been missing for 16 hours had Jordan not taught him these things.

Without his camo gear, anyone could have seen Stiles venturing deeper into the forest and he would have been brought back immediately. They wouldn’t have needed to call the Sheriff, and the elder man would not resent Jordan.

Why did he have to mess things up in his life? Everything detonated around him like the last bomb he had been sent to diffuse.

Somehow, Jordan found himself grabbing the blanket from his couch and making a slow trek up to his attic. The space had been cleaned from all the dust, grime, and cobwebs that had gathered there when he had decided to convert it into a cozy little study. But what did he need a study for? It’s not like he had a job or he was a student.

Jordan dragged the blanket behind him as he walked over to the skylight, draping the blanket around him before curling under the warmth of the sun, trying to erase the shivers wracking through him.

Maybe he should remove himself from the Stilinski’s life, but he couldn’t hide from them in a community this small. He should move. Sell the house and go somewhere far away. Maybe he’d stop messing things up, Jordan thought distantly as he began to let reality slip from between his fingers, feeling it leave him in his halo of light amid the darkness that was growing around him.

Jordan didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping there, but the next time he opened his eyes, feeling a bit more cognizant of the ache in his bones, it was still daylight outside. Thinking it’d been only a few hours, Jordan went back to sleep.

“Hey,” A voice woke him next, Jordan blearily blinking his eyes open to feel a pillow under his head and Stiles lying beside him in the halo of light, fidgeting with a Rubix cube Jordan kept lying around for him. “Aren’t you uncomfortable sleeping on the floor?”

“You got discharged,” Jordan noted blearily, staying curled up, the boy turning to him with a small smile, concern visible in his eyes.

“They said I could go home three days ago, I’ve been going to school now, too,”

Three days ago. Had Jordan been lying here for three days? Well, the way he could feel the sweat soaking into his scalp and the weakness of his body, he most likely had been lying here for that long.

“I brought you some water,” Stiles sat up and brought a glass with a straw closer to Jordan, silently urging him with his eyes to drink.

It took Jordan a moment of shuffling around, bracing his back against the wall under the skylight to be upright enough to sip at the water without choking on it. Stiles sitting beside him and fiddling with the Rubix cube. Jordan remained upright long enough to drink before flopping back on his side, Stiles immediately following him and lying down within the halo or light but not touching the older man.

“Do you feel bad cuz of the war?” Stiles whispered gaze focused on the cube in his hand, twisting it and jumbling it more than solving it.

“My problems aren’t yours to deal with,” Jordan closed his eyes and curled into the blanket, blearily noticing that his throw had been replaced by something heavier and warmer.

“Maybe, but Dad is worried about you,”

“Your Dad probably hates me, kiddo, and for good reason,”

“Dad doesn’t hate you!” Stiles gasped, bolting upright, and turned to face him with an intensity in his eyes that made Jordan think his eyes were glowing marginally. “Dad could never hate you! You’ve been looking out for me and you spent all night searching for me even though you got hurt!”

“Stiles,”

“He knocked on your door for hours the first night I came home! He was so worried for you, Jordan because your-your car was here and the lights were off but there was no sign of you and there wasn’t a spare key lying around that he could use to come in!”

“Does that mean you pick my locks?’ Jordan asked, blinking owlishly at Stiles. The boy faltered in his words because they both knew that had he had a key, he would have given it to his dad the first night instead of showing up on his own like this.

“Don’t be absurd,” Stiles scoffed in offense and lay back on the ground, twisting the cube with aggression. “The point is, Dad's worried about you. So am I. So I’m going to stay here with you till you feel better,”

“I don’t know buddy, I don’t think I’ll feel better anytime soon,”

“That’s okay, I’ll come and give you company till you do,” The boy stated as if it were a given and continued to fiddle with the cube.

They lay in silence for a while before he began chattering about his newfound popularity at school because of his little trick, and then talked about how Derek refused to leave his side now, joining him when he goes to Scott’s and sticking to him like a shadow whenever he’s over at the Hales. Jordan’s eyes fluttered closed, lulled by the sound of the boy’s chatter.

“The only reason he didn’t come here was because he says your smell makes his nose burn, says you smell like something burning,” Stiles chatted, not understanding how fire is supposed to smell like. His only experience was bonfires and they smelt kind of nice. ”Besides, he trusts you and Dad enough to leave me with you guys,” The boy shrugged and turned towards Jordan, giggling to himself when he found the man asleep.

Stiles shuffled closer till he was tucked under Jordan’s chin, content to lay close to the man’s warmth and fiddle with the cube.

Stiles kept showing up to the attic for the rest of the week, even if it was only for a few minutes to check up on Jordan while he slept away the days, gathering dust.

It wasn’t until the weekend, Jordan assumed it was the weekend when he woke to fingers carding through his dirty hair. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he found long legs splayed out in front of him, slowly tipping his head back with a warm large hand cradling the back of his head to find the Sheriff sitting with his back against the wall, and giving Jordan a soft smile in greeting.

“I know you probably don’t feel like moving,” The man began in a soft tone that rattled through Jordan’s hollowed-out chest. “But how do you feel about taking a shower?”

“Do I have to?” He murmured in response, blinking slowly at the man who shrugged.

“Well, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I think it would make you feel better,” The Sheriff informed, continuing to tease apart the tangles from Jordan’s hair, the man pressing his head into the older’ s hand at the softness of his touch. “So how about it?”

Jordan hummed in confirmation, feeling dazed and disoriented when he sat up, the Sheriff helped him to his feet and braced his weight by wrapping a secure arm around his waist and slowly led the way down the stairs. His vision cleared and he regained cognizance the more they walked, letting blood circulation return to his limbs. He could smell something savory cooking and distantly wondered how long the Sheriff had been puttering around without him noticing. They had just begun their descent down the last flight of stairs when he caught sight of Stiles pacing the floor, the boy freezing at the sight of them and fist pumped the air, jumping around in what seemed like an approximation of a victory dance before thundering down the hall and towards the bedroom.

Noah voiced his amusem*nt with a snort and helped him to his room.

Jordan had to stop for a moment to notice that his clothes weren’t thrown around anymore. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t a speck of dust in the place and his sheets had been changed and his bed made. The Sheriff led him into his closet, which had all the cubbies, counters, and drawers installed, his clothes folded neatly and hung in according to their length, everything seemed color-coded at first glance before he was led into his washroom where Stiles had started filling up the tub with steaming water.

“You good on your own or do you need help?” Noah asked, Jordan pulling a face at the question and pulling away from the Sheriff, making his way deeper into the bathroom, Stiles running out and the door closing behind him before Jordan stripped out of his clothes, throwing them into the hamper, and sunk into the steaming bath. He had to bite his lips to contain the moan of satisfaction escaping him and soaked in silence, feeling all the aches and pains seeping out of him.

He soaked in the warmth of the water until it grew tepid, quickly scrubbing shampoo through his hair and washing down his body before rinsing and getting out. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he ventured out into his closet, taking the organization system in properly now. Pulling out the drawers and baskets, flipping through the hanging clothes, and eying the new shoe rack with his shoes displayed, he picked out sweatpants and a t-shirt before pulling on a well-loved hoodie on top of it.

Pattering down the hall, he found everything was spick and span whereas he would have assumed it to be a little bit of a mess with his neglect. The closer he got to the kitchen, the more he could make out Noah instructing Stiles on how to stir the contents of whatever they were making. Peeking across the corner, he found the Sheriff standing in front of the stove with a large pot simmering on the stove, Stiles standing beside him on a stool and slowly stirring the contents of what smelt like a stew. Jordan was able to pick out the smell of pork, juniper berries, stock, and something smoked.

“Hey,” Noah noticed him first, Stiles turning in the direction and beaming before dropping the ladle to clamber down the stool. The Sheriff braced his son’s uncoordinated flailing before the boy found himself on solid ground and rushed over to Jordan, readily wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and resting his chin on his stomach.

“We’re making Bigos like Mama used to!” Stiles announced, Jordan tilting his head at the name, not sure he’s heard of it before.

“It’s Polish hunter’s stew,” The Sheriff clarified as he covered the pot with a lid. “It should be done in a few minutes,” He estimated and turned to his son and neighbor, noting the tenderness with which Jordan combed his fingers through Stiles’s hair. Damn, and just when he was thinking about getting the boy a haircut, knowing he’d have to put those plans on hold for the time being given the way Jordan was untangling his hair at the ends and smoothing them out.

Something about the man’s touch soothed Stiles, Noah noticed, watching his son melt into his hold, pushing his head into his hand to keep the stroking going, like a big cat demanding pets. But above that, something about the boy seemed to soothe Jordan too, the man holding him close and protected.

“Do you wanna watch The Sound of Music?” Stiles inquired, Jordan tilting his head before nodding in agreement, letting the boy drag him down the hall and towards the living room, Noah chuckling at them.

He plated three big bowls of stew, plating them on a trey before joining the other two, a fond smile making its way across his lips to find Jordan curled into the corner of his sectional sofa, Stiles laying on top of his chest with his ear pressed over his heart and watching the movie, Jordan continuing his gentle stroking through Stiles’s hair.

“Come on, boys, dinner,” Noah put the tray down on the coffee table, watching Stiles shuffle off Jordan but stuck close enough to the man so that their knees knocked together before he took his bowl. The Sheriff handed one to Jordan who took it with a nod of gratitude and settled back, Noah settling on the other side of Stiles and watching Julia Andrews frolicking through the mountains of Austria, singing The Sound of Music to the birds and the trees.

“Did you know,” Stiles began, slurping the stew and quickly chewing the meat, Jordan turned to him at the words. “The Sound of Music is based on a real story? The movie is different from reality, obviously, but the real Maria Von Trapp wrote the book on which the movie is based. In the book, Maria wanted to escape life at the monastery and didn’t want to be a nun, and she fell in love with the real Captain Von Trapp. While in the movie they show that she was fond of the Captain and married him to be closer to the children and fell in love with him later. And-and-and in the book, the real Von Trapp family actually escaped to Italy a day before the borders closed and from there they came to America,”

Jordan digested the words, taking a mouthful of the steaming soup as if the heat didn’t burn him, and swallowed before turning to Stiles with a soft sparkle in his eyes.

“What else?” He asked the boy, Stiles whirling towards him, he nearly spilled his soup all over the upholstery. His grin was so wide it squeezed his eyes shut. “What else is different in the movie than from the book?”

“Okay, so-so Hitler, right? Adolf Hitler? He-he-uh-he’s actually been to the Von Trapp family manor! After the Von Trapp family escaped, they their house became the headquarters of this guy-uh-Heinlick Hammer?’

“Heinrich Himmler?” Jordan suggested, recognizing the name from a book he had read in High School.

“Yeah! Him! Anyways, he was using the Von Trapp family home as his HQ and Hitler visited him there a lot during the war,”

“Woah,” Jordan raised his eyebrows, not having known that. “That must have been sad for the Von Trapp family to have their home used as headquarters for all the atrocities,”

“Oh.” Stiles blinked, tilting his head. “I never thought of it like that,”

“Did you know the actor who played Captain Von Trapp actually hated the movie,” Noah redirected, Stiles turning to him with wide eyes, mouth gaping in shock.

“What? No!”

“He did. He said he regretted starring in this movie and found it too sentimental for his tastes.”

Jordan grabbed the bowl from Stiles’s hand, setting it down on the coffee table as the boy flailed around at the words, going on a rant about the rampant toxic masculinity of the time and how Christopher Plummer could hate something that had a household name. The two men chuckled at Stiles’s zeal and passion on the topic until Noah had him sit down and finish his stew while he continued to grumble in distaste, sticking his tongue out at the TV anytime the Captain was on the screen.

Once they’d finished their stew – which was delicious and exactly what Jordan needed to feel a little more human – he tugged Stiles back to lie on top of his chest, the boy going readily for cuddles with a delighted grin and tugged his tag closer to them by the sleeve. The man moved close enough for Jordan to bury his toes under the Sheriff’s thigh, with Stiles draped over him like an oversized sloth baby.

There seemed to be magic in Jordan, Noah was convinced of this fact. Stiles was never able to sleep without his pillow, but this was the second time in his presence that his son dozed off without it. Both times it was on top of Jordan, like he did last weekend and now before the movie had reached its ending. The man in question softly stroked through Stiles’s hair, unaware of the dozing boy, and watched the Von Trapp family go on stage and sing for the soldiers.

Noah wanted to leave the both of them just like this, maybe snap a secret picture, but he knew he should talk to Jordan while he had the chance.

“Hey,” The Sheriff tapped Jordan’s thigh and redirected the man’s attention away from the film. “Help me with the dishes?” He co*cked his head in the direction of the kitchen, noticing the way the younger pursed his lips as he watched Noah stand with two bowls in his hand before he looked down at the boy snoring into his sternum.

He watched Jordan sigh in defeat before gently lifting Stiles off him and sliding out from beneath him, putting a cushion under his head and draping a throw blanket over him before picking up the third bowl and following after the Sheriff.

Jordan washed all the bowls, cutlery, and equipment that had been used in the cooking process while Noah emptied out the big pot of stew into a Tupperware to be placed in the refrigerator and brought the pot to the sink. Picking up a dish towel, he began drying the dishes before putting them on the rack and letting the silence persist between them as they worked together.

Once all the dishes were washed, Jordan took to putting them back into their designated spaces while Noah wiped down the counters.

“Would you like to talk about what’s going on?” The Sheriff asked with his back to Jordan, but could feel the man tense from across the room.

“Is it an order?”

“We both know you don’t listen to my orders,” Noah snorted, recalling the way Jordan had completely disregarded his call for return that night in the forest. “No, it’s not order Jordan, I just want to make sure you’re alright,”

“Why?” The suspicion was audible in that monosyllabic question, Noah turning around to face his arched brow with a face softened by sincerity before answering.

“Because you’re my friend, Jordan, and I’m worried about you,” He spoke softly, startled to find the man wincing at the words. “You’ve been avoiding us and been completely out of it since Stiles got lost. You’ve been sleeping in the attic-”

“-He wouldn’t have gotten lost hadn’t it been for me,” Jordan murmured, pressing his back into the counter, bracing the edge, and lowering his gaze when the Sheriff slowly reduced the distance between them. His approaching footsteps made Jordan’s pulse skyrocket with anxiety wracking his brain. “Had I-had I not taught Stiles how to camouflage into his surrounding he would not have attempted to do so at the camp. If I didn’t teach him to use the terrain to his advantage, or-or-or hide-hide in the darkness of the shadow. How not to make a sound when moving and-and-had I not-had I not shown him how camo gear can be utilized, someone-anyone could have seen him wander away. He wouldn’t-he wouldn’t have been missing for 16 plus hours-!” His words gained speed with his rising anxiety, heart pounding as if it was ready to jump out of his chest and eyes blown wide, ignorant to the tears stinging the back of his eyes or the way his breath hitched with his stuttering inhales.

The sudden warmth of the Sheriff’s palms tenderly cupping his cheeks made Jordan inhale a sharp breath and hold it. His gaze jumped up to find Noah so much closer than he had anticipated, almost chest to chest, the tip of his shoes touching Jordan’s bare toes. He was so close that for the first time, Jordan noticed that the man’s eyes were a sparkling blue with flecks of grey and green around the pupil. His attention diverted from his eyes to the warmth and breadth of Noah’s hands against the side of his face when he could feel the man’s thumb gently smooth the skin under his eye, stroking back and forth over his cheekbone with such a tender look in his eyes it made Jordan’s chest ache with something.

“You did nothing but teach my boy basic survival skills. Survival skills that everyone should know in case they find themselves in a situation Stiles found himself in-”

“-Noah,” Jordan tried to dislodge his hold by shaking his head, but the man only stepped closer, diminishing what little space remained between them at his refusal to listen to reason.

“Listen to me,” The man commanded, Jordan snapping his mouth shut at the authority, and watching the Sheriff sigh in resignation. “You taught Stiles to stay close to a water source. You showed him how to differentiate between edible and poisonous flora. You taught him how to survive in the wild. Had you not done that, do you think a 9-year-old boy would be able to get out of such an experience unscathed? In my time as a Deputy, I came across a few cases of children getting lost in the forest and ending up worse for it. Had you not taught Stiles all that you did, he could have been one of them. Don’t you understand?

Stiles had matches in his pocket. He showed me how to start a fire in the wild in our backyard because you showed him how. You told him how to find shelter and protection in the wild. Had you not done so, I can’t even begin to imagine what could have happened. We found him within 24 hours of him being reported missing, and that’s huge! Had it not been for you, we wouldn’t have been able to find him. Sure, you disregarded orders from the Sheriff, but you found him, Jordan, you found my boy all on your own,” The Sheriff’s voice softened, hold warm and firm as if to convey his conviction through to him by touch alone.

“But I-” Jordan hiccupped, mortified that tears were streaming down his cheek, and struggled to wipe them on the sleeves of his hoodie. “But I-he got lost, all alone and-I-I didn’t mean for him to get lost, Noah, I didn’t mean for him to get lost-”

Noah closed the gap between them, cradling the back of Jordan’s head, and brought him to his shoulder. The younger immediately clutched at the back of his sweatshirt and buried his face into the Sheriff’s neck. His shoulders shook with his tears, no sound escaping him except for the sharp inhale and hiccupping breaths as he struggled to calm himself. Noah pressed his cheek to the top of Jordan’s pretty auburn hair, holding him close and sweeping his palm up and down his spine, soothing him the way he’d seen the man do to his boy.

“I told you the other day,” Noah murmured once Jordan’s tears had stopped, neither one of them in a hurry to pull away, “that I was scared of losing Stiles because he’s all I have left, and you taught him how to survive in the wild. Even if you hadn’t been part of the search effort, I’m sure Stiles would have gotten himself out of the situation thanks to you, you know that?”

“He’s 9 years old, I shouldn’t have trained him in military survival skills,”

“He’s 9 years old, and he’s Stiles, he’s got his fingers in a lot of pies he shouldn’t be poking,” Noah scoffed, Jordan snorting at the words and nuzzled into the man’s throat, arms wrapped tight around the older’s waist while Noah had his arm wrapped around Jordan’s shoulder and side. “But, everyone should know these basic survival skills before they find themselves in a situation where they might need them. If you hadn’t taught him, I wouldn’t have been able to teach him something I don’t know. That boy runs with wolves, but he’s very much human, and I’m glad that he has at least the basics under his belt,”

“You’re not mad, then?”

“Mad? God, no,” The Sheriff denied, rubbing soothing circles against Jordan’s hipbone. “At least, through you, he’s learning something conducive and not hacking into confidential files to find blackmail material on the residents of Beacon Hills to get his way,”

“Yeah, about that, I’m 98% certain Stiles knows how to pick locks, the 2% is deducted because I haven’t witnessed it,”

“Jesus. Claudia was right to call him Mischief,” Noah rolled his eyes heavens ward and shook his head in exasperation, wrapping his arms tighter around Jordan and giving him one final squeeze before they began to untangle from each other. Jordan rubbed at his eyes and tried to get rid of the tear tracks, unable to hide the redness of his eyes. “Stiles is my family’s nickname, his name is Mieczysław Stilinski,”

“Mieczysław,” Jordan echoed, startled to know that a boy like that had such a complex name.

“Yeah, Mieczysław, it rolls off the tongue. Stiles could never pronounce it as a kid, but, uh-the closest he could get was “mischief” and his mother called him that till the day she died,”

“Mischief,” Jordan lowered his chin to his chest, a chuckle bubbling from his lips, the soft sound morphing into full-blown laughter he tried to muffle by curling his arms around his midriff and shaking his head. The Sheriff looked at him with an amused smile and brows furrowed in confusion. “He was called Mischief! Doesn’t that tell you everything you need to know about him?” Jordan giggled, staring up at Noah with lashes clumped together by his tears, eyes a little red-rimmed and cheeks pink, his grin wide around his muffled laughter at his own words. The Sheriff shook his head at his amusem*nt, covering his eyes with his hand before shaking with his mirth, trying hard to muffle his laughter to not wake the boy in question.

He was nicknamed Mischief, Noah thought, and doesn’t that tell you everything you need to know about him?

Chapter 8: Argent

Chapter Text

Jordan had been standing by the checkout counter with the Stilinski’s arguing over the health merits of eating another variation of pasta for the third day in a row, the Sheriff dragging his feet on their green eating agenda; when he noticed a moving truck drive past, followed by a heavy duty black SUV with tinted windows and heavy body that Jordan was almost certain was reminiscent of a bullet-proof vehicle. Those details making him frown as he tried to see where the car was driving off to. Something about the picture having his hackles rising.

“Are we getting new neighbors?” Jordan inquired, silencing the argument between father and son as they both turned to see him watching out of the store windows, standing still and tense like a dog on guard. “A moving truck and black SUV just drove past here,” He turned towards the Sheriff once the vehicles were definitely too far away to be any threat.

“I haven’t heard anything,” Stiles announced, and bounded over to the window, pressing his face up against the glass trying to catch a glimpse of the cars that were long gone. “Where do you think they’re moving to?”

Jordan arched a brow at the Sheriff, wondering if he knew anything about it, but the man simply shook his head. Jordan shrugging his shoulders.

“Also, if you’re too tired to cook, Noah, I can make an Asian Salmon sheet pan with carrots and broccoli,”

“Is Salmon healthy?” Stiles turned back towards the adults at the words.

“Well, Salmon is rich in Omega-3 and -6 which are fatty acids that lower cholesterol, lower blood pressure, and contribute to a healthy heart,” Jordan crouched to be at face level with Stiles, the boy nodding along with great seriousness before giving a decisive nod.

“We’re having pan salmon-?”

“-Asian Salmon Sheet Pan-”

“-Asian Salmon Sheet Pan for dinner,”

The Sheriff relented with a sigh, beginning to bag their groceries knowing they had to make their weekly meal prep as well. Jordan walking over to him and helped him with the foodstuff, bumping him with his hip as he gave the older man a conspiratorial smile.

“I have a slice of carrot cake with your name on it,” Jordan cooed, the Sheriff’s eyes widening at the prospect before whipping his head around to see where Stiles was, letting out a relieved breath to see the boy playing with the key chains a few counters back. “Mrs. Rivera down in 342B gave it to me for fitting in her new washing machine,”

“You, Jordan Parrish,” Noah growled in fondness, knocking their foreheads together and making the man wince slightly at the impact. “Are the devil in disguise,”

“Well, the devil does come to seduce you,” The man winked in response and hefted the two bags off the conveyer belt, leaving the Sheriff floundering and gawking as the man walked over to his son, taking the boy’s hand in his own and led the way out of the store for Noah to follow after them.

They didn’t have to ponder too long on who the new additions to the Beacon Hills community were, all of them getting introduced to the Argents at a very awkward, and stilted Monday Coffee Morning being held at the community center.

Jordan had brought Walnut cake and placed the two large pans on the long serving table with the rest of the food some of the people brought. Looking out at the interior, he couldn’t help but frown to notice that there were fewer people here today than they usually would be on Monday Coffee Mornings, recalling how jam-packed it had been just last week.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he immediately pinpointed the new addition interacting with Deputy Sheriff Hewitt. The man had buzz cut blonde hair with a military severity to him that Jordan could pick up on even from this distance, the woman beside him had short cropped flaming red hair and a blasé sort of superiority to her stance that made Jordan bristle.

He continued to look around at the gathered crowd and couldn’t help but let his lips part in realization when a khakhi uniform came to stand beside him.

“Did you notice what’s wrong with this picture?” Jordan asked, gesturing to the crowd in front of him.

“Yeah, the fact that you’re here alone,”

Jordan jumped at the words, sliding to the side and turning to find one of the Deputies standing beside him with a smirk on his lips, lifting his coffee mug up to him in greeting before covering the distance between them once more. Jordan was sure that it had been the Sheriff.

“Hi, I’m Jack Graeme,” He introduced, holding his hand out for him. “You’re Jordan right? Grandma Mary’s grandson?”

“Yeah, I’m him,” Jordan nodded, keeping his arms crossed and looking at the Deputy with this sense of loss and grief, forcing himself to swallow and shake the foreboding sensation away.

“Yeah, hi,” Jack lowered his hand when he realized Jordan wasn’t going to shake it. “How come you’re here alone? Where is Stiles?’

“Stiles is in school, it is a Monday,” Jack laughed at the words as if Jordan had said something funny.

“I saw you at the station the other day, and I’ve been meaning to tell you-” He began with a bashful smile, stepping closer to Jordan who eyed him with reluctance, mentally calculating how he could remove himself from this wildly uncomfortable situation.

“Tell him what?” Noah’s voice inquired cheerily from behind Jordan who heaved a breath in relief to be rescued, stepping back and towards the Sheriff who stepped towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling at his Deputy who flushed and stammered.

“Sir, I-uh-”

“-You were going to tell Parrish something,” The Sheriff prompted, ruffling the man’s hair and earning himself an elbow to the gut for his troubles. Noah letting out an oomph of breath and cradled his side. “Jordan-!” He choked out as the younger combed his fingers through his hair, setting them right.

“Oops, I was aiming for your ribs,” Jordan smiled serenely at him, the Deputy gawking at their interaction.

“Brat, I can have you thrown in jail for assaulting an officer,”

“You can try, old man, you’ll only end up a few deputies short,” Jordan adjusted the hair at his temple, looking over his shoulder at the Sheriff straightening with a smirk. “Because you clearly could never catch me in a chase,”

“That mouth on you,” The Sheriff scoffed and wrapped his arm around the front of Jordan’s throat in a mock-chokehold, pulling the younger into his chest, scuffling playfully. “What’d you bring?” He asked with their temples pressed together, looking at the food laid out.

“I brought coffee and walnut cake,” Jordan gestured to the cake in question, the Sheriff releasing his hold on him, making the younger fight down the whine that threatened to escape at having Noah’s warmth taken from him.

The Sheriff cut himself a slice, immediately moaning at the first taste and leaned against the edge of the table beside Jordan who retook his position of staring out the floor, letting a comfortable silence descend on him.

“I didn’t know you knew Jack,”

“I don’t, I thought I was talking to you,”

“What’d you talk about?”

“I asked if you could see what’s wrong with this picture,” Jordan repeated, gesturing to the people gathered, Noah swallowing his bite before putting his plate down beside him, giving a terse nod of confirmation. “There are no Supers here, Noah, not even Mayor Hale,” He whispered.

“Yeah, the uh…the Argents are posing themselves off as licensed arms dealers, but the supernatural community knows them to be something completely different?”

“What’s that?”

The Sheriff leaned towards him, whispering in his ear and making Jordan’s heart pound at the sudden close proximity, swallowing down the urge to lean further into him before registering what the man was telling him.

The Argents were hunters. Supernatural Hunters.

Jordan could feel a growl building in his throat, grinding his teeth together and digging his nails into the meet of his arm to keep from doing something irrational like throw a right hook at Argent’s face.

“And they’re going to live here?” Jordan hissed. “In Beacon Hills?”

“I can’t stop the man from living here without any probable cause,” The Sheriff frowned at him. “What would you have me do?”

“I-I don’t know, but these people should not live here,”

“I don’t want them here any more than you do, Jordan, but there is nothing I can do about it,”

“I have a feeling Stiles will have a lot to say about this,” Jordan huffed out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face, the Sheriff snorting in agreement and clapped him on the back in condolence. Jordan giving him a halfhearted glare knowing that he would be on the receiving end of the boy’s triad and he had to set an example through his response.

Jordan had been tightening the last screw on the newly installed fence door that would connect his backyard to the Stilinski’s when Stiles came stumbling out of the side door leading onto the deck.

“Jordan?” The boy called from the side of the house, the man in question huffing an amused laugh before calling back his location.

Stiles came running down the side of the house, schoolbag jostling behind him as he barreled towards Jordan. The man only had a second to drop the screwdriver into his tool box and stepped forward before he found his arms full of the young boy knocking the wind out of him with an oomph.

“Hey there, buddy,” Jordan greeted as he tugged off his black workman gloves and picked up his jacket draped over the fence, pulling it on. “What’s up? How was school?” He combed his fingers through the boy’s hair, the other placed firmly in the space between his slender shoulders, the boy remaining with his face buried into Jordan’s stomach, the uncharacteristic silence letting him know that something was wrong.

“Hey,” Jordan pulled him back far enough so he could crouch in front of the boy, who had his eyes downturned and lips turned into a frown. “What’s the matter, Stiles? What happened?”

“We-we got a new student join us,” Stiles began as he looked up. “But it’s so weird for someone to join in the middle of the session with Christmas break literally next week and then when I said that to the teacher, she explained that Allison would be officially joining us after the break, but was here today to see how we work, and-and-and her aunt was there with her, right. I don’t know why she needed a guardian to stay with her throughout, because the-she was so weird, Jordan, she makes me feel very-she makes me feel wrong,”

“Wrong?”

“She kept-she kept staring at us, Lydia, Cora, Malia, and Kira kept-they kept staying away from her, but she kept trying to talk to them, but why would you do that if they don’t want to hang out with you, you know?” Stiles rambled, petulantly rubbing at his eyes. “And then-and then at break time, we sat-we sat with the Hales in the cafeteria, right. Me, Derek, Cora, Malia, Kira, Scott, Lydia, and Isaac, and she kept-she kept you know-uh-staying close to our table,”

“Lingering around you?”

“Yeah! Yeah, she kept lingering around our table, and then-and then at-at off time when we were heading for the buses, she grabbed me-”

“-She grabbed you?” Jordan asked, feeling a snarl curl under his tongue at the thought of this woman grabbing Stiles, immediately pushing the boy’s sleeve back to make sure he wasn’t actually hurt. Relief flooding him when there was no signs of injury. “What did she want?”

“She-she asked me if my dad was the Sheriff, and I pulled away from her and asked what’s it to her when Derek came running and pulled me away from there. He kept growling and is in the kitchen by the way,” Stiles rubbed at his arms. “So are the others. I don’t like the new girl, Jordan, her auntie is weird,”

“Wait-what?” Jordan looked up at the boy with furrowed brows. “Who others?”

“You know, the Hales, Kira, Scott, Isaac, and Lydia,” Stiles murmured, peeking up at Jordan from beneath his lashes.

“Stiles,”

“I’m sorry! But we didn’t want to be alone! And-and I couldn’t figure out where to go? Everyone’s parents are at work,”

“Alright, okay, it’s okay,” Jordan stroked back the boy’s hair before standing up, closing his toolbox and picked it up. “Hey, you wanna see something?” He asked the boy before they head inside, Stiles nodding eagerly and looked up at him expectantly.

Jordan smirked at the boy’s excitement as he placed his hand on top of the section of the fence that was closest to him and pushed it outwards. The newly installed door swinging open towards the Stilinski’s backyard. The boy gawked at the newfound connection between their properties, running forward to cross the threshold to his yard before jumping back onto Jordan’s property, squealing in delight and stomping around with the sheer joy of this development.

“Oh my God! This is so cool!” Stiles shrieked, voice rising high and loud as he tackled Jordan into a hug, squeezing him as tight as he could manage. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, bud,” Jordan huffed a laugh and started walking with Stiles wrapped around him, letting out a chuckle when the boy wrapped his legs around his shin so that Jordan had to walk with the boy’s weight on his leg. “Don’t forget to thank Dad, okay? It was his idea, I just did the dirty work,”

“I will! Promise!” Stiles nodded against his hip as Jordan climbed up the step onto his deck. Depositing his tool box on top of the dresser before venturing down the hallway and found his house overrun by children.

“Hello, children,” Jordan called out, the children returning it while he noticed how the weres- flinched and waved, Cora rubbing at her nose as if she had smelt something acrid. “So, now that this little hellion has brought you all here, what do you guys want to do?”

“I’m hungry,” Scott announced.

“You’re always hungry,” Malia rolled her eyes from her place on his armchair.

“Alright, let food be the first item on the agenda,” Jordan huffed, tapping Stiles on the top of his head so the boy would release him. Stiles happily bounding over to Derek who began rubbing his cheek against Stiles; scenting him if Jordan wasn’t mistaken. “Alright, I’m ordering pepperoni, everyone good with that?” He asked, all the kids calling out their agreement as Jordan picked up the phone and did some mental calculations for how many.

So, each were- could probably eat a large pizza by themselves, that makes 3. Then three human children could share one large pizza, so an additional 2 pizzas. 5 large pepperoni pizzas.

Jordan would be sure to send the Sheriff a message telling him that the man owed him after this.

While they waited for the pizza to arrive, Jordan rushed around the place making sure the children didn’t accidently uncover his hidden weapons. The older having to hoist Isaac up and off the floor when he tried to reach for the cookie jar on the top shelf and nearly toppled it over.

“Okay!” Jordan called to the little army of cretins. “After pizza we’re going to the park for some baseball!”

Immediately sounds of delight echoed through the little house, Jordan depositing them all around the TV and put on the Amazing Spiderman for them all to watch.

Jordan was glad to know that his calculations was correct. The weres- did, in fact, eat one whole large pizza by themselves, while the humans were able to finish the two large pizzas between the six of them with two extra slices to spare.

Once everyone had their fill, Jordan grabbed the baseball equipment from the Stilinski’s house and led the way to the park with eight children trailing after him in a train, Jordan making sure they all were holding hands.

He taught them how to play baseball, reminding the three weres- to be careful of their strength and not go all out, the three of them nodding in understanding.

“Derek,” Jordan stopped the boy from following his sister and cousin out to the field, and turned back to him. “May I ask you something about the new girl that will be joined Stiles’s class?”

“Sure, but I don’t think I can tell you much-”

“-She’s Argent, yes?”

“Yes,”

“Do you know who the Argents are?”

“Mom says they’re hunters,” Derek frowned, head tilted to the side and lips parted. “How do you-?”

“-Are you guys safe?”

Derek stalled at the question, eying Jordan with something like curiosity and nodded.

“Yeah, Allison is a kid, so she isn’t a threat. It’s her parents and aunt. The Argents have a matriarchal system, so the person in charge is either Allison’s mom or her aunt Kate,” Jordan nodding, filing that information away for later.

“Will you do me a favor, Derek?”

“Of course I’ll watch over Stiles-” The boy scoffed before tensing when Jordan put a hand to his shoulder, crouching down to be eye to eye with the young werewolf.

“No, I’m not asking you to watch over Stiles. I’m going to ask you to watch out for yourself. Stiles is human, so he’s safe, but I want you, Malia, Cora, Lydia, and Kira to be vigilant, okay? I don’t know how much these Argents know, or why they’re here, but I need you guys to tell me anything out of the ordinary, okay?”

“Oh-okay,” Derek flushed, letting out a half-hearted snarl when Jordan mussed up his dark hair. The boy pulled out of his reach, grumbling as he fixed his hair and gave Jordan a half-hearted glare. “You watch out too, okay,” He grumbled and turned on his heels to run back to the rest of the group that was going to divide itself into two groups for the game.

Jordan sat on the bench and watched the children play. Derek, Stiles, Lydia, and Kira on one team with Scott, Isaac, Cora, and Malia in the other team. The two teams squabbling for a bit before settling down by themselves and began playing as Jordan had taught them. It took them all a bit to get the hang of hitting the ball, none of them actually keeping any score and changing the batter after every four balls, running from one “base” to the next whenever someone would hit the ball.

It wasn’t quite accurate, Jordan knew, but they were having fun and that’s all that matters.

All of them would cry out and exclaim when a were- would use their strength to their advantage till Jordan had to come and intervene and tell them to try it again without the strength. All of them going back to playing normally after that.

Noticing the time and the fact that it was getting colder now too, he told the children that they all get to bat once more before they were heading home. All of them calling their agreement from the pitch.

It was Stiles’s turn to bat, the boy swinging like Jordan had taught him and hit the approximation of a home run, Isaac going to chase after the ball.

Jordan watched Isaac and stood up when someone else caught the ball midair. A blonde woman in a leather jacket leering down at the boy as she inspected the ball in her hand. All the kids turning towards Isaac and the woman, their eyes widening and fear contorting their little features.

“Jordan!” Stiles called out from his place beside Derek, the man already jogging towards the woman who crouched down to speak to Isaac who seemed to be on the verge of tears.

Pushing the boy behind him, he felt Isaac clutch onto his leg, burying his face into Jordan’s side and trembling.

“Can I help you?” Jordan demanded of the woman who batted her lashes at him, something about her making Jordan tense and clutch the boy closer to him, placing himself in her line of sight in a way to block her view of the children.

“My, aren’t you a pretty one,” She purred. “And here I thought there weren’t any pretty boys in Beacon Hills,” She began, reaching out to him as if she were going to trail her finger down his chest.

“Do not touch me,” Jordan warned, glaring at the woman who rolled her eyes and huffed in exasperation.

“Oh lighten up, baby,” She flipped her hair behind her shoulder and bounced the ball up and down. “I can help you with that, you know,”

Jordan caught the ball the next time she threw it into the air, the woman glaring at him at the act but kept her smile in place as she watched him hand the ball to Isaac and tapped the top of his head to let him know to run back to the others. Jordan taking a defensive stance in front of the woman, arms crossed and shoulders tensed. He had no qualms hitting this woman if she continued to scare and frighten his boy.

“I’m Kate,” She introduced holding out her hand for him to shake, Jordan making no such effort and continued to glare at her. “Oh, come on, don’t give me that look. I was just watching how adorable the kids look playing together-” Kate tried to worm under his defenses, cooing like she found it cute.

“Kate Argent, I’m assuming,” Jordan interrupted with narrowed eyes, heat coursing through his veins. “Chris’s sister, correct? You were at the school today with your niece, and you made my kids uncomfortable with your leering.”

“I was not leering-!”

“-I’ve seen your house, you know. It’s the big one at the other side of town. It’s great because it’s close to the school and the school in turn is closer to the rest of the town, so logically, you have no reason to be here,” Jordan stated. “Unless, of course, you’ve been following these children – which is a crime, by the way. I can have you thrown into jail for not only intimidating and following these children, who are more than happy to testify against you, but also for harassing them. The school has CCTV cameras that will be able to prove my words,” Jordan didn’t notice the steam rising off his frame, his voice level and firm, leaving nothing to ambiguity as flames began to lick at his irises, Kate taking a startled step back.

The woman hissing at him as she turned on her heels and stalked away, throwing glances over her shoulder as if she were concerned Jordan would follow after her. The man staying rooted in his place and watched until she disappeared down the sidewalk before turning around and making his way towards the children.

“Lydia, Isaac, Kira, you guys should call someone to pick you up from my house,” Jordan told them, the children gawking at him in awe, the man unsure of what he’d done to garner such admiration. “Stiles, I’m going to drop you off to the Hales for a bit, I don’t want you to be alone while I take care of something,”

The boy took a step towards him, eying him critically before putting a tentative hand on his forearm before withdrawing it just as quickly. He looked down at his palm and sagged before gripping Jordan’s wrist, the man arching a brow at their peculiar behavior, looking to the weres- who were gawking as well.

Jordan led them back to his house, making sure Lydia got picked up by her father, Camden arriving to take Isaac home with him, while Kira’s mother came to retrieve her. Jordan and the remaining kids waved to Kira as she left, before he loaded all of them into his cruiser, making a mental note to get a booster seat for Stiles before driving off towards the preserves, having come here once before with the Sheriff.

They were met by Peter in the driveway, Jordan getting out to let the man know that he needed to take care of something and with the Argent’s in town he didn’t want Stiles being unaccompanied. Malia’s father nodding in understanding and assured him they’d keep an eye on their little hellion.

“I’ll be back soon, okay, Stiles? Don’t cause trouble for the Hales,” He instructed the boy, hearing Peter snort above him at the words, making Jordan roll his eyes. “No more than the usual trouble, I mean,” He clarified with a sharp look to the Hale, Stiles nodding obediently and leapt forward to give Jordan a quick hug before running towards the house.

Jordan couldn’t understand what was going on with these children. Did Kate scare them that much?

Jordan was just about to make sure this woman could never do that again, he didn’t care if the entire Argent clan came after him, he would gather them all in one place and blow them to smithereens to make sure that Stiles felt safe.

With that determination, Jordan drove down to the Sheriff’s department, marching into the station and stopped in front of Deputy Haigh at the front desk.

“Jordan, how can I help you?” The man asked with a polite smile.

“Hi, Haigh, I’d like to file a complaint,”

“Sure, what does your complaint pertain to?”

“Stalking and intimidating minors,” Jordan stated calmly, smile still in place as the man faltered and fumbled with the stationary in hand. “And if you were to look through the CCTV cameras at Beacon Elementary, you will find the footage of a woman harassing the Sheriff’s son,”

“Stiles?” Haigh choked out, fingers trembling as he stared at the inferno in the man’s eyes which was at complete odds with the placating smile the man had. “Right, of course, I’ll-I’ll file your complaint right away and have someone look into it,”

“That’s great, Haigh, thank you. The culprits name is Kate Argent. K-A-T-E-A-R-G-E-N-T,” Jordan spelled it out. “Oh, and no need to trouble the Sheriff with this. I’m taking care of it,”

“Right, of course,” The man nodded and staggered towards the bullpen.

Once Haigh had the necessary paperwork gathered, he took Jordan back into the station, seating him across his desk and directed him on filling the form for processing, Jordan ignoring the startled looks the deputies were shooting him as he wrote though the document. He had been at it long enough for one of the deputies to place a mug of coffee at his elbow, Jordan glancing up with a grateful smile and slurped at the coffee before resuming to fill out the document with Haigh hovering above him, anxiously biting at his nails.

Making sure he had everything covered when the radio in the center of the room crackled to life, a feminine voice echoing through the space.

“10-999! 10-999! I need back-up immediately,” Her voice crackled, all deputies stilling when following the code, the Sheriff’s voice crackled through the speakers.

“Alright, Vargas, we’re en-route,”

Jordan watched the station come to life, all of them rushing about, some of gearing up to give additional back-up while another called an ambulance and rattled off the address to the bar downtown.

“10-999,” Jordan echoed and turned in his chair to catch any of the deputies. “What does that mean?” He asked Clark, the woman passing by him.

“Officer down,” She informed with a somber expression. “I think its best you go home, Jordan, the Sheriff won’t be in for a while, someone would need to look out for Stiles, tonight,”

A part of him wanted to stay and make sure Noah was alright, but Clark was right. He had left Stiles with the Hales and he promised the boy he’d be back to get him once he was done here. Noah would text him whatever he needed, Jordan reassured himself and nodded to the woman’s suggestion; handing the document to Haigh before heading out of the station and made his way back to the preserves.

Jordan was glad he followed the woman’s advice, a smile making its way across his lips to find Stiles waiting for him on the porch steps of the Hale house, the boy immediately jumping to his feet and bounding towards Jordan’s cruiser pulling up in the driveway. The boy waving at him with wide sweeping arm movements.

Stepping out of the car, he crouched down to lift the running boy into his arms, hugging him close, keeping him safe and warm knowing that he had done what he needed to make sure that no harm came to the boy.

He thanked the Hales, refusing their invitation for dinner, and waved in farewell to Derek, Cora, and Malia before he settled Stiles in the car and sat behind the wheel.

Just as he started the car, his phone pinged with a message, Jordan looking down to see a text from the Sheriff.

Watch Stiles for the night? He had typed, Jordan sighing to know that something bad had happened and felt his stomach plummet to remember the code that had crackled through the bullpen.

10-999: Officer down.

Jordan could only hope that the deputy was alright, but something in his chest telling him that was not the case.

Let me know when you get back. He typed before pulling out of the Hale drive way, waving to them through his windshield before reversing.

Stiles was more than happy to spend the night with Jordan, chanting the word “Sleepover” over and over again in the confines of the car, Jordan chuckling at his enthusiasm as he pulled into his driveway.

They had gone to the Stilinski house to let Stiles shower and get ready for bed. Jordan had been sitting in the boy’s room, looking at the pictures he had framed on his side table when a thought occurred to him: what if instead of going over to Jordan’s, they stayed here. It would be comfortable for the boy with his pillow and bed, Jordan would be here, and he would know when the Sheriff would come in.

“Hey, Stiles?” Jordan spoke up when the boy came bouncing into his room, catching the man looking at a picture of Stiles and Noah when the boy had been about 5 years old, sitting on his dad’s shoulders and grinning at the camera with a tooth missing in his smile. “How do you feel about a sleepover here?” He asked and looked up at the boy who immediately beamed at him and nodded in agreement, Jordan giving him a smile in return.

They went to Jordan’s from the newly installed door in the fence, Stiles squealing with his giggles, kicking his legs at this newfound connection point as he rolled around Jordan’s platform bed while the man got dressed for bed before leading the way back to the Stilinski household.

They made hot chocolate. Stiles sitting on the kitchen island, swinging his legs back and forth as he chatted about what he did at the Hales while Jordan was gone, the man in question stirred the hot cholate in the sauce pan, listening to the boy talk with the ease of knowing he was safe. Jordan had made enough for three mugs full, pouring the contents into two for now before adding marshmallows into the drink and topped it off with a sprinkle of chocolate powder.

Helping Stiles off the counter, Jordan picked up their mugs and followed the boy into the living room, both of them settling into the couch with the blanket draped over them. The TV droning on in the background as he handed the mug to Stiles, making sure he was careful with it as the boy leaned back into Jordan’s chest, slurping at the steaming beverage with a delighted hum.

“You like it?” Jordan asked, the boy licking his upper lip and nodded, taking another slow measured sip.

They lay on the sofa, drinking their hot chocolate and asked each other questions about what they liked most about today. For Stiles it was the fact that all his best friends got to hang out with him and Jordan at the park today; meanwhile Jordan’s favorite thing about today was probably Stiles’s reaction to the new door in the fence – Stiles immediately demanding to change his answer to that before rethinking his decision and sticking to his first answer. Jordan endeared by the boy and kissed the top of his head, placing a hand on his forehead and pulled him back into his chest. Their answer for the least favorite part of the day was the same: Kate Argent.

Once their drinks were finished, their mugs sitting on the coffee table, Stiles had gone to pick out a book for Jordan to read to him, leading the man to his room so they could lie down while he read.

Stiles was asleep before Jordan was halfway through the second chapter, the man feeling his heart burst with fondness and love for this little ray of sunshine and kissed his forehead before silently slipping out to fix things downstairs.

Picking up the mugs and taking them to the kitchen for washing, Jordan decided on making Noah a quick dinner, sure the man wouldn’t have had the chance to eat, so he cooked a quick and easy sausage and rice skillet, plating it and leaving it covered on the island with a note beside it. Doing the same for the hot chocolate in the mug before he returned upstairs after making sure all the doors and windows were secured and locked before making his way to Stiles’s room, settling in beside the boy and resting his eyes for only a moment.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was waking to the sound of the door downstairs sliding closed with the lock clicking into place.

Turning to Stiles, Jordan found the boy curled into his chest, a soft smile making its way to his lips as he slid out from under the covers and crept out into the hall, closing the door halfway behind him before slowly making his way to the staircase. He didn’t need to go further than three steps to find Noah standing in front of the main door, his forehead pressed to the wooden structure and shoulders slumped in defeat, taking slow stuttering breaths in the silence of the house.

Just the sight of him alone told Jordan all that he needed to know.

The 10-999 resulted in the death of an officer, and something in his boned told Jordan that the officer in question was Jack Graeme from this morning.

Taking a seat on the steps, Jordan gave him his space, watching the man grieve by himself before straightening with a resigned sigh and turned to the hooks on the wall. Unlacing his work boots and putting them in their place on the rack before pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on the hook when Jordan noticed that his uniform was splattered with blood, wincing to wonder how long Noah had been in this state.

It was while Noah was taking off his shoulder holsters, turning on socked feet to head towards the stairs when he found Jordan sitting at the top of the steps.

He looked soft around the edges and sleep mussed with his auburn hair standing up in odd angles, and the sleeves of his shirt pushed back. Something in his chest aching at the sight of the man.

“If you give me that uniform,” Jordan spoke softly, climbing down the steps with the silence and ease of a nimble cat. “I can probably get the stains out of it,”

“I have an extra,” Noah found himself stating without needing to look at his uniform, knowing it was soaked through with Jack’s blood.

“It’s always better to have two sets, just in case,” Jordan agreed, rubbing the edge of the collar between his thumb and forefinger. “Come on, let’s get you in the shower then you can have some dinner and sleep,”

Noah had hoped that Jordan would have taken Stiles to his place, both of them out of the house and away for the night, but the sight of the man told him that his son was probably sound asleep in his own room. No matter how much he would refuse to admit it, Noah was relieved to have Jordan here, the man having seen his fair share of death during his time in the army, and therefore knew exactly what the Sheriff needed after this ordeal, and what he needed right now was for someone to take charge and take the burdens and responsibilities off his shoulders.

Just for a little while, he told himself as he pressed his forehead to Jordan’s shoulder, the younger cupping the back of Noah’s head in his warm palm and scratched at his scalp, happy to stay just like this for as long as he needed.

Chapter 9: All I want for Christmas

Chapter Text

Stiles had been in school when Jordan and Noah went to Jack Graeme’s funeral.

It was an odd juxtaposition: a bright sunny day as the backdrop to such a somber quiet affair – a life gone so young with so much ahead of them. The bar fight that had led to Jack’s death was just bad luck. The man had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Two men fighting and arguing, inebriated when one of them pulled out a gun and misfired towards the Deputy who was coming to break them apart.

Jack did not survive the shot.

Noah was silent and respectful, standing beside the rest of the police department and paying their respects to their fallen comrade, while Jordan stood with the family and friends of the deceased – though he qualified as neither, he could understand the startling sharp and cold grief of loss.

Walking away from the freshly made grave, Jordan and the Sheriff decided to convene at the gates before splitting ways to pay their respects to their own deceased. Noah went to his wife, while Jordan walked down the lines of graves towards his grandmother.

It was bright and sunny for a December morning, the sun high in a cloudless sky, something about the serenity of the day washed a calm over Jordan as he found the headstone bearing Mary Wilson’s name.

Sitting down before her, he greeted her with a smile and told her about the Stilinski’s and how he’d settled into her house – teasing that he’d made changes to the place and that it looked better now – but confided that it didn’t feel like home without her to occupy the cold spaces. He told her most about Stiles, how that little boy had wormed – more like bulldozed – his way into Jordan’s heart and now held him in a chokehold, and if Jordan had to choose, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He quietly confided that he found himself harboring a little crush on the boy’s father too, cheeks flushed and gaze turned down to the grave, cleaning off the edges with his hands as he thought about how strong and dependable Noah looked – and was. His easy smiles and even easier affection: a hair ruffle there, a shoulder pat here, grabbing Jordan by the elbow or side to direct him where he wanted him – which was mostly out of the way when he was cooking so Jordan couldn’t sneak away food, he huffed to himself in laughter. Jordan told her about the warmth and acceptance the Stilinskis exuded and said he wanted that. A place to belong, people to return to, and he hoped that one day, it would be the Stilinskis who’d wait up for him.

Jordan bid his farewell to the gravestone with a quiet conspiratorial wink, telling his grandmother that he was 98% certain she had orchestrated all of this by bequeathing her house to him – playing matchmaker from beyond the grave – and then added that the remaining 2% was deducted because he had not witnessed her do it.

He caressed the gravestone in farewell before meandering through the rows to the gate where Noah leaned against the fence, waiting for him.

Jordan stopped in the Sheriff’s blind spot, taking a moment to just stand there and watch the man. His shoulders lowered and hair ruffled from the wind, hands slipped into his black suit’s pockets. Despite the somber occasion, Jordan could not stop his brain from appreciating the figure the Sheriff of Beacon Hills cut in his all-black suit, neat clean lines molding along his shoulders and down his back, tapering at the waist but just enough for the proportions to be right. His pants framed his waist and made his thighs stand out before falling at the perfect length to his ankles. His brown hair had been combed to the side, but the wind ruffled them and made them fall forward, giving him a devil-may-care look that had Jordan biting the inside of his lips to keep his delighted giggle contained.

Heaving a breath of sheer appreciation, Jordan stepped out of the man’s blind spot and made his presence known by a wave. The Sheriff straightened from where he’d been leaning against the fence and turned to return the wave, Jordan lengthened his stride to cover the distance between them quicker.

The following week, winter break started for the little ones, and somehow Jordan found his little house overrun not only by Stiles’s gang of 9-year-olds but their siblings as well. So he had half the children of Beacon Hills residing in his house more often than not for the better part of the week leading up to Christmas.

But Jordan loved it.

The sound of joy and laughter, knowing the children were safe and secure.

When the children didn’t need Jordan’s help in their studies and were beginning to get bored, he employed their quantity and build a fire pit in his backyard with them.

The children were more than happy to dig in the center of his backyard in a vaguely circular shape, creating a small depression so they could line it with rocks while the elder teenagers helped Jordan with the fire pit in the center. Once that was made, they added small gravel to the space and bought a couple of wooden chairs to go around the pit, all of them sitting outside with fresh crackling fire and roasting marshmallows to make s’mores.

The days leading up to Christmas found Stiles and Jordan going tree shopping in the Sheriff’s absence, the boy has some wildly outrageous criteria for a tree before they settled on a thick-branched fern that would look good in a corner of the Stilinski household. It was a bit of a struggle to get the tree into the house, but once it was in there, Stiles immediately started decorating it.

Jordan left him to his devices with a kiss to the top of his head, heart bursting with fondness for the boy, before he went and hung up garlands around every archway, wrapping fairy lights around them to create a magical look. Adding touches of red around the place in the form of bows, and socks for the two Stilinskis over the mantle place, before helping Stiles with the upper branches of the Christmas tree.

The Sheriff returned home to find his house lit up with Christmas lights and garlands decorating the windows and doorway. The sight of the place all brightened up making him huff out a laugh in delight and stepped out of his cruiser to find the front door opening, Stiles running out towards him to tackle him in a hug.

“Dad! Dad! Dad! We decorated the whole house!” Stiles enlightened, beaming up at him with expectancy.

“I can see that! It looks great!” He told his son and followed him inside to take in the ethereal effect of garlands and fairy lights across every doorway.

The decoration was nothing pretentious or over the top, it was…perfect, the Sheriff thought with a breathless exhale as he found Jordan in the living room, adding the star to the top of the Christmas tree. His little boy ran over to their neighbor and told him that the Sheriff liked it.

“Well of course he liked it,” Jordan climbed down the stairs. “You put in all this effort,” He ruffled the boy’s hair and folded the ladder, putting it to the side and out of the way for now.

Something warm coursed through the Sheriff’s chest as he looked at their neighbor breathlessly, a broad grin on his face as he stepped through the threshold to get a closer look at the decoration. He noted that there were only two stockings hung up on the mantle place, deciding to add a third for Jordan.

Christmas morning found the boy jumping on his father’s bed, demanding the man wake up before he went thundering down the stairs. Noah followed at a much more sedate pace, convinced that Stiles would have torn apart the wrapping of his gift but was startled to find the living room and tree untouched.

“Stiles?” He called out in confusion at the silence, peeking through to the kitchen, and felt his heart sink at the disappearance. “Stiles!”

“Here!” His son’s voice exclaimed, the man stepping out into the hall to find Stiles entering the house through the backdoor, taking his shoes off in the mudroom with a barely awake Jordan’s hand in his own, the man blinking the sleep out of his eyes with his hair in disarray and pillow creases on his cheek. “I couldn’t open the gifts without Jordan!”

Noah put a hand to his chest in relief to realize the boy had gone to retrieve the man before huffing a laugh to know that Stiles abused the new door connecting their properties shamelessly.

“Merry Christmas, Jordan,” Noah chuckled as the man trudged after Stiles and towards him, the Sheriff combing his fingers through Jordan’s hair to settle it as the man in question petulantly rubbed at his eyes, yawning with a creak to his jaw.

“Merry Christmas, Noah,” He responded with his eyes peeled wide open as if to wake himself, the festive greeting was followed by Jordan trailing his knuckles down the Sheriff’s cheek before making his way towards the boy pulling out the gifts from under the tree. The Sheriff stood stunned at the gesture's tenderness before following him into the living room at Stiles’s voice calling out to him.

Noah got Stiles the complete hardcover Harry Potter set, the spines of the books put together to create the Hogwarts castle.

Stiles had shrieked so loud that Noah was afraid he’d shatter glass, clutching the set to his chest and rolling on the floor in his delight, legs kicking in the air before he launched himself at his father hard enough to have the man fall back onto the couch, holding his boy close to him with a laugh.

“I love it! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Stiles shook his father before bouncing off the man to jump around the living room in his excitement, climbing up on the couches and jumping from one surface to the next.

“You’re welcome, kiddo,” Noah huffed a laugh, content to let his boy wreak havoc for the day, knowing they were invited to spend Christmas Eve with the Hales at the preserves.

“Jordan! Have you read the Harry Potter series?”

“Hmm, I don’t think I have,” Jordan spoke with his chin on his knuckles, eyes sparkling with mirth as the boy froze at the words and ended up toppling clean off the couch in his shock. He immediately jolted upright and ran over the younger adult with his brand-new books clutched to his chest and vibrating with the implications.

“New bedtime stories!” Stiles gasped in delight. “You can read it with me every night, okay?”

“Sounds good, bud,” Jordan chuckled, pinching the boy's nose and making him go cross-eyed at the gesture. “But I think there is one more present with your name on it,”

“Jordan,” The Sheriff chided, Jordan waving away the man’s words and watching Stiles leap for the remaining gifts under the tree and crowed out in triumph when he found the second gift, already tearing it open before he had crawled out from under the tree.

Stiles gasped in shock when he moved the wrapping away, staring down at the brand new set of camouflage gear before looking up at Jordan in shock, Noah was taken aback by the gift as well and watched the younger crouch down in front of Stiles.

“Now, the camo gear you used in the forest was a costume,” He began to explain calmly as he took out the jacket and held it up. “This is real camo gear, alright? It has a removable fleece lining to be used in both seasons and has numerous pockets and compartments. You’re the boy who runs with wolves, show them that just because you’re human doesn’t mean you can’t take care of yourself,”

Stiles threw himself around Jordan, making the man lose his balance and flop back with the boy in his lap. Jordan let out a shuddering exhale, uncertainly plain as day in his eyes as he held the boy just as tightly.

“But just because I’m giving this to you doesn’t mean you abuse it and disappear whenever you feel like it, got it? I have no issue putting a tracker on you if you try that again,” He warned without any heat, holding the boy tight when he felt him nod against his shoulders. “Noah, there is a gift for you, too, I’d hand it but I’ve got my arms full of a weepy little boy right now,” Jordan gestured to another gift under the tree, the Sheriff rolling his eyes in exasperation before going to retrieve it.

Taking it back to the couch with him, Noah was much more meticulous about undoing the wrapping unlike Stiles, and came across a medium-sized cardboard box. Opening the flap, he pulled out what was inside and turned it in confusion, not entirely certain what this wooden contraption was, and noted that it had the Beacon Hills Police Department logo engraved on an inclined slab, but that didn’t clarify if he should be thanking Jordan or chucking it at his head.

“Okay, look,” Jordan huffed as he flopped down on the couch with Stiles still wrapped around him, the boy pulling away his head to see what his dad had got when Jordan took it. “I thought you wouldn’t get it, but it’s a docking station. This inclined slab is for your phone, behind it, the space is enough for your wallet. Here at the top goes your watch, this slab is for your glasses and this groove is for your car keys, here in the bottom space you can keep your badge, loose change, pens, whatever else you keep on you,” Jordan explained, pointing to each part as he spoke.

“That’s so cool!” Stiles straightened, narrowing avoiding braining himself on Jordan’s chin. “Now you won’t lose anything, Dad!”

“Yeah, exactly,” Jordan nodded and turned to Noah with a sheepish smile. “I-uh-my deck looks out at your windows and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen you running around your room looking for one thing or the other. This will make sure you don’t misplace anything ever again,” He held out the docking station to the Sheriff who gawked in awe at how thoughtful the gift was.

“Wow, this is-Thank you,” Noah stammered, turning the station around to get a proper look at it, a wide grin making its way across his lips before bumping Jordan with his shoulder and peeking at his son on the man’s lap. “Stiles, why don’t you show him what we got him?”

Stiles gasped at the suggestion, immediately clambering off Jordan's lap before crawling under the tree once more and resurfacing with a green-wrapped box held aloft in victory before presenting it to Jordan.

The man huffed a laugh before taking the box from Stiles with thanks.

Unwrapping the box, Jordan nearly dropped it in his shock, a startled laugh bubbling from his lips to recognize the lacquered antique box he now held. It had always sat on his grandmother’s bedside table when he had been young.

Jordan swallowed thickly at the box, knowing that by the time he had arrived at Beacon Hills, all her possessions had been sorted through as per her detailed instructions. Heaving a grounding breath, Jordan opened the redwood box with the floral engraving with trembling, letting out a wet laugh to find letters neatly stacked, tears burning the back of his eyes to know exactly what they were.

“When Grandma Mary got hospitalized, she asked me to keep this safe for her and give it to you,” Stiles informed. “She said she kept all the letters you sent her when you were in the army, so we’re returning them to you. But our gift is this,” He reached into the box, took out a stack of photographs, and held it out for Jordan to see.

“Oh,” He gasped, looking through the pictures and realizing they were of him with everyone.

There was a picture of him at the Potluck, talking to the Yukimura’s, another of him sitting at the Stilinski kitchen island with Stiles on top of the counter, then one of the both of them asleep on the couch; one of him and Noah cooking side by side, their back to the camera and many more. The last is a picture of Jordan, surrounded by the kids and making the fire pit.

“Now you can frame them and make your house a home,” Stiles beamed at him, pressing into his side to look at the pictures too. “Oh, I like this one,” Stiles pointed out to a picture of the three of them from when they had gone hiking, all of them sweaty and flushed red with exertion when they had ended up racing the last stretch. Jordan had his arm around Noah’s back, Stiles standing between them with a wide grin and two victory signs held up near his face with the Sheriff holding the camera aloft to take the picture.

Jordan wanted to tell Stiles that his home was wherever the Stilinskis were, tears stinging his eyes at how much love and adoration he could feel pressing against his chest, aching to break free and express itself to them. All he could do, right now, to make his devotion to them known was to press his forehead to Stiles’s head and pinch Noah’s t-shirt between his fingers.

His first Christmas after Afghanistan, and he couldn’t believe he’d found himself a home.

*

Jordan should have known better than to expect something less than chaotic from the Hale Christmas Dinner, because after all, what was going to happen if Stiles and his little mate were paired with all the other werewolf children and the werewolf adults who were honestly oversized puppies. Jordan and Noah are one of the few humans present in the house.

He honestly would not have wanted it any other way.

Not when Stiles went running off into the preserves, chasing after the half-shifted werewolf children in a supernatural version of tag. The adults getting tipsy on eggnog spiked with wolfsbane, Jordan nursing a regular eggnog beside Noah, talking to Alexander’s parents – the elderly couple Jordan had seen across the parking lot on his trip to Home Depot when he had first moved here.

Jordan had been living in Beacon Hills for five months – believe it or not – had known the Stilinskis for the same length of time, and was now recognized by all the residents of this county to the extent that he gets special discounts at Home Depot for all the DIY home projects he keeps occupying his time with.

Stepping out onto the back deck, Jordan leaned against the railing and laughed to see Stiles wrestle with the werewolf pups, anxiety raising its head in his chest but keeping a grounding grip on his glass to prevent himself from jumping over the railing and putting a stop to their antics; knowing he had to get used to this sooner rather than later.

“Hey,” Noah’s hand appeared firm and grounding on his back, forcing Jordan to straighten and press into the touch. “What’s with the face?”

“Fighting to stop myself from vaulting over and pulling Malia off Stiles,” Jordan enlightened with a huffed laugh and turned so he had his back to the railing, Noah’s hand sliding from his spine, wrapping around his front to rest against his side. “That is Malia, right? Or is that another one of the pups?” He frowned, turning over his shoulder to try and figure out if he had correctly identified the werecoyote, nodding when he confirmed it by her hair.

“He’s tougher than he looks,” Noah chuckled at the man’s words.

“I know, which is why I haven’t done it,”

“Hope the Hales aren’t overwhelming you?’

“Oh, no, no,” Jordan shook his head and finished his eggnog. “No, I came out here to hide away from Alex’s mother, she’s trying to set me up with her eldest granddaughter, believe it or not,” He chuckled and put his glass down on the table beside him, whipping his head towards the Sheriff who began choking on his drink, covering his mouth with his forearm as he struggled to regain his composure.

“Aren’t you 24? Isn’t that too young to think about marriage?” The Sheriff choked out, grip unconsciously tightening on Jordan’s side at the prospect.

“Ho-ho! Coming from the man who had a child at 22!” Jordan teased with a laugh. “And for your information, I’m 25, my birthday passed in August,”

“Excuse me?” Noah gawked. “Your birthday passed in August and you didn’t bother to tell us?”

“Your son has my file memorized, he would have known about it,”

“Stiles!” The Sheriff called out to the congregation of pups in the yard.

“Yeah?” His son called back from his place on Ajax’s back.

“When is Jordan’s birthday?”

“August 31^st!”

“And where you ever going to tell me we missed his birthday?”

Stiles’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a second, trying to decipher what his dad meant while Jordan was struggling to contain his laughter at the Sheriff’s offense for having not known about his birthday.

“August was four months ago,” Jordan called over his shoulder, helping the boy reach the point faster. The realization sank in with a squawk and flailing limbs that hit Ajax in the knee and sent the both of them toppling, Stiles bouncing straight up before either Noah or Jordan could get to him. Although everyone knows that Jordan is faster than the Sheriff on account of his very, very long legs, something which the Sheriff has taken to admire occasionally in passing.

“Oh my, God! Your birthday was in August!” Stiles clambered up to stand below them on the deck, Jordan and Noah leaning over to watch him. “We didn’t celebrate it!”

The Sheriff opened his mouth to retort but faltered when Jordan covered his mouth with his hand, the man looking down at the boy and grinning wide at him with sparkling eyes.

“It’s alright, Stiles,” Jordan laughed in amusem*nt, the boy pouting at him. “Really, it’s okay, I did spend my birthday with you guys, even if you didn’t know that. I don’t want for anything more, I promise,”

Noah grew deaf to the conversation as he watched Jordan’s face. His eyes shone a warm green from the fairy lights being reflected in his irises, his face alight with delight directed at his son. His hair was styled for the occasion, auburn tresses slicked back and showing off the sun-kissed skin and dimples rising in his cheek with his smile.

He’d cleaned up for dinner, Noah noticed, dressed in slim grey jeans and a collared white shirt under a green sweater that brought out his eyes. He had even put on cologne, the Sheriff could smell it from the way Jordan still had his hand pressed over his mouth. It was something woodsy and warm, a heady fragrance that hit Noah in the head and tempted him to nuzzle into his pulse point to get a deeper inhale of the fragrance.

Being so close to Jordan made something settle inside Noah like a dislodged cog finally slotting into place to allow the machinery to whir back to life and function as smoothly as it did before. His heart softened with the feeling of safety that resides in the palm of Jordan’s warm hand, and the Sheriff had to wonder if Jordan would be warm all over under his clothes, the urge to lick across his palms and make him shriek rearing its head, just so he could tease the man and get him to laugh and make those funny faces he does sometimes.

Noah’s heart suddenly dropped as he returned to the conversation at hand.

“Are you sure?” Stiles was asking, Noah wasn’t even sure what the conversation was about anymore, his heart beating hard against his chest to register his emotions, never even noticing when Jordan removed his hand from Noah’s mouth, lowering it down his side to hook a finger through his belt loop.

“I’m sure, Stiles,” Jordan laughed, the sound making Noah’s heart jump and his chest tight, panic flooding his brain, these warring emotions making him sick to the stomach. “Now go, play some more before dinner, but don’t ruin your sweater, okay? Derek’s grandmother made it especially for you,”

“Okay!” The boy bounded away, putting the conversation behind him and running off to tackle the nearest were- to the floor, Jordan huffing a laugh to know that he just warned the boy not to ruin his Rudolph sweater.

“By God, that’s an ugly sweater,” Jordan laughed to himself, turning towards the Sheriff and noticing the man staring off into space, his smile freezing at the dazed look, and shuffled closer. “You okay?” He asked, placing a hand over his chest and startled when Noah staggered away and out of his reach, arm brought up as if to prevent him from reaching out to him, Jordan furrowing his brow at the sudden reaction.

“Noah? Are you okay?” Jordan asked again, taking a step closer but froze when the Sheriff stepped away, forcing the younger to stop his advance and stare out the man with confusion radiating off him.

“Fine,” Noah exhaled, curling his fingers and stuffing them into his pocket. “I forgot Stiles’s jacket in the car,” He excused himself and marched back into the house, deaf to the calls of the Hales before staggering out the front door and heading towards his cruiser standing at the back of the driveway.

Noah had to press his forehead against the window to try and get his breathing to calm down, a hand braced on his chest to remember the last time it had raced like this. Tears burned his eyes to remember the last time he had felt like this was with Claudia, the implications of that realization making him sick with guilt, crouching down on the gravel drive to calm himself, shaking his head in denial as the tears threatened to overwhelm him.

Jordan wasn’t sure what happened to Noah all of a sudden, thinking the man got overwhelmed by everything and needed a moment.

Deciding to give the man space, Jordan ventured inside with their glasses, heading to the kitchen to provide his help, immediately tasked with plating things up and shifting them out onto the enormous dining table where half the table was already covered with more to come. Jordan got swept up in the sudden rush of serving dinner, helping Peter with the garnishing of the six dishes of roast chicken, and adding the sautéed potatoes around the roasts before getting that sent out. Then Talia grabbed him to move the enormous pot of vegetable soup on account of him being a young and healthy man, Jordan grumbling that she was a werewolf and could probably through him across the room. Then Alexander handed him a lasagna tray, telling him that all four dishes had to be on the table, Jordan moved between the kitchen and dining table to do as told.

“Wine!” All three of them exclaimed when Jordan came in another time, the man turning around to get it before faltering and turning back.

“Where is it?”

“In the wine cellar obviously!” Peter hissed at him.

“I don’t know where!”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” The man threw up his hands in defeat and handed a bowl of whipped cream to Jordan. “Whip the ever-loving sh*t out of this,” He instructed before marching out of the kitchen to get the wine himself, Jordan shook his head before doing as told.

Despite how everyone had run around like headless chickens to get the food on the table, the moment they all had to step out, they fixed their appearances: smoothing down hair, righting clothes, and straightening postures before Talia stepped out at the head of the congregation and announced dinner was served.

Jordan half expected the children to attack the table, but found it all to be a very organized affair where they all grabbed plates and gathered around the table to serve themselves with the chairs moved against the wall, before moving away to give the next person space to serve themselves.

He looked around at the congregated party, relieved to see Stiles serving himself food beside Derek who listened and nodded to whatever Stiles was saying, making sure the boy didn’t tip the contents of his place with a steadying hand on the edge of it. The sight of their care and adoration for each other warmed Jordan’s heart, resolving himself to make sure that those are happy and safe, be it in the capacity of husbands – as he teases them – or as friends, whatever the boy wanted, Jordan would make sure Stiles would get it.

After making sure the boy had taken food, Jordan looked around for Noah, unconsciously smiling to himself to see the man wrapped in conversation with Alexander’s mother before grabbing a plate for himself.

Chapter 10: Courage, dear heart

Chapter Text

Jordan was quick to notice the changes: different behaviors which he explained away to himself till it couldn’t be justified anymore.

Following the Christmas dinner at the Hale House, the Sheriff had grown distant. He would tense up and fumble, wrecked with nerves throughout the time Jordan was in his vicinity, darting his gaze around as if looking for an escape. It didn’t matter how many times Jordan asked if everything was alright, the man would refuse to meet his gaze and would wave away his concern like Jordan had no right to be worried about him.

That had hurt, but Jordan swallowed his thoughts and attributed his behavior to the Sheriff having excess energy due to being off duty for Christmas.

Following Jordan’s reassurance to himself came the late shifts at the station.

Longing working hours weren’t unusual for the sheriff, Jordan expected them most of the time, but what he did not expect was to find out about them from Stiles when the boy would show up at his door – knocking on a few occasions instead of barging in upon his return from the Hales’ or from Scott’s – and tell him that his dad asked him to stay with Jordan for the night.

Jordan would check his phone once he’d ushered the boy inside, thinking he’d missed his message, but discovered that he’d never received one. It confused him because he knew that Noah knew he could just send Jordan a message to watch over Stiles for the night and he would be more than happy to have a sleepover with the boy.

He told himself that the man must be busy and forgot to send Jordan a text once he’d instructed Stiles to come to him.

Jordan had used the same explanation to justify the canceled plans.

Stiles had wanted to go to the winter market, so Jordan and Noah had planned to meet with the Hales at the center. The Sheriff had assured them he’d join them after work, but then canceled last minute, letting Jordan and Stiles go by themselves.

Cancelled weekend dinners.

Ignored texts.

Missed calls.

At that point, Jordan got the horrible feeling that the Sheriff was actively avoiding him, his heart sinking to try and think why he would do that; before shaking his head to rid himself of the thought and mentally berating himself about the fact that the man was the Sheriff of Beacon Hills and that Jordan had to get over himself.

On the rare occasion Jordan would run into the Sheriff, the man wouldn’t stay still for longer than a minute before excusing himself with the claim that he was busy or had to run to the station for one thing or the other.

Jordan had explained it all away, trusting that their friendship was solid enough that the man would tell him if something was wrong.

All of that came to an end on the first week of February. The school had resumed and so had life, and Jordan had texted that Sunday to ask if they needed any help with their weekly prep. He always enjoyed helping out in the kitchen and watched in riveted fascination as they cooked and portioned their food over a week. He enjoyed watching Stiles come up with their menu and help the Sheriff cook in bulk, stealing a taste now and then, and usually got a swat to the back of his hand for his mischief before being ushered out of the kitchen with a fond exasperation from the older.

He looked forward to the Sunday meal preps.

His smile fell to read the Sheriff’s response, Noah telling him that he was at the station with an urgent case and wouldn’t be back until late.

It was strange that the Sheriff was at the station on the weekend, but not the first time with how there were more vehicular accidents in the winter months. So Jordan didn’t too hard on it until he realized that Stiles was probably at home and waiting for Dad to return home so they could go grocery shopping.

The Sheriff did say he wouldn’t be back until later, so maybe, Jordan and Stiles could go and collect the ingredients and make this Sunday’s weekly meal prep. Sure, it probably wouldn’t be the same without Noah, but it was better than not doing it at all, and then things would be thrown off for the entire week. Besides, Jordan had seen the Sheriff cook so many times, he could probably replicate the recipes with his eyes closed.

Maybe afterward, Stiles and Jordan could start the second Harry Potter book.

With his mind made up, Jordan got dressed and grabbed his jacket. He was about to exit from the usual route before faltering to recall their fence door. He hadn’t used it himself yet, it was always Stiles jumping from one property to the next for one thing or another – or no reason at all other than the fact that he could – so maybe, Jordan should give it a try himself, see if he can experience Stiles’s excitement first hand.

Patting down his pockets to make sure he was everything, Jordan steps out onto his deck, locking the door behind him before venturing down to his garden and to the fence door. Stopping before the camouflaged door, he pushed it open on freshly oiled hinges and found himself on the Stilinski property. Jordan had to stop himself from smiling to know it was a kind of novel sensation to know their homes were so closely connected, a giddy laugh bubbling in his chest at the sheer joy that brought him and head towards the back door. Wiping his shoes on the mat outside, Jordan opened the back door and stepped into the mudroom, turning to close the door before freezing at the sound of a voice calling out to Stiles.

Jordan stilled with his back to the house, head tilted and listening intently, heart beginning to pound hard against his chest, trying to tell himself he was just imagining things before the voice came again. Volume raised in irritation, definitely there. The realization made Jordan screw his eyes shut and felt his chest tighten with a sudden stab of pain as he bit at his lower lip to try and bury these uncomfortable sensations in some deep recess of his mind.

“For the love of God! Stiles!” Noah’s exasperation was audible across the expanse of the house, Jordan feeling his heart sink, let out a steadying breath, and turned around to catch a glimpse of the man’s profile standing at the base of the stairs. “Let’s go! What are you even looking for?”

No shopping today, the text had read when Jordan had inquired about joining them for groceries the same way he had been doing for the past few months. Urgent case at station. Be home late. The Sheriff had ended the message with those words. The fact that he was here, standing at the base of his stairs and urging his son to hurry up told an entirely different story.

Jordan could not come up with any justification for this lie, no matter how much he wanted to, he could not explain away this behavior and wondered if the man had been lying to him all this time.

Jordan could feel his spine lengthening at the thought, a metallic state in his mouth as he forced himself to calm down enough for his heart to slow, gritting his teeth against the wave of pain simmering under his skin. His eyes turned into slits as he made his way across the floor on silent feet. He was unable to hear what Stiles said from his room, but he could see the Sheriff scrub a hand over his face in impatience, foot tapping incessantly against the stairs, fingers skittering over the banister as he kept glancing at his watch.

“Stiles-!” The man called out with sharp irritation after glancing at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

He must have caught sight of Jordan’s silhouette from the corner of his eyes when he had glared up the length of the stairs, sharply turning in the direction to find the younger standing in the hallway, watching the Sheriff’s impatience ratchet with every minute. Jordan forced his face completely blank of any emotion, eyes dark and hands folded behind his back as he blinked at the Sheriff’s parted lips and wide eyes, imagining this man was someone who held no significance from him, pictured himself back in the military just to try and not be swept up in the tide of emotions as he watched something like guilt contorting the Sheriff’s features.

Jordan’s eyes followed him make his way down the stairs, standing across from him with his hands held up in a placating gesture.

“Jordan-” He began with uncertainty, Jordan feeling heat rising through his chest at the placating tone, forcing himself to tramp down on whatever hurt he was experiencing and blinked placidly at the man. He was not going to give him the pleasure of seeing how much this hurt him. “Let’s talk about this-”

“-I don’t need to talk about this,” Jordan stated matter-of-factly, lying through his teeth with a straight face because he knew the man would come up with some form of excuse. Lie more to try and get out of this, and Jordan knew himself well enough that a part of him would desperately want to be placated by the lie. “You lied to me. Said you were deposed at the station and I believed you. So I came to make sure that Stiles wasn’t too down about his Sunday routine being altered,” His voice sounded so strange to himself, hollow and without any infliction of the warmth the man before him usually coaxed out of him. The Sheriff heard the changed tone and flinched at the chill it sent through his spine.

“Jordan, come on-”

“-But since you’re here, I know he’s alright,” Jordan stated with finality in his words, not wanting to stay any longer with the way he could feel his scalp tingling, his stomach twisting itself into knots with something tightening around his neck. He made sure to keep his face as blank as possible, knowing that Noah had never seen him like this before, as if he were disassociating from the situation, the thought making him ill at ease.

“Found it!” Stiles came thundering down the steps before the Sheriff could respond to Jordan’s words. “Derek got me a scarf and I can’t just leave-Jordan!” The boy began to explain before exclaiming in delight to see the other man; immediately bounding over to him with the rich olive-green scarf trailing behind him.

“Hey, buddy,” Jordan greeted with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the boy unaware of the tension between the two men. Noah flinched to hear the difference between the younger’s tone of address for the both of them, heart sinking to see the false smile the man was giving his son, knowing that Jordan usually beamed so bright for the boy, always joyed to see him. “That’s a very nice scarf you got there,”

“Yeah! Derek got it for me because he says I look cold all the time. Can you help me put it on, please?” He held it out to Jordan, the man removing his hands from behind his back, and took the scarf, feeling the richness of the fabric and figured it was probably cashmere. Folding it in half, he draped it over the boy’s shoulder and pulled the loose ends through the scarf, settling it over the boy’s chest and making sure his neck was covered. The sensation of the rich fabric against his fingers tingled down his limbs. “Thank you! How come you’re here? Dad said you were helping Mr. Campbell set up his new bed,”

Jordan could only exhale to know that the Sheriff had not only lied to him but to his son as well. Surely the man knew that lying to either of them was going to bite him later. His son would ask Mr. Campbell about his new bed and learn there never was one, and Jordan had just caught the man red-handed.

“I’m about to head over there, I just needed to talk to the Sheriff about something real quick,” Jordan reassured, telling himself he had no place to Stiles of his father’s lies, after all, he was just their next-door neighbor. “Why don’t you head out to the car, your dad will be there soon, okay?”

“Okay,” The boy grinned wide at Jordan, nodded eagerly, and bounded out the door, leaving a thick silence between them without him.

He could feel something crack inside himself to remember that he had no right to anything. He didn’t have a right to confront Noah on his lie or hang around them as he did, he wasn’t anyone special to them that could justify the amount of time he spent around them, teasing and playing and laughing. He thought the Sheriff was his friend, but for all he knows, maybe the man had just been putting up with him because his son kept hanging around him. Maybe it was as compensation for Jordan watching over the boy when Noah was working late – as if Jordan needed to be compensated for that.

For all he knows, this was Noah’s way of letting him off easy, subtly implying that he was intruding.

He wanted to ask why, but knew he didn’t have a right to that, his stomach twisting hard enough for Jordan to almost double over with the psychosomatic pain had he been a weaker man. He used to diffuse bombs for a living, for God’s sake, he could make it through this.

“Mr. Campbell will be at the store today,” Jordan enlightened in a monotone. “Keep Stiles away from the electronics aisle so he doesn’t run into him and find out you’ve lied to him,” He suggested and dug his nails into the palm of his hand to keep the emotional pain at bay.

Noah was startled at the words, mouth falling open and breath coming tight to know that even though he had lied to Jordan, the man was making sure that his boy didn’t find out about his dishonesty. He could only imagine the pain Jordan must be experiencing, seeing it in the blankness of his face, seeing the way his eyes were trained at him but were unseeing, their usual vibrant green dulled by his dishonesty.

God, why couldn’t he have just sucked it up and talked to him? Or not let his realizations affect things between them? There had been a thousand different ways to handle this better.

“Jordan,” The Sheriff called out softly, wanting to cover the distance between them and cup his face into his hands, begging him to tell him how to make that awful expression leave his eyes. It reminded him too much of the young war-torn man that had moved into the house next door. Dissociating and in pain, unable to ground himself in reality.

“I apologize for intruding uninvited, Sheriff Stilinski,” Jordan stepped back, gaze lowering to the floor, the words and the title tearing Noah apart from the inside. “I’ll be sure not to do so in the future,” He turned around to walk back the way he had some.

“No! Jordan! Wait-” He gasped out just as Stiles pressed down on the horn of his cruiser, no doubt having lost his limited patience. Noah’s throat squeezed tight, feeling like something sharp was digging into his heart and tearing it out inch by agonizing inch, frozen by the sound of Stiles calling out for him. The moment’s hesitation was enough for Jordan to leave out the door.

Noah groaned out loud, a hand pressed to his chest – the pain so real and vibrant that he was afraid he was actually bleeding and pressed his forehead to the wall, taking a moment to recompose himself before he joined his son, not needing him to know how badly he’d screwed up.

Jordan worked on autopilot.

Retracing his steps back to the fence door, crossed the threshold onto his backyard and closed the door behind him with a soft click. Covering the remaining distance with equally spaced footsteps, he onto his deck, and unlocked the door. He stepped into his room, locking the door once more on instinct, and shrugged out of his shoes, leaving them by the dresser as he emptied his pockets and put his belongings on top of the dresser before making his way to his bed and lay down on top of the sheets, staring up at the ceiling. Letting the emotions wash over him.

His chest grew tight, making the act of taking in air difficult and painful, tears gathering at the edge of his eyes as Jordan lay on his bed, gasping to get air and pressing his hands onto his chest.

But…but he’d thought-Jordan thought – he wanted so badly to believe – they were friends.

Noah would come and eat takeout with him when Stiles was staying the night with one of his friends, Jordan always kept an extra slice of cake for him. They watched movies and sat at his fire pit and talked about everything and nothing. Noah had taken so many pictures of him with Stiles, they could move fluidly around each other. The father and son duo had helped him get out of that weird headspace after the incident in the forest. Noah had forgiven him.

Noah had been his first friend, Jordan thought with a bitterness suffocating his lungs, pressing his hand harder into his chest to try and get the pain to just go away.

Jordan knew all about what Noah thought about his deputies. Jordan had held him close when he lost Jack Graeme. They had spent countless nights playing games with Stiles, sometimes continuing them once the boy had dozed off simply because they were having fun. Noah knew where Jordan kept his spare key, and in turn, Jordan had his keys to the Stilinski house.

Red-hot anger flares through his nerves to know he has no right to feel this hurt. He was no one to them, he wasn’t related to them. So what if he harbored a crush on the single father? So what if he felt hopelessly protective of the young boy? Neither of them was his in any sense of the word.

Jordan had overstayed his welcome. It was his fault to have pushed the Sheriff to such lengths trying to send him the message that he was not wanted without outright having to say so out of politeness.

Screwing his eyes shut, Jordan shifted onto his side, curling up on top of the covers, and felt a tear roll down the corner of his eye and into the forest green covers.

God, he was tired.

Despite his expectations, Monday afternoon found Stiles barging into his house to find Jordan renovating his laundry room, sprucing up the place by installing shelves, a counter, and a hanging rod over the machines to make it more efficient.

Stiles knocked on the open door before peeking his head in with a grin.

“Hi, Jordan,” He greeted and stepped in to find the man fitting in a counter over the machines.

“Hello, Stiles,” Jordan returned not tearing his attention away from the wooden slab in his hands. “How was school?”

“It was good!” Stiles spoke from the doorway. “Scott is trying to make friends with Allison since all the supers avoid her and she isn’t really good at making friends,”

“Well, Allison is in a new place between new people, it must be overwhelming for her,” Jordan nodded. “Is her aunt still hanging around?”

“Wha-her aunt? Oh, no I haven’t seen her since that one time,”

Jordan couldn’t help the satisfaction that coursed through him at the words. “That’s good, let me know if she shows up again,”

“Kay!” The boy called, making his way to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge for something to eat.

“I have beef enchiladas in the oven,” Jordan called out as he fitted the last screw into the counter. “Let me just get this done and then we can eat,”

“Okay!”

Jordan managed to get the counter and top-shelf installed before the oven timer rang. Peeling off his gloves and putting his protective gear to the side, he walked out of the laundry and towards the kitchen to wash his hands before grabbing oven mitts and taking the dish out.

Glancing up, he found Stiles sitting on the window niche in the dining room, swinging his leg as he solved the Sudoku from the book Jordan kept out for him, knowing the boy liked them.

Plating the Enchiladas, he brought them to the dining room, tapping the table to let Stiles know it was time to eat. Stiles scribbled in another number before putting his pencil between the pages and bounded over to the table.

The boy chatted about everything he did in school, and that they got a pop quiz in science but Stiles obviously aced it. Jordan gave him a high-five for the achievement before the boy told him about Scott being excited that his dad was coming home the next week.

“What does Scott’s dad do?” Jordan inquired, knowing that Melissa was a nurse, but he wasn’t quite sure what her husband did after all this time.

“Oh! He’s an FBI agent!” Stiles told him. “He works at Quantico, Virginia, so he comes and visits after every few months since Scott's school is here and Melissa has her job too,”

“You like him? He’s got a cool job,”

“Not really,” Stiles shrugged in response. “He drinks a lot sometimes,”

“Oh?” Jordan arched a brow, unsure how to feel about the man knowing that he was inebriated most often than not in the presence of children. “Does that scare you?”

“Not really, he sleeps a lot when he comes to visit, Scott says, I don’t go over a lot when Mr. McCall is home visiting, so that Scott can spend more time with his dad, but then his dad sleeps so much they don’t get to do stuff and that makes Scott sad,”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jordan began to reach out to stroke back his hair but faltered halfway there. Stiles stared at him curling his fingers into a fist and withdrawing his touch, giving the boy’s confused gaze a tight-lipped smile, and turned back his enchiladas. Once he was done, he got up from his place, washed his plate, and returned to the laundry room, leaving Stiles confused and alone on the table.

Shaking away Jordan’s strange behavior, Stiles finished his food before asking to help Jordan with the last few installments. He got to hold things up for Jordan to drill them into place and then helped him clean up the mess they had made for setting things up. Stiles held up a hand to get a high-five for a job well done, his smile faltering to see the way the elder hesitated before clapping his palm against Stiles, leaving the laundry to dispose of the debris.

They went to the Stilinski house for dinner using the fence door, Jordan sitting at the kitchen counter with Stiles as he talked about his latest research into the history of the Mesopotamian civilization since they did that in school last week and the book didn’t have enough information when Stiles wanted to know more. Jordan listened to him with intrigue, knowing the basics of the civilization but always learned new things whenever Stiles talked about something, the boy taking a more encompassing view of his interests.

They had been washing the dishes, Jordan washed and Stiles fried, when Jordan noticed the time, knowing the Sheriff was probably pulling into the street now.

“Alright,” Jordan dried his hands. “I’m going back to my place, your dad will be here in a minute so don’t trouble him when he’s putting you to bed,”

Stiles’s smile fell at the words, putting the last plate away, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, heart clenching in unease. “Wait, aren’t we going to start the new Harry Potter book today?”

“You can start it without me, or ask Dad to read it to you instead, wouldn’t that be great?”

“But-but I like how you read it,”

“Sorry, Stiles,” Jordan reached out to stroke his hair, but again stopped himself, curling his fingers into his palm and pressing his hand to his thigh. Stiles stared with parted lips at the action, tears stinging his eyes, unable to understand what happened so suddenly, the boy reaching out and taking Jordan’s sleeve between his fingers, silently begging him to know what was going on. “I gotta go,” He gently pulled his sleeve out of Stiles’s hold and walked out the back door.

The back door clicked shut just as the sound of keys jingling could be heard from the entryway, the structure opening and closing followed by the shuffling of his father in the foyer, the man stepping into the kitchen to find Stiles standing in the middle of it.

“Hey, kiddo, what you have been up to?” The Sheriff ruffled his hair on his way to the fridge and heat dinner.

“Jordan left a minute before you came in,” Stiles stated in a monotone, Noah straightening at the words. “Did something happen?”

“What’d he say?”

“That he had to go,”

“Then he probably had to go,”

“What happened, Dad?”

“Nothing happened,” Noah sighed, leaning against the counter and feeling his stomach sink to lie to his son like this, but then he didn’t have the words to explain what had happened. “Really,”

Stiles sighed in defeat, nodding before mumbling that he was going to bed and wishing his dad a good night. Noah kissed the top of his head before sending him upstairs.

It was difficult to stop himself from reaching out to the child and showering him with affectionate hair ruffles or tickles or kisses on his forehead. It took all of Jordan’s willpower not to impose on the Stilinski no matter how torn up Stiles looked at his retreat whenever he’d begin to reach out to him. He knew that the Sheriff didn’t want him hanging around them, but he figured Stiles wasn’t that good with those instructions leading to him showing up at Jordan’s door. He tried to be cordial when the boy would show up, sitting with him and listening to him, leaving the boy to his devices. Jordan figured it was a good thing that he knew the Sheriff’s routine like the back of his hand, he was always able to send the boy home or make his exit a minute before the man returned.

The trouble came on the weekends, Stiles demanding to know why Jordan wasn’t joining them for dinner, and both Noah and Jordan had to make some excuse that could placate the boy, the look of hurt making it evident they weren’t doing a good enough job at it.

On Sunday, Jordan opened the door to find Stiles standing in front of him, rocking back and forth and looking expectantly up at him.

“Hi, Stiles,”

“We’re going grocery shopping, you coming with?”

Right, usually Jordan would join them, flickering his gaze across his driveway, he found the Sheriff watching them from the porch before he turned his face back to the boy and braced his hands on his knees to be more eye-to-eye with Stiles.

“Sorry, Stiles, not today,” He gave a sheepish smile, squeezing his palms into his thighs to keep from reaching out to the boy.

“Oh?” Stiles’s smile fell. “Why-why not?”

“I have a cake baking in the oven for Mrs. Owen’s grandson’s birthday and I can’t leave it unattended,” Jordan lied, wanting to claw out his tongue for being dishonest to the boy, the urge rearing its head at the sad look Stiles gave him at the words.

“Oh, okay,”

“But you enjoy with Dad, okay?”

“Okay,” He nodded and stepped off his porch heading back to his driveway just as Jordan closed the door and pressed his head to the structure in defeat.

It was probably after that that Stiles stopped trying to get Noah and Jordan to be anywhere together. He stopped asking why Jordan was leaving early or why he didn’t come to their weekend dinner and stopped inviting Jordan out with them for grocery shopping. He figured something must have happened between the two, and were being dumb about it and not talking.

Stiles hated how adults told kids to talk to each other but never did the same thing, the frustration making him flail in his bed and kick at his blankets trying to muffle his frustration into his pillow knowing that his dad had put him to bed and expected him to be asleep. But he couldn’t fall asleep, he wanted to know what happened next in the Harry Potter books and he wasn’t going to start it without Jordan, no way.

But…maybe he could read just one page? He thought to himself, slinking out of bed and towards his bookshelf next to the door, slowly pulling out the second book in the series and flipping it open before freezing to hear the sound of his dad on the phone.

“What happened?” He was asking in that firm calm Sheriff voice to whoever was on the other line. “Melissa, Melissa, I need you to calm down and tell me what happened to Scott?”

Scott? Stiles froze, gaze snapping towards the door, and held his breath. What happened to Scott? Putting the book on the shelf and crept closer to the door, heart pounding loud as he pressed his ear to the door, needing to hear what happened. Something happened to his best friend.

“Okay, okay, stay there, I’ll be right over. I’ll call an ambulance on my way,” He assured her, the sound of his feet drawing away and heading down the stairs put an end to anything more Stiles could have heard.

What happened? Where was Scott? What happened to him? Is he alright? Is he hurt?

Stiles wanted to scream, feeling his chest heave with his breaths, struggling to get air in as he heard the sound of his dad’s cruiser pulling away. Tears pricked at his eyes, gnawing on his trembling fingers, knowing he couldn’t let his dad know he was awake and eavesdropping, Dad would be big mad. But-but he-he needed to know how Scott was. He needed to get to the hospital, Dad said they’d take him to the hospital, but how could he-how could Stiles get there at this time? He thought, gaze darting around the room anxiously and whimpering, eyes landing in his windows.

Jordan.

Stiles pulled his bedroom door open, staggering down the stairs with a white-knuckled grip on the banister, tripping over the last step and tumbling down, barely able to catch himself on the wall when the room began spinning around him. He was scared, what happened to Scott?

Pulling the front door open, Stiles staggered across the grass and towards Jordan’s house. His vision was growing hazy with his inability to breathe, clutching at his chest with panic overwhelming him and making him tremble. Raising his hand, Stiles managed to slam his palm against the wooden structure twice before falling to his knees, dark spots growing in his vision.

He couldn’t hear or see Jordan open the door, he barely felt himself being lifted off the ground and become airborne before he was enveloped in warmth.

Why was Jordan always so warm, Stiles wondered absentmindedly before curling closer into him, he could barely make out what he was saying, the words warbled and distant like radio signals from outer space, but he could feel Jordan press Stiles’s palm to his chest. Wow, his heart was racing like crazy, Stiles thought, feeling the rise and fall and struggling to match it before his breath stuttered.

“There you go, baby,” Jordan cooed when Stiles managed to match his breathing. “Just like that, slow and steady. You’re okay. You’re safe, I got you,” Jordan murmured soft and low, tears rising to Stiles’s eyes at the words and buried his face into the man’s neck, wrapping his arms around him and bursting into sobs.

Jordan wrapped him up tighter in his arms, pulling both of them securely onto the couch, and cradled the boy close, rocking them back and forth and letting Stiles cry.

Jordan was woken by the slamming on his front door, grabbed his handgun, and made his way to the door, opening it only to find Stiles curled up and heaving on his porch. Jordan had put the gun away so fast, he wasn’t even sure where he’d put it before he lifted the boy into his arm, cradling him close, and combing his fingers through his hair.

Maybe it was a nightmare, but then where was Noah if Stiles had to come to him with a panic attack?

“Jordan,” Stiles sniffled into the collar of his shirt, the man humming in acknowledgment, combing through his hair to soothe the boy. “I need to go to the hospital, Scott is hurt,”

“How do you know that?” Jordan asked despite straightening them and carrying the boy with him to his room so he could pull on a jacket and shoes. Grabbing something for Stiles, he put it beside the boy on the bed and crouched down to wipe away his tears. “What happened to Scott, baby?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles sniffled and let Jordan fit him into a jacket he kept around for him, followed by the socks and shoes. “But uh…I heard Dad on the phone with Melissa, and something happened to Scott and they’re taking him to the hospital,”

Jordan nodded, taking Stiles’s hand and leading him towards the door, stopping in the kitchen to pull something out from his cabinet and coming back with a chocolate bar for the boy before heading out into the cold of the February night.

Buckling Stiles into the new booster seat he got for the boy before everything went south, he walked over to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel, reversing as Stiles opened the chocolate and began munching on it.

It was unusual to have such a silent drive, Stiles staring pensively out the window and chewing on his chocolate bar.

“You okay back there, baby?” Jordan asked softly.

“I’m scared,” Stiles confessed in a voice that sounded so small compared to how large the boy’s presence was, Jordan’s heart aching at the vulnerability.

“It’s okay to be scared, it means that you’re about to be really, really brave,”

“Brave?”

“Yeah, it takes a lot of courage to go and see your friend hurting,” Jordan nodded, turning around to look back at Stiles when he’d stopped at a red light. “Not a lot of people can do that, you know. Be there for a friend who is hurting,”

“That’s dumb! Why wouldn’t they be there for your friend if he’s hurt?”

“Well, because most of the time it reminds them of how mortal they are. Human. How capable they are of getting hurt and bleeding just like their friend and that scares them. Sometimes, people can’t handle being reminded of their temporary existence. So, you going to see Scott, is very brave,” Jordan explained, the boy falling silent in thought.

“Were you ever scared for your friends?” Stiles asked softly, curiosity returning to his voice, a smile making its way to Jordan’s lips as he put the gear into drive once the light turned green.

“Every day I was in Afghanistan,” Jordan nodded. “Every morning I would look at the people who were around me, and think, not all of them will make it out alive. I watched a lot of my friends die there, you know, and that scared me every day,”

“Your friends died?”

“Yeah, it was a war,” He told him softly. “We were EOD technicians, which means we used to find bombs and disable them so they wouldn’t blow up. But sometimes, we’d make a mistake, or we wouldn’t be fast enough, and it would go off,”

“Did-did that ever happen to you?”

“It did, yeah,” Jordan nodded thinking back to the last bomb he handled before returning to America. “My last bomb went off, somehow I managed to make it out of there unscathed,” He informed as he parked the car in the hospital parking lot, unbuckling himself before making his way around to the back to get Stiles out of his booster seat, lifting him out of it and about to set him down before faltering to feel the boy tighten his hold on him.

“Stiles?”

“Can I-can I stay like this please?” The boy muffled his words into Jordan’s shoulder, the man letting out a sigh before adjusting his hold so that he could close the door and lock it.

“Alright, you can stay like this, buddy,” Jordan rubbed a firm hand down the boy’s back before making his way into the hospital, stopping at the nurses’ station and startled when the woman jumped up with a gasp at the sight of him.

“Oh no, is your son okay? Do you need a doctor?”

“What-no, no we’re okay,” Jordan reassured, realizing that walking in with a child held in his arms at 3 in the morning was just asking for some form of medical assistance. “No, we’re okay, thank you. We’re actually here to see a patient. Could you kindly tell me what room Scott McCall would be in?”

“Oh! Oh, thank heavens,” The woman sagged in relief and sat down behind her workstation. “We’ve been getting a lot of kids coming in at odd timings, most of them supers with some form of injury or illness. I don’t know what’s going on nowadays,” She shook her head and checked the database before giving them the room number with a smile, Jordan thanked her before taking the elevator to the right floor.

Walking down the hallway, Jordan found the correct room, noticed the empty hallway, and knocked on the door before entering.

The room was a shared one with three other beds, but only the bed by the window was occupied by little Scott McCall sitting cross-legged on the mattress, staring out at the window with an apple juice in hand.

“Scotty!” Stiles exclaimed, wriggling in Jordan’s hold until the man put him down and ran towards his best friend immediately jumping onto the bed and hugging his best friend who seemed to sag at the sight of him. Both of them clutched tight to each other while Jordan walked over to the edge of the room.

“Hello, Scott,” Jordan greeted when the boys pulled back far enough to let the rest of the world in, sniffling and wiping each other’s tears. “What happened? Everything alright?”

“I-I don’t know, Mom says I fell down the stairs and hit my head, but I can’t-I can’t remember,”

“You hit your head?” Stiles gasped, immediately lifting himself on his knees and inspecting Scott’s head for any injuries.

“Careful, baby,” Jordan stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around Stiles’s wrist. “We don’t want to accidentally hurt him, right?” He asked, the boy in question gasping in shock and shook his head, tears gathering in his eyes.

“It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me!” Scott reassured and took Stiles's hand in his own. “Mom brought me to the hospital to make sure everything is okay. I’m glad you’re here! I thought I’d die from boredom! Did your dad tell you I’m here?”

“Where is your mom?” Jordan asked before Stiles could respond, noticing that he couldn’t see Melissa or Rafael, much less the Sheriff.

“Mom went to talk to the doctor with the Sheriff,” Scott informed before turning towards Stiles, Jordan pursed his lips to think how strange it was for the boy’s father not to be mentioned. One look at Stiles telling him that the boy had noticed the same but was more than happy to get distracted by his friend, turning to face him and talking about something that had happened in school today.

Jordan sat on the edge of the bed and watched the two boys chatter with fondness before the door opened to give a haggard-looking Melissa entrance, followed by the Sheriff dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt under his jacket, both of them stopping at the sight of Jordan and Stiles.

“Hello, Mrs. McCall,” Jordan greeted, keeping his eyes firmly on the woman and tapping Stiles’s shoulder to get the boy to turn.

“Hi, Melissa!” He waved. “I heard Scott got hurt so we came to make sure he’s okay,” Stiles informed with a grin, Jordan noticing both Melissa and the Sheriff flinch, Jordan figuring that there was something more to the injury with how worn out Melissa looked.

“Yeah, he hit his head,” Melissa nodded and came to sit on Scott’s other side, Noah following her further into the room and came to stand at the foot of the bed when Jordan stepped back and reclined on the edge of the room.

“Stiles were you listening to my phone call?” The Sheriff demanded of his son who blinked up at him.

“You shouldn’t speak so loudly on the phone in the middle of the night if you don’t want to be overheard,” Stiles retorted with a completely straight face, Noah pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Stiles,” Jordan chastised, the boy flinching at the tone and turning to him with his lower lip between his teeth, looking imploringly at him from beneath his lashes. “That’s not what you want to say to him, is it?” He arched a brow expectantly at him, Stiles sighing and turned to his dad, adequately chastised.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles fidgeted with the edge of his jacket. “I didn’t mean to overhear your phone call, I just wanted to read the second Harry Potter book, nothing more. I swear!” He straightened and looked up at his dad with wide imploring eyes. Noah gave a defeated sigh and forgave his son by combing a hand through his hair, Jordan’s eyes softening at them and swallowed thickly before turning away.

“But that still means you were awake past your bedtime,” The Sheriff noted and crouched down to be at eye level, the boy flinching and giving a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, Daddy,” He tried with an innocent smile, the Sheriff sighing before straightening and turning his gaze to Jordan who was standing in the furthest corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest – clearly having been dragged out of bed – and staring out the hospital window at the full moon. Noah swallowed at the sight of him, knowing it had been a while since he’d last seen the man this close.

“Can I speak to you for a minute?” The Sheriff asked of Jordan, the man turning to him with a blankness on his face to be addressed. “Outside,” He added before making his way toward the door.

“No! No, Jordan did nothing wrong! He did nothing wrong!” Stiles immediately jumped off the bed and attempted to stop his father, eyes wide in panic and breath heaving. Noah was startled at the sudden desperation in his boy, about to turn back to him but faltered when Jordan pulled Stiles back with a hand to his chest, turning the boy towards him.

“Inhale:1-2-3-4,” Jordan counted on his inhale, Stiles mimicking him. “Hold: 1-2-3-4. Exhale: 1-2-3-4” He did the breathing exercises with the boy, going through it two more times before smiling at him in reassurance.

“Okay, so I’m going to go outside and talk to your dad,” Jordan fixed the collar of Stiles’s jacket, the boy clutching the front of Jordan’s shirt, and stared at him with wide eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Jordan did nothing wrong,” Stiles whirled around to his dad, standing protectively in front of the man, jaw set in determination and tears in his eyes. “He did-he did nothing wrong, Dad. I made him-I made him bring me to the hospital. Please, please, please don’t be mad at him,” Stiles begged, voice cracking. Noah and Jordan watched the boy with varying degrees of tender aching pain.

“Stiles,” The Sheriff sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, looking back to see his boy on the verge of tears and cracked. “Okay. Okay, I won’t be mad at him, I just want to ask him something. Is that okay?”

Stiles eyed his father wearily and turned to Jordan, still gripping at his clothes.

“Will you be okay?”

“Of course, I’ll be okay, baby,” Jordan huffed a fond laugh at the boy who had his heart in his hands “If he starts being dumb I can just run away, you know he can’t keep up with me,” He winked at the boy who giggled at the words and nodded. Slowly releasing his hold on him and anxiously watched Jordan step out into the hallway with his dad and the door closing behind them.

The Sheriff walked away from the door and further down the hall, Jordan following behind him silently before leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, chin raised in defiance and ready to defend his decision to bring Stiles out to the hospital at 3 in the morning on a school night. He would not apologize for making sure Stiles’s best friend was okay, not even to the boy’s father.

He watched the Sheriff pace restlessly up and down the hall, seemingly trying to get his words into a semblance of order to communicate, Jordan wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence, not this time.

“Stiles is 9 years old,” The Sheriff began sharply, turning to Jordan who watched him with the same impassive mask he’d taken to wearing since that Sunday a few weeks ago. “As the adult, how could you bring my son here at 3 in the morning without running it by me first? A text! A phone call! Anything-”

“-So you could ignore them?” Jordan asked in a monotone, watching the Sheriff flinch at the blow before glaring at him. “Do you still have my number saved?”

“Don’t get smart with me, right now, Parrish,”

“No, of course not, sir,” He snarked back, heat rising to the Sheriff’s ears at the defiance in the man before him, hating how much it was affecting him. “If you must know, my phone is gone for repairs, there was no way I could have let you know, and even if I had my phone, I can assure you, that forewarning you was not my priority when Stiles comes to me in the middle of the night, having a panic attack on my doorstep because he was that scared for his best friend,” Jordan stated. God, he hated having to defend his decisions against Noah.

“What?” The man reared back at the words, staring at Jordan like he’d grown two heads. “Stiles had a panic attack?” His voice took on a soft tone, the younger closing his eyes to compose himself against the anger rearing in his veins, and nodded.

“He came to my door and he was having a panic attack. He brought him inside and calmed him down. I thought he had a nightmare that scared him this badly, but thought if it had been a nightmare, he’d have gone to you, not me, till he told me that he overheard you talking on the phone with Melissa,” Jordan explained. “He asked me to take him to the hospital because he had to make sure that Scott was okay, and I brought him. I will not apologize for this,”

Noah clenched his jaws at the words, beginning to pace again before flopping down on one of the waiting chairs with his head held in his hands. Jordan noted that he was strangely more tense than usual, there was something off about Scott’s injury. If he had fallen down the stairs as the boy claims, the Sheriff wouldn’t be creating such a fuss over Jordan having brought Stiles – he was almost certain that if the boy’s words were true, the Sheriff would have brought Stiles himself. But the fact that Noah was so on edge, pacing like a caged animal and that Melissa looked haggard and worn out, and the fact that Scott was brought to the hospital by the Sheriff all means that it’s something more than a tumble down the stairs.

Jordan inhaled sharply, drawing the Sheriff’s attention to him as the man watched him put the pieces together.

“Don’t,” The sheriff warned in a low voice, Jordan staring at him with parted lips. “Jordan,”

“Stiles will probably figure this out faster than I did,” Jordan warned him in a voice as low as his, the Sheriff closing his eyes and inhaling sharply to know the man was right. “Melissa should be reporting him,”

“No, she told him to get out and he was gone before I got there,” The Sheriff shook his head, both of them falling silent at the statement.

Noah wanted to ask Jordan how he’d been these past few weeks, what projects he’d been keeping with. Is he eating well? Did he sleep well? Any bad days? Nightmares? What was his next step? From talking almost every day, they went to avoiding each other. The Sheriff’s heart clenched to see the man sitting opposite him. Clearly, Stiles had dragged him out of bed, dressed in plaid pajamas and a graphic t-shirt under his jacket, his arms were crossed over his chest, one knee over the other, and looking down the hall. Everything about him shut off. Physically, Jordan was so near but he knew there was a wall between them now. So much distance between them that even Stiles had stopped asking to involve Jordan in whatever they were doing like he used to, the boy having to make do with the few hours he got to hang out with Jordan after school on Monday and Friday.

God, Noah missed the sound of his voice in his house, or his warmth when he’d stand beside him in the kitchen, cooking or giving him company. He missed the way Jordan would sneak him sweets even when Noah didn’t necessarily want any, or the way he’d cover for him if Stiles ever suspected he was eating something he wasn’t supposed to. He missed the sound of his laughter, the crinkling of his eyes, and the fact that he was ready to play whatever game, or would willingly occupy Stiles when Noah had business to deal with.

Jordan had become such a huge support to him, not having realized how much easier everything had gotten with the man in their lives, till his stupid behavior drove him away.

There was a wall between them now, appearing insurmountable, and made Noah’s chest ache with the desire to rest his head on Jordan’s shoulder, feel his fingers work magic through his hair, and just be a solid and firm support for him to lean on. A pillar.

God, Noah missed him.

“Jordan-”

“-I think I’ll see if Stiles is ready to go,” Jordan stated, not meeting Noah’s eyes or turning to him for that matter. “I’ll make sure he goes to school and takes a nap when he’s back,” He reassured as if Noah was cruel enough to make his son go through school after such an emotionally taxing night that included finding out his friend had been injured.

“He-he doesn’t have to go to school if he doesn’t want to,” Noah got up from his seat, making Jordan falter in his steps. “He can skip one day if he wants to,”

“You’re his father,” Jordan shrugged and walked down the hallway, disappearing behind the door and leaving Noah alone, the Sheriff retaking his seat and gripping his hair in resignation.

Saying their goodbyes Jordan took Stiles back home with him, the boy silent on the drive back, staring out at the darkness outside the window and heaved a heavy breath.

“Rafael did it,” Stiles broke the silence, Jordan’s fingers tightening over the steering wheel as he swallowed thickly, screwing his eyes shut to know that he had been right about the boy figuring it out faster than he did. “He hurt Scott,”

“What makes you say that?”

“Scott asked Melissa where his dad was and she said he had to leave because of work and won’t be coming back for a while,”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“-Scott gets hurt, Melissa calls my dad crying, Rafael leaves and doesn’t plan on returning,” Stiles interrupted, Jordan biting his lips at the words. “I think Rafael was drunk and something happened and Scott got hurt because of him, and Melissa tells him to leave. She doesn’t call 911 because then they would take her husband into custody and Scott doesn’t have a dad. This way, Scott has a dad, but from a distance,”

“Stiles,” Jordan spoke softly, trying to figure out what to say to make it better again, and not prove his words despite knowing the boy was right. “

“Is it because he’s away so much?” Stiles asked in a meek whisper, Jordan glancing at the rearview mirror for a second to see the boy chewing on his bottom lip, fiddling with his fingers, and squirming in his booster seat. “He has to stay away for months and his job must be really hard and he must be really busy too. Is it because he’s been away for so long that when he comes back he doesn’t know Scott? Does Scott feel like a stranger to him because he’s not here? Is that why he hurt him?”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt Scott, baby,”

“I didn’t mean to overhear Dad’s conversation either,”

“That’s different-”

“-Do I look different to Dad sometimes? When he has to work a lot?” Stiles wondered out loud, the boy hunching into himself at the thought. “What makes my dad and Scott’s dad different?”

Jordan didn’t have an answer to that question, not one he could give without any forethought to a boy that was so smart and knew too much for his good.

Thinking on the question, Jordan could recognize that both fathers worked long hard hours in law enforcement, and both had jobs that kept them away from home more often than not. Knowing that it was to provide for their families, but no amount of money ever bought a single second, neither of the fathers was aware of that fact. They both loved their sons, definitely, loved them to death, and wanted nothing more than to protect them, yet still, Rafael ended up hurting Scott. Jordan was sure it was a bit more complicated than what they were making it out to be, but the question remained to be answered.

Parking in his driveway, he turned off the ignition.

“Can I please stay with you, tonight?” Stiles asked in the same little voice as earlier in the night, staring out at his house with trepidation. “I hate how quiet and cold it gets without someone there,”

“Of course, you can stay with me, baby,” Jordan reassured, stepping out of the car and making his way to the back to get Stiles out of his seat and holding him close without the boy asking to stay in Jordan’s arms. The weight of the day wore down on both of them as they stood out in the driveway, Jordan running through the questions the boy had posed and cradling him close, kissing his temple before making his way inside.

“You know what makes Noah Stilinski different from Rafael McCall?” Jordan asked in a low whisper as he locked the door behind him and navigated the way to his bedroom in the dark.

“What?”

“The fact that I’ll make sure that Noah Stilinski never forgets his son no matter how long goes by,” Jordan promised, kissing the boy’s head and already formulated a plan to make sure that Stiles never had to question his dad’s adoration for him.

Chapter 11: Beacon Hills Police Department

Chapter Text

The start of the new year was a bloody one.

Weeks into the new year, there had been a case that had put the entire Beacon Hills community on edge, leading to a quiet and subdued air hanging over the town following the December festivities.

A group of hikers had found a centaur mauled and butchered on the trails, the police called in to investigate and couldn’t figure out if it had been murder, an animal attack, or a conflict between supernatural species.

Noah had cut his Christmas holidays short to investigate the case and scoped out the area. Stiles had demanded to know why, kicked up a storm that all the other dads were staying off work for longer, why he had to go. The Sheriff couldn’t console him in a way that didn’t expose the case to the boy, Jordan stepped in when Noah faltered and sat down beside the boy on the floor, talking about all the things they would do together to make his dad jealous and wish he could do it with them. The pettiness appeased Stiles who started coming up with all sorts of things he was going to drag Jordan to, following it up with a “and you can’t come”. Noah had chuckled, shaking his head in fondness at the boy, and nodded in gratitude to Jordan. The Sheriff bit back the thought that they didn’t need to be doing “special” things to wish he could stay with them a little longer – even if things were stilted between him and Jordan now.

At the start of the investigation, the Sheriff had talked to the family of the centaur, Mr. Kiros Dustborne, who had no animosity with anyone – human or supernatural – and had left behind his wife with two little ones and a third on the way. The numbed devastation hanging over the wife had the Sheriff’s heart clenching in pain till the deputy accompanying him had tried to pet the young Centaur foal and got kicked in the thigh for it.

This is why the supernatural community interacted only with the Sheriff.

Noah was forced to put in long hours and even longer days with Mayor Hale breathing down his neck and telling him to solve the case and right things with the community. He then had to talk to all the supernaturals in the territories around the place Mr. Dustborne had been found in and asked them if they had anything to do with it, and their territorial markers. All of them told him the same thing: Kiros had not been infringing on their territory, and none of them had anything to do with it; centaurs were notorious for staying within the lines.

It made him a little guilty, leaving his boy alone, but he felt comforted to know that Stiles was always looked after in his absence, knowing Jordan paid dogged attention to the boy’s wellbeing that made him a little envious and a little unsettled by the focus, as well as made him yearn with longing for the younger man knowing that his feelings for the ex-military weren’t going anywhere, but couldn’t bring himself to act on them without feeling like he was betraying the memory of his Claudia who bore him that beautiful hellion of a son.

The hours spent investigating and looking into every avenue, until the Sheriff was forced to issue a statement in which he elaborated that following a thorough investigation and a lack of evidence led them to conclude that Mr. Dustborne had been killed in a wild animal attack; lost in the dark and outnumbered or overpowered leading to his mauled state.

Then Rafael McCall had hurt his son and that was a situation for the Sheriff to deal with in private. If he had it his way, he would have the man in handcuffs the moment he had seen Melissa kneeling at the base of her stairs, cradling a confused and scared Scott to her chest, the boy mumbling and asking what happened; the boy’s father had left long before the Sheriff could get there.

The doctor told them he was alright, that they’d keep him for observation but there weren’t any outward signs of injury, Melissa nodding along complacently. When Noah led the way back to the boy’s room, his heart jumped up to his throat to find Stiles sitting on the bed with the boy – already knowing that he had listened in to his phone call – before his gaze drifted to the older man standing there as well, unsure if he should be thankful that the man had taken care of Stiles in his absence, or angry that he had done so without consulting him.

He gravitated to anger when he confronted Jordan, the younger steeling up in defense and throwing the Sheriff’s own indiscretion back as retaliation – the jab hitting Noah like a physical attack, left to deal with the consequences of his actions in the form of the man who could barely sit and talk with him anymore.

Stilted peace had barely settled over the town once more when there was a murder case causing rampant fear in the people.

A Faery had been found brutally murdered in an alleyway, the residues of her power having left a shine on her fingers, and defensive wounds littering her body. Only for the authorities to investigate and find out she had her child with her at the time of the murder, and now the child was missing.

Beacon Hills felt dreary and somber in the days after the murder with no signs of the Faery child to be found, the police spread thin with needing to investigate any lead, questioning made difficult with the fact that from the entire police department, the Sheriff was the only one who did not offend the Supernatural community. So, Noah was forced to investigate any possible lead regarding the murder and missing persons while the rest of his station was busy answering to the public’s fear and panic – their paranoia leading to a lot of 911 calls demanding that an officer come and investigate some disturbance which often time ended up being nothing significant.

The Sheriff had been reviewing witness statements and the coroner’s report two days later when a knock sounded on his office door, bidding entrance he was startled to find Jordan standing in the doorway, back ramrod straight, dressed in a suit of all things under his coat, a folder held in hand.

What happened? Why was he here? Is Stiles hurt? Where is Stiles?

“Jordan?” The Sheriff found himself standing, eyebrows furrowed together and stomach twisting itself into knots. “What-?”

“-Sheriff Stilinski,” Jordan nodded in greeting, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him before making his way to stand in front of his desk. “I’m here to apply for a position at your station,”

Jordan watched the man freeze at the announcement, tilting his head as if he thought he’d heard wrong, and furrowed his brows when the man didn’t say anything further.

“I’m sorry, I think I heard you wrong,” Noah closed his eyes and held up his hand. “What?”

“I’m here for a job,” Jordan put his folder on top of the files the Sheriff had been reviewing and took a seat opposite the man, looking up at the Sheriff gawking at Jordan’s nonchalant announcement and then the folder on his desk. Still not quite sure that his ears weren’t playing tricks on him. “In there, you’ll find my resume, credentials, medical records, psychological and physical evaluations, and academic records,” He gestured to the file, crossing his leg over the other, and watched the Sheriff slowly retaking his seat without opening the file, palms pressed flat to the surface of the desk as he eyed the younger suspiciously.

“What are you doing, Jordan?”

“I’m applying for a job, sir,”

“Why here?”

“You clearly need all the help you can get when Mayor Hale is desperate to get to the bottom of these attacks on the supes, and you’re the only man in the entirety of the Beacon Hills Police Station – and here I am quoting you – who doesn’t offend the Supernatural community by merely breathing,” Jordan stated bluntly, the Sheriff leaning back in his seat. “I’ve been spending the entire time in Beacon Hills with your son, who – no offense – is a supernatural magnet, and learnt all the customs and etiquettes from him. I’m a familiar sight to the Supernatural community and can share the burden of the cases with you,”

Jordan made a compelling case based on facts, the Sheriff knew, but it sounded too good to be true. Employing Jordan’s help with getting to the bottom of what the hell was going on in this town, maybe a fresh perspective would see something the Sheriff couldn’t on account of having become desensitized to the information. But Noah wasn’t in law enforcement for nothing.

“What’s the catch? You’ve come prepared with an argument, you want something,”

“That’s correct,” Jordan admitted without hesitation. “I want you to reduce your shift to a 4 days a week 10-hour shift, with your weekends completely free, I want you to take the night shift so that you can spend the day with Stiles,”

Noah shook his head, startled at the condition placed before him: if the Sheriff wanted the investigation to progress further with Jordan's help – who was wildly respected by the supernatural community due to his affiliation with Stiles – he, the Sheriff, had to stick to a set of work hours that made his day free for his son? Did something happen with Stiles?

“What happened?”

“I cannot convince Stiles that you’re not like Rafael McCall,” Jordan looked up at him with a hardness to his eyes, professionalism in every sinew of his body. “I am not his father to have that capability, only you can do so,” Something acrid rose in the Sheriff’s throat, visibly recoiling at the comparison.

The younger swallowed to recall their night after having returned from the hospital, the way the boy had cried to him that he was scared his dad would stop loving him. Nothing Jordan said would get the boy to calm down till he cried himself to sleep.

It was safe to say, Stiles had not gone to school in the morning.

“As I said, Stiles figured out that Rafael had something to do with Scott’s injury,” Jordan explained softly, keeping his voice low. “He believes that the reason Rafael was capable of hurting his own son was due to him being away for such long durations and that the man doesn’t recognize his son when he comes back, that Scott was a virtual stranger to him which is why he found it so easy to hurt him. I tried to explain it was probably more complicated than that, but now the boy is afraid that one day you’ll come home from work and not recognize your own son,”

The Sheriff let out a breathless exhale, collapsing back into his chair, and struggled to put his thought into words. Guilt gnawing at the edges of his frayed mind to hear that his boy thought he was capable of hurting him, resenting how his fear and thought process made sense. Kids grew up so fast that within the blink of an eye, they’d gone from newborns to 5-year-olds and next thing you know, you don’t know your child’s favorite color, his friends or teachers, or what’s going on in his life.

“I would never do that to him, Jordan,” Noah choked out, fists trembling as he shook his head, silently beseeching the man to know this fact if nothing else.

“Then accept my help and prove it to him, even if this arrangement is till he feels better,” Jordan stated in finality. “I know you’re working yourself raw to provide for him. I know it’s not easy raising a child as a single parent. But sir, no amount of money ever bought a second of time. Please, don’t neglect the boy when he needs you most. I cannot take your place in this,”

“You’re doing this for him,” The Sheriff exhaled, something bittersweet rearing its head in his chest, knowing how protective this man was of his son, how Stiles had wrapped Jordan around his finger to the extent that the man was more than willing to go against Noah’s authority as the father to get Stiles what he’d asked for.

He wasn’t sure if Jordan was a pushover, or just that deeply committed to Stiles’s happiness. But the fact that he was sitting here, in front of the Sheriff, asking to work at the police station and take on his workload so he could spend time with his boy – despite the fact that Jordan had probably had enough of guns and violence and gore after the war, hell the man had been going to therapy for PTSD up until December – was all the answer he needed to figure out to what lengths Jordan was ready to go for his boy.

Noah swallowed thickly at the parent-like devotion this young man harbored for his son.

“Yes, sir, I am,”

“What-what did you have in mind when you came here for the job?” He couldn’t help but ask, knowing that Jordan was right and that he needed to be there for his son when Stiles needed him the most following the McCall incident; besides, there was no harm in hearing out what plan Jordan had come up with. If he wanted things investigated till they closed this case, he could ask Jordan to do it for him, and he could review all the information when he’d come in for his shift. After all, nights weren’t any less busy than the day.

“I know that regardless of what duties you assign to me, I would most likely be dealing with the Supernatural cases given the fact that I am one person they readily accept. It would take the burden off you, so we can split your supernatural cases. You take 10-hour night shifts from Monday to Thursday, remain on call for dire emergencies only and I cover the rest. On weekends you are completely off-limits and I’ll remain on call. At night I’ll watch over Stiles when you’re at the station,” Jordan stated. “If that is acceptable to you, of course,” He tacked out to give the impression of choice, but even the Sheriff that wasn’t the case.

“You know that it doesn’t work like that, I can’t set my hours to whatever I please,” He tried to explain

“You always pick up the slack for other deputies when they have family emergencies, are you telling me that your deputies would not do the same for you?”

“I didn’t say that,”

“You seem to be implying that,”

The Sheriff let out an exasperated breath, heart fond to hear Jordan snipe back at him as he used to, but it also made his chest ache to know that Jordan was putting himself in this profession for his son, that too after having been through the war. The Sheriff was certain that Jordan was content – if not happy – spending his days with his DIY home projects and Stiles’s chatter, the fact that he would willingly align himself with this job for the boy spoke volumes of how much Jordan loved him; probably as much as Noah loved his son.

“Are you sure you want to do this? This is a dangerous profession, you could die,”

Jordan smiled at the words, the mirth not reaching his eyes, as he looked up at the man, the Sheriff feeling frozen under the look and swallowed thickly to know the truth without words.

“You’re not going to change my mind, Sheriff,” He informed. “So either tell me that you don’t accept my application, in which case I’ll plant the idea of my aid to Mayor Hale stipulating your workload be reduced as a condition and believe me, she will make it happen, or accept my application on your own. Either way, I win,”

Jesus Christ, the Sheriff thought as he leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers against the edge and shaking his head to know this man had been spending too much time with Stiles.

“Are you blackmailing me?” The Sheriff demanded with a raised eyebrow, knowing that Jordan would get his way if he went to Mayor Hale and told her that he could help with the investigations. She could easily instate him as a deputy or a civilian consultant hoping to fix things in their community as soon as possible. It didn’t matter if Noah refused his application.

“Are you forcing my hand?” Jordan arched a brow in challenge, the older sighing in defeat, and rubbed a hand over his face.

“It will probably take me some time to process this and get you into the system,” The Sheriff sighed and lifted the folder he hadn’t opened, knowing he didn’t need to. “When can you start working?”

“There is no better time than the present,” Jordan stated, standing up as he peeled off his coat, followed by his suit jacket, and began rolling back his sleeves. The Sheriff’s lips parted slightly at his eagerness. “Someone can show me the ropes and I can begin right away,”

“Spending way too much time with Stiles,” The Sheriff sighed and shook his head before getting up from his place and felt Jordan follow behind him as he opened the door and stepped out into the bullpen, atomically garnering everyone’s attention. “Jordan will be joining our department from today onwards,” He announced to the deputies, all of them startled at the words and sharing looks before looking at Jordan over the Sheriff’s shoulder.

“Hewitt,” He called out to his Deputy who straightened to be addressed. “Show Jordan the ropes, he’ll mostly be covering the Supernatural cases with me, so I need him up to speed as soon as possible,”

“Of course, sir,” The man spoke slowly, eying the duo hesitantly when Jordan cleared his throat and leveled a look at the Sheriff who sighed and rubbed at his face in resignation.

“Also, my timings will be changing from next week-”

“-Tomorrow,” Jordan interrupted.

“Tomorrow-? Jordan, it’s not possible at such short notice-” The Sheriff whirled around at the man who stood with his coat and jacket draped over his arm, taking out his phone and showed him Mayor Hales's contact pulled up on the device, the younger leveling an unblinking stare at the older to let him know he was not beneath calling her right here and right now. The unspoken threat forced the Sheriff to throw up his hands in defeat. Definitely spending too much time with Stiles! “Fine! Tomorrow! My timings will change from tomorrow. Jesus!”

The entire station watched in silence at how Jordan was able to make the Sheriff bend to his will without even a word, forced to swallow to think that this baby-faced rookie might just be a force to be reckoned with.

“I’ll be taking the night shift from now on, while Jordan will take over in the day-”

“-But sir,” One of the deputies startled and jumped up from their seat. “We need you in the day, you can’t just abandon your duties because some pretty boy said so-!”

“-Deputy-!” The Sheriff snapped, stopping when Jordan put his coat and jacket on the first free surface and calmly walked over to the man who had spoken, the deputy glared at his approaching figure and eyed Jordan up and down as if sizing him up.

“You get a complaint or a code, what do you do?” Jordan asked calmly, rounding the table and standing before the man, one hand placed on top of the desk.

“Answer it, of course,”

“Did you need the Sheriff telling you that to know what you’re supposed to do?”

“No. but-”

“-Emergency responses get dealt with immediately, you need the Sheriff to tell you that?” Jordan interrupted, taking another step forward. “Patrols, traffic, disputes, arrests, and investigations are all part of your job purview. The Sheriff is there to monitor and direct you, not to do your job for you. All you should be concerned with is doing the job that’s assigned to you, what does it matter if it gets assigned during the night shift or in the day?” He demanded, making the deputy flounder and stammer in response.

“Jordan-” Noah called out, trying to get him to back down.

“I have the utmost respect for the Sheriff, so don’t you dare imply that he is abandoning his duties when all he’s doing is changing his timing to be more flexible,” Jordan’s voice was as cold as ice, eyes hard and danger emanating off him, making the deputy step back and stumble over his chair, collapsing back into it with a sharp breath. “If you’re so concerned, why don’t you change your timing to match his-?”

“-Parrish, that is enough,” The Sheriff demanded, Jordan straightening before making his way back to the man who gave him a deadpanned look. “But yes, as Jordan said I’ll still be doing my job, just at a different time, and I’ll be available on call-”

“-In case of emergencies-” Jordan clarified.

“-Yes, that,” Noah rolled his eyes before turning to Jordan and pointing a warning finger at him. “Do not start any fights, are we clear?”

“Crystal,”

With the updates and warnings given, the Sheriff returned to his office, the bullpen slowly coming back to life as Jordan made his way to Deputy Hewitt, knowing the man would be guiding him for the time being, and pulled up a seat to his desk.

It was a learning curve not only for Jordan but for the Sheriff as well.

For the Sheriff it felt nostalgic, being able to pick up his son from school and getting to spend the day with him. The boy was a little hesitant initially till he took it in stride with great enthusiasm. With the Sheriff at home during the day, Stiles started to bring Scott and Derek over to his place instead of going to their houses. The boy sought out his father every couple of minutes to make sure the man was still there, beaming wide at him before returning to his games. Noah’s heart was close to bursting with the fondness and love he held for his son, endeared by his behavior, knowing the boy was just as delighted as he was.

For Jordan, it was a little more difficult adjusting to the demanding workload and long hours when he had become complacent with his little projects and the joy of having Stiles bounce around him and talking to him. But he knew that this had to happen sooner or later, the boy needed his father. It helped that Jordan was a fast learner so Hewitt didn’t have any problem with guiding him, helping him out when he was assigned to the Faerie murder case with the Sheriff, the new Deputy spending most of the time familiarizing himself with the case, and brushing up on Faerie lore, the fact that there was a child involved gave him the sense of a clock ticking away in his head.

“Parrish,” Strauss called from across the bullpen, making the man look away from the book he had found on Faeries. “Noise complaint from a super house,”

“Right,” Jordan put a page from the folder between the pages and got up. “Send me the address,” He called out to Strauss and made his way out back where they parked the police cruisers.

Since joining the police department, Jordan was surprised at the number of cases that came in daily revolving around the Supernatural community. The majority of those cases were often benign and stemmed from ignorance: people calling in about one thing or another that they couldn’t understand was a-a cultural thing between the supers. For instance, on his first working day, he had been asked to investigate what people had assumed to be a fight between Wendigoes but had been a rite of passage of dominance, and interrupting that would have been not only offense but could have serious ramifications.

The Wendigoes took their rites of passage very seriously, after all.

It was no wonder the entire Sheriff’s department – save for the Sheriff – offended the Supernatural community as they did.

Arriving at the address where the complaint was lodged, Jordan walked up the front steps and knocked on the door, greeted by a small elderly woman who clutched at the doorframe and trembled.

“Oh! Officer,” She shrieked, throwing open her doors at the sight of Jordan’s brand-new khaki uniform. “There is this-awful, just awful noise coming from down the street-!” She began before the sound of a vicious roar echoed down the road, the old lady squeaking in fright and clutching onto Jordan’s arm.

“That! That!” She spoke shrilly, Jordan struggling to hide his wince at the pitch, and nodded in understanding.

“I’ll look right into it, madam,” He assured and extricated himself from her hold before making his way down the sidewalk, not entirely sure which house it was but having an inkling what was going on when he realized that Bjorn the berserker lived on this street with his family.

Huffing a laugh, Jordan walked up to the door and raised his hand to ring the bell when that roar came again, this time followed by a lower but no less ferocious roar. Ringing the bell, he waited for a moment before Bjorn’s wife, Naomi, opened the door, Jordan thumping his fist against his chest in greeting.

“Good day, Mrs. Stoll,” He greeted her.

“Parrish,” Her voice echoed from her skull. “I didn’t know you’d joined the Sheriff’s department,”

“Yes, it’s a recent development,”

“That’s wonderful! How can I help you?”

“I’m assuming that Bjorn is teaching little Hera how to channel her ferocity,” Jordan gestured behind her from where the back-and-forth roar could be heard. “I didn’t realize she was old enough for it,”

“She’s an early bloomer,” Naomi puffed up with pride. “So Bjorn is teaching her,”

“That’s wonderful, congratulations,” Jordan smiled at the words, knowing that Berserkers took great pride in her children’s fierceness. “However, I’m sorry to say this, but is it possible for you to do this somewhere else? Maybe in the preserves? We’re getting noise complaints, Mrs. Stoll,”

“Oh!” Naomi was startled at the words. “I’m sorry to cause trouble, we’ll try to keep it down,” She assured, Jordan tipped his head in gratitude, thumping his chest in farewell, and made his way back to the cruiser.

While he was out, Jordan thought he might visit the Faerie’s, hoping to get some more information on the ongoing murder case.

Arriving on the other side of the preserves, Jordan walked through the dense canopy of trees before stopping before a large tree that spanned broader and longer than the others. Something inside him had him unclipping his holster and removing all weapons, Jordan put them on the ground and away from himself, then removed his shoes and socks before walking barefooted around the trunk and knelt on the ground, looking up at the branches.

“I am Jordan Parrish from the Sheriff’s department,” He spoke up to the leaves. “I seek an audience with the husband of the late Glade Summers,”

He waited for a heartbeat before a leaf fluttered down and onto the ground before him, the sound of crunching leaves making him look up to find a man making his way over to him.

When people heard the word ‘faerie’ they pictured something like Tinkerbell; small, dainty, and glittering. While that was a novel way to say these creatures, the reality of the matter was the fact that they were capable of changing their size from small to large whenever they so desired. For instance, the man before him was only a head shorter than Jordan himself, dressed in a purple vest and forest green pants, barefoot-like Jordan, hollows under his bloodshot eyes and hair in disarray.

“You may rise, Jordan Parrish,” The man sniffled. “I am Bram Summers. How can I be of assistance?”

“Thank you, Mr. Summers,” Jordan rose to his feet. “I am sorry to trouble you with this, I am sure you’ve talked to the Sheriff already, but I have recently been assigned to this case and was hoping you could answer some questions I had,”

“You are Stiles Stilinski’s guardian?” The man tilted his head, Jordan faltering at the question. “His aura is imbedded into yours,”

“I-I am a friend of Stiles, yes,” Jordan nodded, Bram nodded and sat down cross-legged at the base of the tree, gesturing to the patch of grass before him for Jordan to do the same. “You know him?”

“That boy is important to us,” Bram nodded serenely. “What questions do you have for me, Stiles’s Guardian?”

“My condolences for your loss,” Jordan began, the husband of the deceased nodding in gratitude and sniffled. “Was there anything strange about Glade during the days leading to her death?”

“No, my Glade was as happy as she can be. She had taken our youngest, Lara with her to get her a school bag since she was starting school in the spring,”

“Your,” Jordan faltered. “I’m sorry, but how old is Lara?”

“She’s a babe, recently turned 4,” Bram gave a watery smile, Jordan’s heart sinking and stomach squirming at the fact that a toddler was missing. “I’m sorry, this-this is a rather difficult time-” The man’s voice cracked, lowering his face into his hands and shuddering with his grief.

“No, I understand,” Jordan reassured and lowered his head with the man, showing his grief at the loss. “I am sorry to ask you to go through this again,”

He waited for the man to regain his composure before asking his questions: what was Lara wearing, had Glade spoken of anything suspicious or felt as if she were in danger, who would want to harm them, and what they were weak against?

“Iron and silver,” Bram informed. “It burns us,”

“Does it leave any discernible mark?” Jordan asked distractedly as he wrote Bram’s answers in his notepad.

“Yes, it leaves a silver shine on our skin, like humans get bruises,” He nodded. “But not a lot of people know that, mostly our kind and hunters,”

Jordan faltered at the words, something niggling at the back of his head at the words. A silver shine. A silver shine. A silver shine! Jordan was startled at the realization, jumping to his feet and scaring the Faerie opposite him.

“I apologize Bram Summers,” Jordan bowed to him. “But I must take my leave of you urgently,”

“Of course,” The Faerie nodded in understanding, gracefully bowing in return, both of them rising together in tandem. “May you fare well, Jordan Parrish, Guardian of Stiles,” He said before Jordan made his way around the trunk and gathered his positions, pulling on his shoes in a hurry before jogging down the terrain, back to the parking lot where he’d left his cruiser and drove back to the station.

Jordan marched into the station, going past the front desk and towards his own with a single-minded focus, digging through all the papers and files and books littered across his desk looking for something when Hewitt walked over to him.

“Hey, how’d the noise complaint go?” He asked, leaning against the side of the desk.

“Just Bjorn teaching Hera how to channel her ferocity,” Jordan spoke distractedly, missing the furrowed brows the Deputy-Sheriff regarded those words with while the younger continued to look for something. “Ah!” He exclaimed under his breath as he found the pictures of Glade’s body sprawled in the alleyway, defensive wounds visible before digging around a little more for the postmortem pictures.

Finding them, Jordan laid out the pictures of her injuries and fell back onto his chair to see the evident silver shine-like bruises surrounding the wound site. The mortician must have assumed that was how bruises developed on Faerie's bodies, not knowing that it meant she had been attacked by silver or iron.

What was it that Bram had said? Jordan exhaled breathlessly. Not many people know of this weakness. Just their kind and…

“Argent,” Jordan came to the abrupt realization, screwing his eyes shut to think how he could have forgotten that Supernatural hunters were residing in Beacon Hills now, and these cases take place after their arrival. That couldn’t be just a mere coincidence, he thought and rummaged through the papers once more, knowing he had a file on the Centaur mauling as well, digging it out from the mess of information he had created and pulled out the picture of the centaur, focusing on the body to see if there was something the other had missed.

It was on his third go over the picture when he noticed the abrasion just above the hooves, the skin around what could be considered the ankle. The skin was indented and dark in color as if the legs had been tied.

“They’re being hunted,” Jordan realized with a sinking stomach, covering his face with his hands.

“What do you mean?” Hewitt asked, having watched Jordan jump all over the place in silent amusem*nt till his latest announcement.

“Glade Summers was killed by silver or iron, their only weakness which isn’t known to a lot of people. Kiros Dustborne was tied and mauled to make it look like an animal attack,” Jordan rubbed at his forehead. “This is the work of hunters. I don’t know if this is the Argents or their allies, but these are targeted attacks,” He sighed, suddenly feeling like he’d aged years in few hours and felt exhausted.

“I’ve got to call the Sheriff,” He muttered to himself and picked up his phone, scrolling through his small contact list before dialing his number, swallowing the dryness in his throat to know that at this time the Stilinskis’ would be sitting down for dinner.

He was right.

When he called, the Sheriff had just sat down for dinner and when Jordan asked him to come into the station, citing an update on the Glade Summers case, he had said he’d come as soon as Stiles was tucked into bed. Jordan didn’t push, knowing that his revelation wasn’t going to change in an hour, and set about righting his desk and waving farewell to the deputies that were signing out for the day, leaving him and one other Deputy at the station.

The Sheriff arrived with a thermos of coffee and a Tupperware bag in hand, uniform prim and proper, and made his way to Jordan’s desk without a moment’s hesitation.

“What you got for me?” The Sheriff asked, putting the bag and thermos down and resting his hip against the desk, Jordan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and laid out the pictures before the Sheriff.

“These are targeted attacks,” Jordan murmured lowly, the Sheriff shooting a quick look at him before looking at the picture when he pointed to the silver around the wounds. “I think everyone thought these silver bruises was how bruises form on a faerie body, but I went and talked to Bram Summers and asked him about weaknesses when he told me that Faerie burn from silver and iron, and it leaves a silver bruise on their skin, like this. Whoever attacked her, knew that fact and used weapons made of silver or iron. It wasn’t a robbery gone wrong she still had everything on her. Sir, this was premeditated murder,” He continued before bringing Kiros's picture in front.

“The same with Kiros Dustborne, his legs were tied and his injuries meant to mimic animal mauling to throw us off,” He pointed out the abrasions on the legs. “The only people skilled enough to do this are hunters,”

“Argents?” The Sheriff inquired and looked up at Jordan with a raised eyebrow, expression somber and eyes sharp.

“I don’t know, sir,” Jordan rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know if it’s the Argents or if their hunter allies, I just know it's hunters because the only people who know about the silver are the Faeries and those whose job it is to know this,”

“I’ll take a look into this,” The Sheriff nodded and straightened from his place on Jordan’s desk. “You did well, Deputy,” He tried to give the man a smile, Jordan’s face waning and exhaustion weighing on his shoulders, the look making the elder’s chest tighten with concern.

He jumped when Jordan suddenly whirled towards the far wall, head tilted as if listening to something, his shoulders tense and body frozen stiff.

“Jordan?” Sheriff called in concern, unsure if he should reach out or if the man would shatter from the touch – he was that stiff.

“We should go back to the site of Glade Summer’s murder,” Jordan announced, turning towards the Sheriff with sweat beading his brow, face ashen and lips parted. “We need to go now, I think we’ll find Lara there,” Jordan grabbed his jacket and rushed out the back to the cruisers, never noticing the way the Sheriff faltered before following after him with a shake of his head. Informing the one other Deputy that they’d be back, he followed after Jordan and drove the way to the site.

They walked through the alleyway and towards the forest at the end with flashlights held out in front of them. Neither of them spoke on the drive, nor did either of them try to strike up a conversation now. The silence was thick and stifling, making Noah lick his lips and resist the temptation to break it, knowing that just at Christmas, these silences between them had been familiar, and comfortable, but now felt suffocating and thick.

Jordan ventured left, the Sheriff going straight and shining the light onto the trees, wondering if the child got up into the branches before lowering the light back to the ground.

A sharp exhale escaped him to illuminate the edge of a small shoe attached to a little foot. He didn’t have to bring the light up to know what was hidden in the darkness, he didn’t have to, but he still did and screwed his eyes shut to find little Lara Summers lying face-first into the dirt with the hilt of a dagger protruding out of her back.

Grabbing his radio, he turned around to call for an ambulance and assistance, determined to pull Jordan away from here but jumped to find the man standing behind him.

His face was impassive and his eyes were a dull green, vacant with numbness as he stared at the little girl.

Chapter 12: Deputy Parrish

Chapter Text

Jordan stayed with the Sheriff as paramedics and backup arrived, joining him at the hospital, listening vacantly as the doctors looked over her little body, confirming that it hadn't been long since she'd died and showed obvious signs of torture and abuse over her little body. The confirmation made Jordan sick, forcing him to remove from the situation to keep from throwing up.

Noah had been the one to call Bram Summers to the hospital, he had been the one to sit down with the man and break the news to him, Jordan clenching his eyes shut to hear the anguished sobs the man let out to hear about the death of his child. The Sheriff had been trying to comfort him, but the cries were too heart-wrenching for Jordan to remain hidden behind the wall, something inside his chest squirming and demanding that he take action.

Pulling off his holster and baton, he deposited them on the nearest surface before marching over to where Bram Summers had curled up into himself.

Placing a firm hand on the Faerie’s shoulder, Jordan grabbed his attention. The man’s tears streaked down his pale face, eyes bloodshot and skin clammy.

“Let us pray,” Jordan spoke with a rumble in his voice, holding the man’s hand and stepping back to guide him to kneel on the floor. The newest Deputy knelt before him, their hands linked together and heads bowed, the words of the faerie funeral rite passing flawlessly from his lips.

Bram stared in shock at the Deputy before him, not sure how the man knew what to do or the words, but swallowed down his tears to echo after him, feeling some of the pain and grief being alleviated to recall the words. Knowing his wife and daughter would look after each other, and that they had returned back to the earth they had been born from.

“May she be at peace,” Jordan finished, Bram echoing the words and remained with his head bowed, hands still grasping the younger’s. The Deputy was in no hurry to leave and let the man come back to himself in his own time.

“Thank you, Guardian,” Bram Summers pressed his forehead to Jordan’s, neither of them noticing the flash of orange over his irises. “You have given me strength,”

“Be strong for your remaining children,” Jordan’s chest rumbled with the words. “They need you now,” He helped the man stand, bowing to him with a hand on his chest.

“May you fare well, Bram Summers,”

“May you fare well, Jordan Parrish,” The Faerie returned the gesture, both of them straightening in tandem before he turned to the Sheriff. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help the investigation, Sheriff Stilinski,”

The Sheriff had been watching this happen in stunned silence, not sure which question to address first: how did Jordan know the language and the words, or how did he know the funeral rites of Faeries? Even the Sheriff didn’t know these internal rites. Did Stiles teach him? If yes, how does Stiles know? Then the biggest question of all is who murdered Lara and Glade Summers and why?

“Of course, Mr. Summers, thank you for your corporation,” He nodded to the Faerie who gathered his belongings and made his way to the exit.

The Sheriff in turn watched Jordan go and retrieve his weapons, strapping them back into his holster before shrugging on his jacket.

“Jordan,” The Sheriff called, trying to figure out which question to ask first before his newest Deputy interrupted his train of thought.

“Shouldn’t we be bringing the Argents’ in for questioning, sir?” He asked as he fixed the collar of his jacket, the Sheriff knowing he was right, and nodded.

Jordan went home while the Sheriff went to make the necessary arrest.

Parking his car, Jordan leaned against the side of the car and tipped his head back to stare up at the night sky wondering how the arrest and subsequent questioning would go, knowing that someone had to answer for the death of the Centaur, the Faerie mother and her child.

Even though Jordan had diverged from the Sheriff in an effort to cover more ground searching for the little girl, something inside Jordan had known to turn back to the main path. He’d known that the girl was dead before they’d found her, but the image of her small body lying face down in the dirt made his chest clench with grief, unable to comprehend how Bram Summers could deal with it.

Looking out at the Stilinski house opposite him, Jordan felt the sudden compulsion to just check on Stiles, knowing the boy was most likely asleep, and made his way to the front door.

Unlocking it with the spare key, he made his way upstairs on silent feet and pushed open the ajar door of Stiles’ bedroom. The boy lay sprawled over his bed, the covers thrown off and his arm dangling off the edge of the bed. Huffing an amused laugh, heart easing at the sight of the boy, Jordan stepped inside to adjust the boy properly onto the bed before tucking the blanket around him, smiling to himself when Stiles curled up under the covers and snuggled into his pillow.

Just a few more minutes, Jordan thought as he sat down on the edge of the bed, breath hitching to feel Stiles shuffle closer to him, nuzzling into his thigh, and fell deeper into sleep when Jordan began combing his fingers through his hair, the boy melting under his hands.

Looking down at the little boy, Jordan recalled what Bram had called him, “Stiles’s Guardian”, and said the boy’s aura was intertwined with his own. He wasn’t entirely sure how that happened or what it meant. But the title rang true, Jordan knew he would do everything in his power to protect this boy. He would not allow any harm to come to him and would do everything to make him happy.

He had to wonder if this is how parents felt about their children. This intensity of emotions swept him up, overwhelming him, for a boy who wasn’t his own.

Jordan had told himself he’d sit with the boy for a few more minutes but somehow found himself lying down beside Stiles on his twin bed, curling around the boy so he didn’t fall off the edge and holding him warm and secure in his arms. His eyes drifted shut and sleep overcame him.

He was woken by the sharp beeping of the alarm over his head, startled in his place on the bed and turned over his shoulder to grab the incessant beeping device and resisted the urge to throw it against the wall, pressing gently on the button on top to get it to stop. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Jordan squinted to read the time and groaned knowing that Stiles was supposed to get up for school now.

“Stiles-” He began to call out to the boy and turned around to find the boy awake and staring at Jordan with wide eyes. “Hey, buddy,” Jordan smiled in greeting at him and sat up.

“You’re wearing dad’s clothes?” Stiles inquired, noticing the uniform and making Jordan chuckle. “Where’ve you been?”

“No,” He huffed and shifted so Stiles could see the front of his uniform and pointed to the nametag on his chest reading Parrish. “It’s my own uniform,”

“You work with Dad now?” Stiles sat up, hair standing on edge and mouth slightly parted.

“Well, it’s more like I work for your dad now, he’s the Sheriff, you know, so he’s my boss,”

“But…” The boy tilted his head, frowning in confusion. “Why?’

“Hm…” Jordan rubbed at his jaw in thought. “Because I thought he could use the help. You know he gets really busy because no one else can take the supernatural cases?”

“Yeah,”

“Yeah, so I thought it would make him less busy if I joined the Sheriff’s Department and took some of those Supernatural cases so he could come home and spend time with you,”

“Is-is that why he picks me up from school and stays with me?”

“That’s right,”

“But then-then you’re at the station, then,”

“That is also correct,” Jordan nodded and got up. “I take the cases in the day and your dad takes them at night after you’ve gone to sleep,”

“So-so-so you come back at night and you’re not at home in the day,”

“Yeah,” He nodded and pulled on his shoes. “Come on, get up and get dressed. Let’s see what Dad’s made for breakfast and then I’ll drop you off at school, okay?” He turned back to the boy who still looked a little confused but nodded at the instructions and shimmied out of his bed and pattered over to the washroom.

There was pancake batter in the fridge, Jordan took it out and added chocolate chips before turning on the coffee machine and began making a healthy stack of chocolate chip pancakes for Stiles. The boy arrived downstairs, dressed and ready to go just as Jordan put his plate down and gave him a glass of milk. Stiles beamed wide at him and sat down at the counter, squirming in delight when Jordan placed a kiss on the top of his head before turning back towards the stove to plate his own pancakes.

Stiles rushed to update Jordan on everything that had happened over the last week, trying to eat without choking and talk to the man, but fumbled when Jordan told him to slow down and that they can talk in the car.

He learned that Scott had realized his dad wasn’t coming back anytime soon and was sad about that, he also learned that the Hales had invited Stiles to go on a full moon run with them or that Lydia got a little dog that was smaller than Stiles’s hands and named it Prada. Isaac had grown two whole inches and Allison started joining them for lunch but everyone was still a little weary around her. Everyone other than Scott, that was, the boy very dumb about social cues. Stiles had asked Derek if he should tell Scott what Allison’s family was, but Derek, the older of the two had been smarter and told him not to say anything since Allison probably did not know and she was too young to be involved in what her family was doing.

“So-so-so he said-he said-” Stiles chattered as Jordan led him out of the house by the hand and locked the door behind him, “-so he said-he said we should give her the-the benefit of the doubt. What does that mean?” He asked as Jordan shepherded him towards his car, buckling him into the back and putting his school bag beside him. Jordan hadn’t thought he’d miss the boy’s chatter so much, feeling lighter already.

“It means trusting someone even though you have some doubts or concerns about them,” Jordan explained and got behind the wheel, pulling on his seatbelt.

“Oh! Okay,” Stiles nodded. “Benefit of doubt means to trust someone even if you have doubts about them,”

“That’s right,”

“Wow, Derek is so smart! Isn’t he so smart, Jordan?”

“Very smart,” Jordan smiled and reversed out of his driveway and onto the road.

“Well, he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed-” Stiles mused making Jordan burst into a fit of laughter that startled the boy before he began giggling with him. “What! It’s true! The other day-the other day he lost his way in the preserves! He lives there, Jordan. He said-Derek said that he felt something and he followed that feeling but then lost it and he got lost too!”

“Well, the preserves are a really big place, buddy,” Jordan huffed and shook his head with fondness blooming against his ribs. “How’s Harry Potter going?”

“Oh my God, Jordan!” Stiles exclaimed, bouncing in his seat and earning a laugh from the man as he explained that the Sheriff was reading to him and the events that had transpired over the course of the second book so far. Stiles wanted to tell him what he thought would happen next but fumbled when the school came into view.

The boy stared out at the building with a crestfallen face, Jordan struggling to hide his own disappointment at the fact that this was all the time he could spend with the boy and parked the car.

“Well, we’re here,” Jordan unbuckled his seat belt and turned around to look at Stiles staring forlornly at the building where all the children were rushing to get to their classes. “Come on, buddy, Derek must be waiting for you,” He tried to smile at the boy, knowing this was all the time they had together, it felt like so little after all the hours they’d used to spend together.

Jordan had to tell himself this was for the better as he got out of the car and opened Stiles’s door, unbuckling his seat belt and helping him off his booster seat, and held out his school bag for him.

“Can I-will I see you later?” Stiles asked, scuffing his toe against the pavement, Jordan kneeling in front of the boy and combing a hand through his hair.

“Sure thing, buddy,” He smiled in reassurance and kissed his forehead, Stiles leaping forward to hug him before running towards the school, stopping midway to turn around and wave to Jordan.

The elder chuckled to himself and waved back, watching him run into the school and disappear beyond the doors.

Returning home, Jordan managed to sleep for a couple more hours before he got up and went for a run, showering and cooking a quick lunch before heading off to the station.

He arrived at the station alive with activity and made his way to the Sheriff’s office, knocking on the door and entering when permitted.

“Ah, Parrish, here already?” The Sheriff glanced up from the file he was rifling through and got up to pack his belongings.

“How’d it go with Argent, sir?” Jordan asked as he closed the door behind him and watched the Sheriff heave a heavy sigh.

“Well, we brought Chris Argent in for questioning, who refused to speak without his lawyer present, and then when we tried to investigate him, he had an air-tight alibi and witness on hand,” The Sheriff leaned against the front of his desk and rubbed at his face. “So we have nothing to detain him with, but I think you’re right that these attacks have something to do with the Argents,” He stated and beckoned him closer as he turned towards his desk.

Jordan covered the space between them and looked down at the pictures the Sheriff laid out before him of the dagger that had been used to kill Lara Summers, and pointed to something at the base of the blade right above the handle. Picking up the picture, Jordan squinted at it and realized it was a fleur-de-lis embossed into the metal.

“This symbol,” The Sheriff stated. “Was on Chris Argent’s bullets. When he brought him in for questioning, he had a gun on him and we had to note exactly what he had, so Clark counted the bullets. That’s when I saw that some of his bullets had this symbol on them,”

“You just brought Chris in for questioning?” Jordan murmured softly as he continued to inspect the symbol.

“Do you think it was someone else?”

“Derek told me that the Argents are matriarchal, I think Argent’s wife or sister is more likely to have done this,” Jordan turned to the Sheriff, uncertainty shining in his eyes to know he had kept the next piece of information from him when it happened. “And-I didn’t tell this to you, but Stiles said that Argent’s sister scared them and kept trying to figure out more about the supernaturals in his class,”

“When was that?” The Sheriff jerked away at the words.

“When the Argents moved to town in December, I filed a harassment complaint against the woman and haven’t heard about her since,”

“Why didn’t you tell me that a woman was harassing my son, Parrish?” Noah demanded and took a step back to arch a brow at his newest Deputy.

“I meant no offense, sir,” Jordan turned to him with a shake of his head, stomach squirming in unease. “I thought the complaint would be enough to deter her and I didn’t want to worry you with this-”

“-Did not want to-!” He scoffed in disbelief and covered his face with his hands to try and calm himself before speaking. “Fine. You know what, fine. Maybe you thought that you would take of this yourself, and that’s fine if it had only concerned Stiles because he’s human, but Jordan, you’re telling me this woman has been looking into and trying to investigate the supernatural children and it didn’t occur to you to tell the Sheriff to keep a watch out on that woman?” The Sheriff demanded, Jordan’s heart sank at the words, lips parting, and stared up at the disbelief in the elder’s eyes tinged with anger in his blue eyes.

“What the hell were you thinking, Parrish?!” He demanded when Jordan didn’t speak. “Had you told me that there was a woman like that out here maybe Summers-!” The Sheriff stopped himself from completing that train of thought when Jordan visibly flinched and stared wide-eyed at his superior.

The Sheriff curled his fingers into a fist and lightly thumped it against the top of his desk and breathed deeply.

“Find me everything you can on this woman, this-this-”

“-Kate Argent,” Jordan supplied in a low murmur.

“Kate Argent,” The Sheriff sighed in defeat and shook his head, and looked towards the younger with disappointment in his eyes. “I expected better from you, Jordan,” He exhaled and grabbed his things before heading out of the office.

Jordan stood in the empty office for a minute longer, back turned to the rest of the bullpen, ignorant to the silence that had fallen over the station to have watched their argument from the windows looking into the office. The deputies shared uncertain glances, not sure what had happened between the two who had been so good for each other just a month ago.

They all went back to their tasks when Jordan lifted his head and walked out of the office and settled at his desk, going about the task the Sheriff had given him.

When the Sheriff came in later in the night for his shift, Jordan had gone home already but left a folder titled with Kate Argent’s name on his desk. Noah sighed at the sight of it and settled in for the night, turning on the lights and pulling the file close to him as he sat down to go through whatever Jordan had found.

Following the discovery of Lara Summer’s body and Chris Argent’s questioning, things had fallen into a lull.

There weren’t any more murder cases nor any serious injuries, but still, over the course of the next few weeks, Jordan found himself occupied with all sorts of Supernatural cases.

Some called for patrolling neighborhoods, investigations into noises or weird sightings, other times Jordan was tasked with overseeing the safe execution of some rite or ritual, or assisting during emergencies like the one time when he had to help get a wayward mermaid out from the park pool and back to her river. That had been a long day, but the mermaid had been a good kid and given Jordan one of her scales as a token of her appreciation.

On the drive, Jordan had asked her what her life was like and if she’d ever encountered any sirens.

Her excited chatter and incessant questioning had reminded him of Stiles, his heart clenching with the longing to see the boy again, knowing it had been weeks since he’d seen him after that day when he’d dropped him at school.

God, he missed Stiles.

When April came around, Jordan knew Stiles's birthday would be on the 8^th, and was a little disheartened to realize he’d be working with it being a weekday, but he’d managed to help the Sheriff get everything ready for his birthday and gave the man his own backyard as an extension to his own for the outdoor celebration they were preparing for.

Jordan knew exactly what he would get the boy for his 10^th birthday, and had gotten it packed and handed it over to the Sheriff to keep safe till the day.

They figured that they should have a Harry Potter theme birthday for Stiles, the Sheriff smuggling things into Jordan’s house in his absence so that the boy wouldn’t come across all the decorations and games till the actual day. Jordan set everything up once he was sure that the Hales had picked him up for school and left.

He hung up the banners of all the houses on the fence, set up the tables and the remaining decoration, and set up the different games, making sure everything was in place before heading back home to get dressed and leave earlier so the Sheriff could get off and pick up Stiles in time.

Arriving at the station, Jordan knocked on the Sheriff’s door and stayed in the doorway of the office.

“You should be leaving, sir,” He reminded the elder who nodded and gathered his things, and began to make his way to the door. “Tell Stiles Happy Birthday from me,” Jordan called after him, missing the way the Sheriff faltered in his step and turned back towards him as if he was going to say something but thought better of it, heading out the door instead while Jordan walked to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee and get down to business.

When Jordan noted the time, he figured that Stiles would be getting him and seeing the whole setup, a smile making its way across his lips to imagine the surprised delight on the boy’s face and could almost picture him jumping around in his excitement. The radio on his shoulder crackling to life shattered the image and drew Jordan’s attention to what was being relayed.

“Parrish, I need your help in downtown,” The Deputy’s radio crackled. “There’s been a car accident between a human and a super, could really use your expertise here,”

“Got it, I’m on my way,” Jordan spoke into the radio and grabbed the keys before making his way to the location that was relayed to him.

The accident wasn’t that bad, someone had rear-ended a Wendigo’s car at a stop sign and was being uncooperative. Jordan had talked to the wendigo, learning he went by the human name Sam and was willing to drop this whole fiasco if he could go home to his pregnant wife, Jordan assuring him that they’d handle the matter quickly and he could be on his way. Turning to the human, Jordan asked him two simple questions.

“What does that sign there say, sir?” He pointed to the stop sign at the curb.

“Stop,”

“Correct, so Sam here followed the law and stopped his car as per road regulations,” Jordan stated. “You were going at 37 mph in a 25 mph area and ended up rear-ending Sam here. Would you prefer we do this here or head down to the station, sir?” He inquired innocently and pulled out his ticket book, giving the man an unblinking stare as he grumbled to himself with hunched shoulders and relented.

Jordan stuck around for the proceedings, staying close to the Wendigo as everything was dealt with before bidding him farewell and heading back to the station.

Arriving back, he took a glance at the clock and smiled to himself to think Stiles’s birthday party would be in full swing now, Jordan settled in to take care of some paperwork with a fondness in his chest just at the thought of the boy’s joy at his birthday.

He had just wrapped up the paperwork when he got the call that someone’s pet Kelpie had gotten loose and was wreaking havoc in the pond in the park.

Jordan had to wonder what was up with the water in that park, knowing that he had rescued the lost mermaid from there and now there was a Kelpie on the loose. Shaking his head, he gathered his belongings and made his way to the park.

The Kelpie, named Storm, belonged to a male siren with dark blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, and broad shoulders, looking distressed at the fact that his horse had been swimming in the public pond and made no effort of heading her owner’s calls.

“Can you tell me what Storm likes? Something we can lure her out with?” Jordan inquired, wringing out his shirt when the horse had sprayed him with water when he had attempted to grab her reins when she had been close enough.

“She likes carrots,” The Siren informed in a deep melodic baritone, Jordan nodding.

“Okay, you try to get her out, I’ll get us some carrots,” He told them and rushed to the nearby market to buy the carrots.

It was almost hilarious how quickly Storm rushed out of the water at the sight of the carrots, speeding towards Jordan and sending him staggering back, toppling to the floor with the vegetable held out before him in the offering. The aquatic horse immediately attacked them with eagerness while her owner ran over to grab her reins.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” The siren exclaimed, helping Jordan off the floor with calloused rough hands and a firm grip.

“Please make sure that you keep a tight hold of Storm here,” Jordan dusted his hands off his thighs, noting that his clothes were just a little damp now; drier than he would have anticipated them to be, before he turned back to the man. “It could have been very dangerous for those around,”

“Of course, I’ll be more careful from now on. Thank you so much for your help, Deputy,”

“You’re welcome,” Jordan smiled. “Have a good day, sir,” He waved over his shoulder and walked back to his cruiser, rubbing at the shoulder which had taken the brunt of his fall and rotated his arm as the pain began to subside.

His clothes were dry by the time he sat down behind the wheel.

“Hey,” Deputy Strauss greeted him when Jordan entered the station. “What happened?”

“A kelpie got loose,” Jordan huffed out a breath and shook his head. “Managed to lure it out with carrots, but boy they sure run fast, scared me half to death,” He shook his head.

“Ouch,”

“I have a newfound respect for the Sheriff for having to go through this every day,”

“What? Like you didn’t respect him before?”

“How can I when I’ve seen the man passed out cold on the sofa and drooling in his sleep,” Jordan snorted with a wink and pushed the doors to the bullpen.

He had barely taken three steps towards his desk when something came rushing at him again and collided with him, the force making him take a step back when slender arms wrapped around his waist and a face buried itself into his solar plexus.

Jordan stood stunned for a second, looking down at the mop of chestnut hair, and looked up to find the Sheriff leaning against the front of his desk, dressed in a navy blue polo that brought out his eyes and dark jeans; giving him a soft smile and helpless shrug as he lowered his eyes to the boy that was hugging him.

“Stiles,” Jordan exhaled, not having realized how hard breathing had been till the boy was in his arms, and pressed a firm hand between his shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of his head. “Hey, buddy,” He greeted in a soft voice, the boy saying something against his shirt that came out unintelligible and muffled.

“What?”

“You didn’t come,” Stiles spoke louder, words coming out a little slurred against the fabric of his uniform, refusing to remove his face from Jordan’s sternum.

“Well, I had to work-”

“-I wanted-I-I wanted,” Stiles's voice took on a sudden pained and wet quality that had Jordan tensing, his lips parting and eyes widening in shock to realize the boy was about to cry. “I wanted you to be there-” He managed to whimper out, shoulder bunched up to his ears and hands trembling where he was gripping Jordan’s uniform.

“Hey, come here,” Jordan soothed and crouched down to lift the boy in his arms, cradling his face to the crook of his neck. “Come here, baby, let’s get some fresh air, okay?” He cooed at him and carried him past the Sheriff and out of the station towards the back.

Jordan held the boy close, stroking down his back and letting him sniffle into his shoulder, the boy’s grip unrelenting on his uniform as he hiccupped into the crook of his neck.

“You didn’t like your party?” Jordan asked after a while, leaning against one of the cars.

“I liked it,” Stiles sniffled. “But I kept waiting for you to come,”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, baby,” Jordan stroked back Stiles’s hair and kissed his temple.

He wanted to say he was working or say that he wasn’t sure what he would have done at a child’s party, but none of them were the truth and he didn’t want to lie to the boy.

“I really wanted to be there for your birthday,” He confided to him, pressing his cheek to the top of Stiles’s head, knowing that throughout the day he had kept staring at the clock and wondering what they would be doing and if Stiles was having fun. The desire to be there burned at a low simmer in his chest. “But a wendigo got into a car crash and then a siren lost her kelpie-”

“-You met a siren?” Stiles gasped and leaned back far enough to stare in wide eyes shocked at him, Jordan beamed at the question and nodded. “What do they look like? Oh my God! You met a Siren!”

“I sure did,” Jordan nodded and combed Stiles’s hair with his fingers. “Well, the siren was a man with dark blonde hair and blue eyes and really strong hands. His kelpie had come running at me and made me fall back, and that’s not all! The Kelpie sprayed me with water because I tried to grab its reins to get it out of the pond!”

“The Kelpie went into the pond?” Stiles gasped, awe shining in his whiskey eyes and mouth agape. “It sprayed water on you?” He asked with a giggle.

“Yup! I looked like a wet cat,” Jordan exaggerated, beaming when the boy’s giggle morphed into delighted laughter. “My hair was in my eyes and my uniform was sticking to me. There was water in my shoes! It was so uncomfortable running to the store to get carrots for the Kelpie so we could lure it out, and the moment it saw the carrots it came racing right at me!”

“And then?”

“It was so fast that I got scared it would trample me and I fell trying to get away, I curled up on the floor trying to protect myself, but the Kelpie stopped right above me and ate the carrots from my hand as if it was completely innocent!” Jordan exclaimed in amplified shock, the words and expressions making Stiles giggle and shake with his laughter in Jordan’s arms. “Then Storm’s – the Kelpie’s name was Storm – her owner came and took hold of her and pulled her away from me,”

“Did you pet Storm?”

“No, I didn’t pet Storm, but she had a mane of seaweed so I think she’d feel wet and slimy,” Jordan shuddered and turned around to put Stiles on top of the cruiser’s bumper, the boy giggling at the words.

“Tell me more! Tell me more!”

Jordan told him about the time Bjorn the Berserker had been teaching his daughter how to channel her ferocity and scared his neighbor who lived three houses down from him with wide grand arm gestures. He talked about the one time a group of gypsies tried making brownies and ended up burning down their kitchen instead. Jordan told him about the little mermaid he had rescued from the park pond and drove her back to her river in a very large fish tank and talked to her throughout the drive.

“You know, she reminded me of you,” Jordan confessed and cupped Stiles’s face in his hands, rubbing his thumb over his cheek.

“Really? How come?”

“Hm…she was just as curious as you are, and she asked me a lot of questions as you do, and she loved to talk, too, so that made me think of you,”

“Do you miss me?” Stiles teased with a mischievous grin, Jordan’s eyes squinting with his smile as he swallowed and nodded.

“All the time,” He confessed and ruffled Stiles’s hair, the boy scrunching his nose at the gesture before looking up at the sadness in Jordan’s eyes when his lips were pulled into a smile and swallowed before reaching out to hug the elder around the shoulder.

“I miss you, too,” Stiles whispered into his collar. “All the time, Jordan, can’t you quit and come home?”

“I can’t buddy,” Jordan wrapped him tighter in his arms and stroked his back, knowing that the last time he got to talk to him was weeks ago. “Your dad needs my help here. There are so many supernatural cases that come in every day, and your dad is all alone dealing with those and the human cases too. With me here, I can help with supernatural cases since they know me. Everyone else from the department offends them,”

“Did Dad ask you to help him?”

“No, I-” Jordan faltered as he recalled his ‘interview’ and gave Stiles a sheepish smile. “I kind of blackmailed him into hiring me, because I knew he needed all the help he could get,”

“You blackmailed Dad?” Stiles stared wide-eyed at Jordan as if seeing him in a new light. “Wow…that’s-that’s really brave of you,”

“Well, your dad thinks I spent too much time with you and picked up on your habits,” Jordan teased, scrunching his nose as he tapped the tip of Stiles’ nose, making the boy cross-eyed at the gesture before he giggled. “Should we go back inside now?” He asked as he adjusted his hold on the boy and carried him inside, heart-melting when he rested his head under Jordan’s chin and nuzzled into his neck, griping tight at his uniform.

God, how he’d missed this boy, Jordan thought to himself as he pushed open the doors and made his way back to his desk.

The Sheriff was talking to the Deputy Sheriff, clapping him on the back signaling the end of their conversation when Jordan returned and watched him put Stiles down on the floor. The boy refuses to release Jordan as if he were afraid of him disappearing.

Noah watched pain flash in Jordan’s eyes as he wrapped his arms around the boy’s back and gave him a tight hug. The Sheriff’s heart sank at the look and crossed his arms over his chest as he swallowed thickly.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” Jordan murmured and kissed his temple, regret a palpable force around him as he let out a deep exhale and began to untangle himself from the boy who whimpered to be pushed away. “Go to Dad now, okay? I’ll see you later,” He smiled, trying to reassure the boy as he gently nudged him in the direction of the Sheriff, still crouched before the boy.

Stiles hesitated, turning from Jordan to his dad before looking back at Jordan with desperation in his eyes, silently begging him not to send him away.

“I’ll see you later, okay, Stiles?” Jordan murmured lowly to the boy, trying to reassure him to the best of his abilities. “Then you can tell me all about your birthday party,”

“You promise?” Stiles asked as he made his way to his dad and took hold of his hand, keeping his gaze fixed on Jordan as if the man would disappear.

“Mhm,” The deputy nodded with a smile and stood up, waving to him and watching the Sheriff take the boy out of the station. The other deputies called their farewell and well wishes to the birthday boy.

Jordan swallowed the lump in his throat, letting out a slow exhale to ground himself, and turned to his desk to get back to work, knowing that he had no guarantee about when he could sit down and listen to Stiles’s narration, having to console the boy and himself with empty words.

Chapter 13: Accord

Chapter Text

For his birthday, Stiles had gotten a set of 6 two-way radios from Jordan.

He had been so stunned at the present that he had almost missed the note attached to it, Derek picking it up and holding it out to him.

The note first wished him a happy birthday and then gave step-by-step instructions on how to operate the radios in Jordan’s straight neat writing. He went on to say that radios were cooler than phones and that Stiles could give the other 5 to his friends since Jordan had manipulated their firmware to be audible over longer distances. Stiles had jumped eagerly and put one in Derek’s hand, then Scott, Lydia, Isaac, and Kira, holding the last one himself as they spent the rest of the day running around the house and testing them out.

Their spy games became so much more exciting with the addition of the radios.

Stiles never went anywhere without his radio, Noah chuckling to himself as he watched his son scuttle behind the shop aisles and peer around the edge as if he were being followed. The radio was held close to his mouth and his eyes flittering around the store.

“All clear, over,” Stiles spoke into the radio.

“These radios are so cool!” Isaac squealed from his frequency.

“Dude! You’re supposed to say over at the end! Over,” Scott chastised.

“Oh! These radios are so cool! Over,”

“Hey, guys,” Kira’s voice came on the radio, Stiles listening to them speaking as he made his way around the store looking for his dad. “Is Jordan moving? Over,”

Stiles froze at the words, heart dropping to his feet and running dry, mind racing with unanswered questions.

“Where’d you hear that? Over,” Lydia’s voice asked.

“My mom just left saying she’s going to be showing apartments to Jordan and said that she had no idea he was thinking of moving out of Grandma Mary’s house,” Kira enlightened. “Over,”

“Stiles, did you know about this?” Derek inquired as Stiles swallowed the dryness in his throat and shook his head, gaze darting through the aisles in a desperate search for his dad.

Where was his dad? His dad would know if Jordan was moving, right? Why would-why would Jordan move?

“Stiles?” The voice from the radio inquired, the boy ignored the calls of his friends and whirled around, running through the store looking for his dad.

“Dad? Dad!” He called panic drowning his lungs and sent his heart skittering in an erratic rhythm till his dad stepped out from one of the aisles, eyes wide and looking for him.

“Stiles?”

“Dad!” Stiles collided with him when he was unable to stop himself in time, gripping the front of his shirt and looking up with a heaving chest, and stared up at him with wide eyes. “Dad! Jordan is moving!”

“Who told you that?” The Sheriff’s brows furrowed at the statement and steadied his son.

“Kira’s mom told Kira that she was going to show Jordan apartments,” Stiles shook his dad, eyes wide with panic. “Dad, Jordan is moving!”

“We don’t know that, kiddo, maybe he just wants to see what the real estate is like in Beacon Hills,”

“But-but-!”

“-Tell you what, when we see him, we can ask him, okay?” Noah suggested, startled by how torn up Stiles was at the mere prospect. “We can ask him,”

Stiles gnawed at his bottom lip, trembling with his anxiety over the thought that Jordan would leave, and struggled to catch his breath. “Dad, I don’t want him to move,” He whined.

“Hey, hey,” The Sheriff knelt before him. “Breathe, buddy, breathe with me,” Noah exaggerated his breaths till Stiles copied him, still clutching onto his sleeves and hanging his head low.

“Let’s finish shopping and go home, and the moment Jordan gets back, we can ask him, okay?” He assured, Stiles petulantly rubbing at his eyes and nodded in confirmation.

“Okay,”

“Okay,” The Sheriff straightened and took Stiles’s hand in his own and finished their weekly shopping. He watched Stiles talk into his 2-way radio, half-heartedly wondering why Jordan would get him something like that, amusing himself with the thought that maybe Jordan was aiming to recruit Stiles for the military. The idea made him choke down on his laughter to think that his boy would be horrible with authority and they’d keep needing to discipline him for talking back.

Noah wondered why Jordan was looking into apartments, had something happened that made him want to move out of his grandmother’s house?

Jordan had been working at the station for a little over four months now, and he could count how many minutes they spent together on one hand. It was so strange, to go from having the man in his house multiple times a week, to barely interacting with him for a few minutes over the entirety of the course of a week, and they worked together. He didn’t know how he was getting along with the other deputies or if he was having any issues or if he was overwhelmed by the workload.

It made something unpleasant squirm in his chest to know that they had become so distant as to not know what was going on with him anymore.

Their shifts had been arranged in such a way that neither of them crossed paths ever, the Sheriff worked four days a week, while Jordan was at the station for five and on call during the weekend. All of this, so that Noah could spend the day with Stiles. He appreciated it, there was no way he could describe how much he enjoyed being able to spend time with his boy like this, not having realized how much he’d grown and how much smarter and perceptive he was – creepily so – and knowing that Claudia would be delighted in how much their son was grown.

It left an ache in his heart, knowing that his wife didn’t get to see all that Stiles is and would become. Noah had done everything he could to take care of and provide for his son and that had led to long and grueling working hours. Until Jordan came along and somehow made the boy bloom more, but now, he took on the Sheriff’s workload so that Noah could be there for Stiles.

Noah wondered if things would be different had Stiles not been scared after what happened with Scott. He knew that Rafael didn’t mean to hurt his son, but he had, and he could understand Stiles’s logic behind it and knew it was more complicated than that. He wondered if Jordan would be working at the station if that didn’t happen, or if he’d spend his days doing DIY home projects and entertaining Stiles whenever the boy would show up.

He wondered if things would be different if Noah was able to communicate to Jordan why he pushed him away. If he could make that distance between them disappear.

Returning home, they noticed that Jordan’s car wasn’t in the driveway, so to distract Stiles from his jittering, he had the boy help him put the groceries away with him and discuss the menu for the week. Even then, Jordan hadn’t returned.

It wasn’t until they were about to start dinner when Stiles peeked out the front window and gasped, his voice ringing through the entire house as he grabbed his dad and tugged him away from the kitchen counter and towards the back door.

“He’s here! Dad, he’s here!” He exclaimed, releasing Noah’s sleeve and running across their yard, and opening the fence door with a bang before rushing towards Jordan’s deck.

“Stiles!” Noah hissed after him, struggling to fit his feet into his shoes before stumbling after him.

Noah watched Stiles tug open the deck door, his exclamation of the younger’s name ringing out of the house just as the Sheriff came stumbling into the doorway, bracing the edge and watching his breath.

“Are you moving away?” Stiles demanded staring out ahead of him.

“Stiles!” He tried to admonish and looked up to find Jordan standing in his walk-in closet with a t-shirt in his hand and a towel wrapped around his waist, blinking at the father-son duo across from him with his hair in his face and drops of water sliding down the front of his lean, muscled torso. The sight of the man standing bare chested, and most definitely naked under the towel had Noah’s face heating before he grabbed his son by the shoulder and shepherded him out of the room and towards the living room. “We’ll wait in the lounge.” He called over his shoulder and deposited his son on the couch.

Stiles grumbled at being manhandled, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest and curling into himself while Noah heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the interior of the house and faltered to notice the addition of photo frames around the place.

Walking over to the bookshelf, he peered at the frames, one housed an old black and white wedding photo, of a couple Noah presumed to be Jordan’s parents. Then there was one of Grandma Mary with a newborn bundle in her arms, another of Jordan’s mother with a toddler Jordan held in her arms, and one of him on his high school graduation in the cap and gown with his dad. There was another of Jordan in uniform, sitting in a circle of fellow soldiers, a few more of the army taking up the space on top before the Sheriff moved to the other bookshelf. He couldn’t help but huff a laugh at the sight of the pictures they had gifted him on Christmas framed and placed on top.

The one from their hiking trip was there, as was a picture of Jordan and Noah cooking together, both of them peering over their shoulder at the camera in startled surprise. Another of Noah with a crossword in his hand, frowning at the puzzle, and then the one of Jordan and Stiles asleep on the couch.

Noah let out a stuttering breath as he picked up the last picture on the mantle of the three of them at the park: Jordan carrying Stiles who clung to his chest and peered over his shoulder, a smile split wide on his face in laughter, with Noah chasing after them in a game of tag, grinning from ear to ear. He remembered having asked one of the mothers there to get a few pictures of them. He still remembers taking the phone back from the woman for her to smile at him and tell him that he had a beautiful family, Noah had flushed and let out a startled laugh, and now he could see what the woman meant.

They did look like a family.

“You’re not picking my locks,” Jordan’s words announced his arrival, the Sheriff flinching at the suddenness of his voice before putting the frame back in its place. “You don’t have the key to my deck door, and I know for a fact that I had locked it. How are you opening these doors?” He asked with his hands on his hips, dressed in jeans and a dark v-neck, raising an eyebrow at the boy who jumped off the couch and stood in front of him.

“Are you moving away?” Stiles asked.

“I’m not answering that till you tell me how you’re getting into my house,”

“The locks don’t work,” He answered readily and shuffled in his place, staring up at Jordan with trembling fingers. “Are you moving?” Stiles demanded as Noah came to stand behind him, Jordan sparing him a glance before looking down at the boy.

“What do you mean the locks don’t work? They get locked just fine-”

“-Kira said her mom showed you apartments!” Stiles shrieked, heart pounding and breath coming out faster, fingers curled into fists, and tears gathering in his eyes as his chest heaved. “Why-why are you-why are you looking at apartments? Why are you moving-?”

Jordan’s gaze softened, the man sighing as he braced his thighs and lowered himself to the floor, sitting down cross-legged in the center of the space, and took hold of Stiles by the wrist and brought him closer. Noah sat down on the armrest of the couch, watching Jordan rub his thumb over the veins on the underside of Stiles’s wrist.

“I’m thinking about it,” Jordan murmured. Noah straightened at the words while Stiles whimpered.

“Why?” Noah found himself asking, Jordan flickering his gaze to the Sheriff and sighing with a shrug.

“I…” He tried to explain, looking away and rubbing the skin of Stiles’s wrist, and sighed as he looked up at the father and son. “This place is wasted on me. Its three bedrooms with a backyard and I am just one man. Maybe the next person to move in here would have a family, and they could play with you?” Jordan suggested to Stiles with a closed-lipped smile.

“I don’t want someone else moving in!” Stiles stomped his feet, tears brimming in his eyes and voice warbling. “No! You’re already so busy at the station and I don’t get to see you and now you want to move away? Why?” He demanded, Jordan rubbing at the back of his neck as his gaze flickered to the Sheriff who could only watch in stunned silence at the words, the look on the man’s face showing his disbelief.

“Because I thought moving into a smaller place would be more economical, maybe someplace closer to the station,”

“Then come stay with us! We have-we have one more room and-and-and-” He stammered, face contorting to see the softness of Jordan’s eyes as he combed back Stiles’s hair. “Dad?” He turned to his father for assistance to convince Jordan-

“-I couldn’t do that, buddy,” Jordan shook his head and released his hold on the boy when Stiles squirmed and shrugged him off.

“Why? Why can’t you just-why can’t you stay?”

“I am staying, buddy, I’m just thinking about moving closer to the station, nothing else. I’m not leaving-”

“-You are! You’re moving away! You’re-” Stiles whined, tears choking him as he whimpered, whirling around and burying his face into his father’s stomach and hiccupped.

Jordan’s heart clenched at Stiles’s distress, wanting to reach out to the boy and comfort him but realized he probably didn’t want that right now and could only sigh as he got up from the floor and dusted off his pants.

“Stiles,” He tried the boy whimpering and shaking his head. “I haven’t even decided if I’ll move, I was just looking at apartments, nothing more,”

“But you want to go,” Stiles sniffled and clutched at his dad who put a grounding hand on Stiles’s shoulder.

“Just looking at apartments doesn’t mean that he’ll move or that he even wants to go,” The Sheriff tried to explain and soothe his son, knowing that the thought of Jordan moving was what distressed him beyond comfort. “Just because you look at something in the store doesn’t mean you’re going to buy it, right?” He looked to Jordan who nodded in confirmation.

“Yeah,” Jordan stepped forward and combed his fingers through Stiles’s hair. “Just because I’m looking at apartments doesn’t mean I’m moving away,”

“Promise?” Stiles sniffled and peeked up at Jordan with tears clumping his eyelashes together.

“Well, I can’t promise I won’t move eventually, but I can promise that I won’t move without letting you know first, okay?”

Stiles pulled a face at that, grumbling in distaste before pulling away from his dad to go and hug Jordan. The man knelt on the floor so he was more level with the boy, allowing Stiles to put his head on Jordan’s shoulder and wrap his arms around his neck while Jordan’s arms wrapped around Stiles’s back, holding him close and murmuring reassurances into his hair.

Noah’s heart clenched, knowing this was a sight he was used to. Not Jordan’s absence from both of their personal lives. Stiles was so taken and comfortable with the man, that he would always ask his dad how Jordan was doing, but Noah never had an answer for him because he didn’t actually interact with the man.

The sheriff rubbed at the back of his neck, thinking that maybe it was time to change things. Suck it up and talk to him. Boy, he could already hear Jordan’s scathing anger when he’d try to explain.

“Hey, kiddo, could you give us a minute?” Noah asked of Stiles who pulled away from Jordan and frowned at his father.

“Why?” He narrowed his eyes, clutching at Jordan’s t-shirt while Noah grimaced and stumbled to come up with an excuse “What do you want to say?”

“He wants to talk to me about the case we’re working on,” Jordan stated, Noah’s lips parting to know that Jordan didn’t even know what he wanted to talk about but was more than ready to cover for him, no questions asked. The realization made his heart patter in his chest. “And official business is no Stiles business,” He teased the boy, tickling his sides and making him giggle.

“Ha, you can try, but I’ll find out eventually,” He huffed and rolled his eyes, pulling away from Jordan and heading toward the man’s bedroom. “I’m using your swings,” He called over his shoulder and waved.

Both of them watched him leave until they heard the telltale sound of the door clicking shut. Jordan straightened from his place on the floor and walked over to his kitchen, the wall back up now that Stiles wasn’t there as a buffer.

“Coffee?”

“Preferably something stronger, if you have it?”

“Sorry, I don’t keep alcohol,” Jordan stated and switched on his coffee maker before grabbing two mugs. “I can drink my weight in liquor and be completely alright. I don’t know why, so I don’t keep alcohol in the house,”

“Coffees good then,” The Sheriff tilted his head at the words, wondering how that was possible for a human. Both of them were silent as they waited for the beverage to brew.

Noah muttered a quick thanks when Jordan handed him a polka-dotted green mug, the Sheriff grinned at the sight of the mug and realized that Jordan knew this was his favorite one because it had the little ceramic fox attached to the bottom inside which would appear as he finished his coffee. Jordan’s own mug was a matching one in navy blue with a little ceramic dragon at the bottom.

Taking their mugs, Jordan led the way to the dining room, Noah taking a seat at the table, while Jordan settled into the window seat, curling up in the corner and sipping at the bitter beverage. Both of them sipped in silence till the Sheriff broke it.

“What’s the real reason for you looking into apartments?” He asked, Jordan looking at him from over the mouth of his mug and lowering it with a sigh, tilting his head back till his neck stood out in an elegant arch and the back of his head touched the window. Noah swallowed at the expanse of skin, the urge to lick it intruding in his mind – wondering if he’d be just as arm as he usually is – the Sheriff beating back the thought with a large gulp of the scalding liquid, burning his tongue.

“Honestly?” Jordan sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m tired of coming back to a cold and empty house. So I thought a smaller place would help with that and asked Mrs. Yukimura to show me some apartments. I should have known Kira would tell Stiles, but I didn’t think she would be able to convey this till Monday,” He shrugged and lowered his head with a soft smile, leaning into the edge of the window at the Sheriff’s startled look.

Jordan was lonely, the Sheriff realized with a sharp exhale. His sole company for the last few months had been the kids, and Noah himself had been his only adult company till everything went wrong. But since he’d become a deputy he was busy with the job and didn’t have time for socializing. The sudden realization that Jordan was alone hit him like a ton of bricks to the ribs. Noah and Stiles had each other, they had the Hales and the McCalls, but Jordan didn’t have any of that. An only child whose mother passed when he was about as old as Stiles, and a workaholic father who worked himself to an early grave while Jordan had been deported, only for him to return from the war and learn that his last family member had died in his absence, and no friends to speak of.

God, Noah thought with a sharp exhale, it must be terribly lonely for Jordan.

“Then move in with us-” He began, recalling Stiles’s suggestion that Jordan moves into the downstairs bedroom, knowing that doing so would take care of half of the problems.

Jordan’s sudden laughter had the man falter, Jordan putting his mug on the table to keep himself from spilling it as he clutched at his stomach and curled into himself, shoulders trembling with his mirth as he shook his head.

“I mean no offense, sir,” Jordan straightened and wiped the stray tear from the corner of his eye, and looked at him with a smile that was all teeth. “But last I recall, it was you who pushed me away,”

“Jordan-” The Sheriff flinched at the words, knowing they had to address this, and soon.

“-You avoided me, made excuses, and lied to me,” Jordan recalled, the Sheriff wincing at each action being listed. “All without any real reason out of nowhere, and when I confronted you about it, you didn’t have any explanation for me, sir. What else was I supposed to think other than the fact that you want me to stay away from you? Why else do you think our shifts don’t overlap, even a little?” He huffed and picked up his mug, cradling it in the palms of his hands, and pressed his back into the window as he gave a vacant stare to the Sheriff.

Noah knew this would be hard, but he didn’t think it’d be this hard and swallowed thickly before combing a hand through his hair.

“Just tell me,” Jordan began softly, gaze trained on the black liquid in his mug, seeing the head of the little dragon peak out from under the liquid. “You started acting differently after Christmas. Did you-were you pretending? All this time?” His voice lowered, sounding frail and ephemeral, Noah’s heart clenching at the question.

“God, no, not at all. I wasn’t pretend,”

“Then what happened? Did I do something?” Jordan peeked up at him, confusion visible in his green eyes.

“No,” Noah tried to reassure and swallowed thickly, knowing he had to come clean either now or never. “No, it was nothing you did. It’s just…at-you remember Christmas at the Hales?”

“Yeah?”

“When-when we were on their deck?”

“Yes,”

“Yeah, you-you were talking to Stiles, trying to tell him that one missed birthday was no big deal and I just-I watched you with my son. I noticed this before too, but you’re-you’re great with him, and you-ha, even though you adore him, somehow, I knew you were always on my side. You snuck me cake and sweets and covered for me and watched after Stiles when I got busy at the station and I just-I just looked at you and my-I-” He struggled to explain, heart thundering loud in his chest and peeked up at Jordan with flushed cheeks and saw the man staring back with furrowed eyebrows, not understanding what he was driving at. “And I-I looked at you and I felt safe. I felt like-like I was back home and I felt settled looking at you and the-the last time I felt like that Jordan, was with my Claudia,” He explained in a breathless rush, looking at Jordan from beneath his lashes and watching the man straighten at the words, eyes widening with the implications and red traveling up his neck to his ears.

“You-”

“-Yeah,”

“Oh,”

“Yeah,” The Sheriff scratched at his nape, looking away, too afraid to see the emotions play out on Jordan’s face, and continued speaking just to fill in the sudden silence. “And I-I got scared. I got scared because I-I felt like that for Claudia and I-she was my wife, Jordan, we had Stiles together, and I-I’m-I’m not ready to let her go,” He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head, gripping at the shin he’d crossed over his knee, and ducked his head.

“I’m not ready to let Claudia go, Jordan, I’m not-I’m not ready-” He shook his head, heart clenching with the sudden fear that gripped him, chest tight and throat clogged.

Noah never heard Jordan move. He never heard him put his mug down and stand up, but the next thing he knew, Jordan’s fingers were in his hair and he was holding him close. Every single knot in Noah’s body loosened at the contact, his arms coming around Jordan’s waist and pressing his palms flat to his back, nuzzling his forehead to Jordan’s sternum and feeling himself sag in the warmth and security the man provided. A shuddering breath escaped the Sheriff at the strength this man was, so solid and firm, capable of holding all of him. A pillar. Noah pressed his hands firmer into Jordan’s back, making the man shuffle closer so he stood between the Sheriff’s spread legs and held him close, fingers combing through his hair and cheek resting on the top of his head, just playing with the brown tresses.

It wasn’t until everything stopped on its axis around them that Noah realized how much he’d missed this.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, the sound of Noah’s phone buzzing to life on the dining table having him groan and bury his face deeper into the firm muscles of Jordan’s abdomen, making the younger huff out an amused laugh.

“Who is Cruella De Vil?” Jordan frowned at the contact name and picked up the ringing device.

“Talia Hale,” The Sheriff muffled into Jordan’s t-shirt. “Get it for me?” He slurred, suddenly feeling so tired, soothed by Jordan’s warmth.

“Noah!” The man above him choked on his laughter, coughing to clear his throat, and picked up the call. “Good evening, Mayor, Jordan Parrish here. The Sheriff is away from the phone at the moment, can I take a message for-?” He greeted into the phone, Noah snorting his own laugh into Jordan’s shirt and turned into goo at the way Jordan scratched through his hair and at his scalp, sending a shiver of pleasure through him, and making him go deaf to whatever Jordan was saying to the mayor.

It wasn’t until Jordan ended the call and put the device down, his fingers stopping their magic in Noah’s hair that he found himself returning back to the present.

“What’d she want on a Sunday?” Noah tilted back far enough to keep his hold on Jordan’s side and look up at the man frowning at the device.

“Chris Argent contacted her,” Jordan looked at the Sheriff with his striking green eyes alive. “He’s asked her to meet with him to negotiate a peace treaty between them. She’s asked for the both of us to be present there,”

“As backup or witnesses?”

“I don’t know. Both?”

The Sheriff sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, and pushed his seat far enough for him to stand. The sudden change in position had Jordan lean back, he reached out to brace his weight against the edge of the table but ended up nearly tipping the half-finished coffee mug over the edge. With a sharp inhale, Jordan lunged to right his ceramics, weight misbalanced and sending him teetering to the side. Noah immediately wrapped his hands around Jordan’s waist, tugging him up to straighten him. The younger let out a sound of surprise at the firmness of the hold, the sheriff miscalculating how much strength he’d need and ended up pulling Jordan to him till they were almost flushed together. Jordan’s hands rested on Noah’s chest to maintain his stability. Both of them looked at each other, slightly winded and lips parted at the events of a minute ago.

Their noses were brushing.

Jordan’s gaze lowered to his parted lips, a soft pink and lightly chapped from the amount of coffee the Sheriff drank and didn’t compensate with enough water. The sight of them made him lick his lips and inadvertently draw Noah’s gaze to his own mouth. The Sheriff swallowed thickly at how tempting his lips looked, the urge to cover that scant distance and taste him for himself reared its head. It didn’t help matters that he could feel the warmth of Jordan’s fingers on his chest through his clothes, or the fact that Noah could touch his fingertips wrapped around Jordan’s waist – unsure if his hands were big, or if Jordan had a small waist, or if it was both. The realization that he could probably lift Jordan off his feet like this made him light-headed and put ideas into his head.

Noah didn’t realize he’d leaned in a fraction closer till Jordan mirrored him, both of them looking away from the other's mouth to lock eyes. The Sheriff’s soft baby blues against Jordan’s forest greens. The younger must have seen something in there, because the next thing he knew, Jordan had removed his hands from the Sheriff’s chest and took a step back, his neck flushing and coloring the apples of his cheek. Noah took a step back as well, turning away with heat searing through his ears, and scratched at his nape in sudden discomfort, shocked that he had almost kissed the younger when they’d barely just made up.

“Did-uh-did she say where?” The Sheriff’s voice came out a little unsteady till he cleared his throat and looked back at Jordan’s blank gaze, the man blinking in confusion. “Mayor Hale?” He clarified co*cked his chin towards the phone on the table, seeing recognition relight Jordan’s eyes; a part of Noah was relieved to know that he wasn’t the only one who’d gone dumb from their proximity a moment ago.

“Beacon Hills High School, believe it or not,” Jordan huffed a laugh, staring at the device before looking up at the Sheriff, trying to shake away the sensation of the man’s palms engulfing his waist. “Better put on your uniform, Sheriff, duty calls,” He lilted and took their mugs to the kitchen to just have something to do with the hands that still carried the sensation of Noah’s shirt on the palms.

“Brat,” The Sheriff wrinkled his nose at Jordan, suddenly feeling so much lighter as if the weight of a mountain had been taken off his shoulder, the younger laughing at his words. “Ask Stiles if he wants to go to the Hales for me?”

“Why ask? We already know he’d be up for it in a heartbeat,” Jordan shook his head in amusem*nt and watched the Sheriff head out the door while he made his way to his bedroom to get changed into his own uniform.

Stiles's excitement for going to the Hales was unmatched. They took Jordan’s car since it had the booster seat already installed in it, but the younger tossed his keys to the Sheriff who grumbled that he had to drive while Jordan settled Stiles into the back seat. Through the drive to the preserves, Stiles thanked Jordan for the two-way radios and told him it made their games so much cooler and kept dragging Derek into his conversation through the radio.

“Aren’t I right, Der-bear?” Stiles beamed as he pressed the side of his radio to speak into it, Jordan biting his lip to keep from laughing at the endearing nickname.

“I’m sure you are, but right about what?” Derek’s voice crackled through the radio, Stiles rolling his eyes.

“That these radios are the best!”

“Oh, yeah, then yeah you’re right, they’re really cool,”

“See, Jordan!” Stiles bounced in his seat, beaming wide at the man who grinned back at him. “Say thank you to Jordan, Der,” Stiles instructed and held out the radio for the elder to take it.

“Thank you,” Derek’s voice sighed from the other end, the fond exasperation audible through the static.

“You’re welcome, Der-bear,” Jordan spoke back with a grin, earning himself a full-bellied laugh from the Sheriff when they heard the flustered shrieking from the young werewolf before Jordan handed the radio back to Stiles. The boy tells his mate that they were on their way to the Hale House for the werewolf to calm down.

“How come we’re going to the Hales?” Stiles asked from the back, fiddling with the radio.

“Mayor Hale asked to see us,” The Sheriff informed as he turned onto the road leading into the preserves.

“Getting called to the principal’s office, Dad?”

“I was called too,” Jordan huffed a laugh at the boy’s words.

“Tsk-tsk, such trouble makers,” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Detention, for the both of you,”

“Yes, yes,” Jordan laughed and reached back to tickle the boy and make him giggle in delight, missing the fondness the Sheriff regarded them with as he parked the car in front of the Hale House where Derek was standing with his parents. “Oh, look at that, Der-bear was waiting for you,” He cooed and watched the young werewolf flush in embarrassment, no doubt having heard him, while Stiles unbuckled his seat belt and threw open the cruiser doors, jumping out and running towards his mate.

Derek met him halfway, wrapping him up in a hug and scent-marking him as Jordan and Noah joined them from the cruiser, both of them greeting Talia and Alexander Hale with a bow. They waved to Stiles as the boy went running inside with Derek before the Mayor stepped close to them.

“I’ll follow the both of you in my car,” She informed them before turning to her husband and kissing him in farewell, nuzzling under his chin and caressing his cheek before making her way towards her car with the two officers following.

“Should I call for backup, ma’am?” The Sheriff inquired, not sure what to expect from a man like Chris Argent.

“No, I don’t think we’d be needing the additional manpower. He said he’d be coming alone,”

“I still think we should keep men on standby, just in case,” Jordan suggested, the werewolf turning to him and considering his words before giving a nod.

“Let’s do that then,” She nodded to the both of them and headed towards her car, Jordan and Noah heading to Jordan’s cruiser while the Sheriff relayed the order on his radio before getting behind the wheel.

They drove in silence, the Mayor following behind their cruiser.

The weather was wonderful, Jordan noticed, not too hot with a cool breeze rustling through the trees, some random pop song playing on the radio with Noah drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. The elder’s words plagued Jordan as he rolled them through his mind as they drove towards the high school.

Jordan had been attracted to the Sheriff from the first time he’d seen him, attracted to the broad physical structure of him until he got to talk to the man and get to know him and uncover that beautiful heart of gold he kept hidden. The way he adored his son kept him disciplined as well, and how dedicated he was to providing and being there for his boy to the extent that he took Jordan’s help when he told him about Stiles’s fears. Jordan had been sure he’d need to do a lot more convincing. They’d been through so much together, Jordan’s shut down, Noah’s grief, Stiles’s excitability, but they’d navigated everything together.

When Noah had distanced himself, what had hurt the most was that Jordan had lost his best friend without any reasonable explanation. Then working in the same place as him, but never crossing paths made him feel like they were on two parallel trains, bound to never intersect.

“You know,” Jordan began softly as he continued to look out his window. “I would never ask you to let go of Claudia,” He turned to the Sheriff, noticing the way he tensed at the words.

“I-I can understand that all this must be overwhelming and scary, no doubt, and so confusing because you’re not alone,” He continued before the Sheriff could stop him and turned to look at his side profile. “And its-this is all very new to me too, but Noah, I would never ask you to let go of your wife. She’s Stiles's mother, I would never ask that of you, she’s a part of you, your love, and I respect that.”

“You’ve got quite the timing, Parrish, to bring this up when I’m driving,” The Sheriff grumbled with no heat, making the younger grin and giggle to himself.

“All I’m saying,” Jordan shook his head and combed his fingers through his hair. “All I’m saying is that we don’t have to rush into anything, at all, let’s just-let’s just start with friends, okay? Then we can work our way up from there at a pace both of us are comfortable with. How does that sound?”

He saw Noah sag into the seat, letting out a slow exhale and nodding to himself with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” He nodded as he pulled into the parking lot of the high school. “Yeah, let’s do that,”

“Good,” Jordan nodded as he unbuckled himself. “Let’s go meet Chris Argent and hope he gives me an excuse to punch him,”

“Jordan!”

“What? I’ve wanted to punch him since the first time I saw him,” He shrugged innocently and got out of the car, the Sheriff shaking his head in fond exasperation, not having realized how much he’d missed this easy comradery between them till there had been a wall separating them.

Talia Hale followed behind them, the three of them meeting Chris in the first classroom, and as the man had said he was alone.

“Can I search him?” Jordan whispered to the Sheriff with an eager spark in his eyes, the elder giving him a flat look while Talia raised an eyebrow at the man’s question. “Please?”

The Sheriff sighed at the pleading and gestured to the man at the other end of the classroom.

“Mr. Argent, if you’d kindly put your arms to your side so I may search you for any weapons,” Jordan walked towards him from between the rows of desks. The man in question raised an eyebrow and held out his arms to his side.

“I don’t have any weapons-” He began and hissed when Jordan grabbed his forearm and twisted it behind him, forcing the man to turn around. The Deputy pushed him into the chalkboard with a thud that had both the Sheriff and Mayor wince in sympathy.

“Please remain like this Mr. Argent,” Jordan gave him an innocent smile and began searching, patting down his arms, over his back and front, and down his legs. Once the search was conducted and Jordan had assured himself he was unarmed, he nodded to the other two and made his way back to them while Chris rubbed at his shoulder and turned to face the trio.

“Mayor Hale,” He greeted with a nod of his head.

“Proper etiquette dictates that you bow to an Alpha werewolf, Mr. Argent,” Jordan chided, making the Sheriff bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at how much of a troublemaker his Deputy could actually be. “I’m sure your Bestiary tells you all about how to disembowel, torture, and incapacitate a werewolf, but nothing about how to pacify one. So let’s start with the right etiquette, shall we?” He arched an eyebrow, the man in question frowning at the Deputy and bristling before he exhaled and bowed as instructed.

“Mr. Argent,” Talia greeted and took a seat, Jordan and the Sheriff standing behind her. “I must say I was surprised at your call,”

“I’ll get straight to the point, ma’am,” Argent took a seat opposite her. “My daughter likes it here and she wants to continue studying here, and for her sake, I am more than willing to call for a ceasefire between us,”

“A ceasefire?” The Mayor raised an eyebrow. “A ceasefire would suggest that both sides are at fault. The Supernaturals have done you no harm, Mr. Argent, it was you and your hunters who murdered a Centaur leaving his wife a widow and his children fatherless. If your hunters who murdered a Faerie and her 4-year-old daughter. What was your slogan? We hunt those who hunt us? What did that 4-year-old ever do to you for you to kill her in cold blood?”

Both Jordan and Noah tensed at the reminder of the cases, knowing they had personally investigated them and this man had the audacity to sit before them and ask for peace.

“My father and sister are of the ideology that all Supernatural creatures need to be purged, that they are freaks and monsters,” Argent began. “They both are working in leagues to eradicate supernaturals from Beacon Hills and make it a rendezvous point for other hunters. Make it our hunting ground,”

Jordan felt a snarl build in his chest at the words, something at unease within his chest, prowling and growling in discontent.

“I-I do not adhere to an ideology that is ready to murder a child in cold blood,” Chris shook his head, hands resting on the table in plain sight. “So, I ask you, Mayor Hale, to help me stop them,”

“Stop them how?” Talia inquired with an arched brow. “Will you corporate with us against your own family, Mr. Argent?”

“Yes,” The man nodded, something in Jordan squirming. “If it means that my Allison is safe and protected, that she will grow up in a world away from all this-this bloodshed, then I will tell you everything you need to know,”

Jordan barely heard the man, his ears ringing and chest tight, a sense of urgency flooding his brain and urging him to move, to get out and run before he ran out of time. His gaze jumped to the window, staring out at the orange and reds of the sunset as if he could see what it was that was putting him so much on edge. An animalistic growl rumbled up from his chest and past his lips, ignoring the way the others jumped at the audible sound, staring at him in startled shock as his eyes burned an incandescent orange, heat rising inside him and making him resist the urge to claw off the clothes to just breathe against the oppressive warmth enveloping him.

“Jordan?” Noah called out tentatively, heart pounding at the continuous growl emanating from the man’s figure. “What happened-?”

“-Detain Argent,” Jordan snarled in a voice that rumbled and resounded from his chest, Noah immediately drew his gun and pointed it at the man in question.

“On your knees!” The Sheriff commanded as the man darted his eyes between the three of them and slowly lowered to his knees. “Hands where I can see them!” He instructed and stepped closer, as Chris held up his hands and put them behind his head.

The Sheriff didn’t hear Jordan, but he felt a sudden burst of heat brush past his side as he grabbed the keys hanging off the Sheriff’s belt and ran out of the classroom.

“Jordan!” Noah called after him before cursing and turning to Argent, pinning him to the floor and handcuffing him, looking to the Mayor in concern, neither one of them knowing what was going on or what happened.

Jordan didn’t know where he was driving, knowing in some recess of his mind that he was breaking so many traffic rules it would require a ridiculous amount of favors to get out of them, but all he cared about at the moment was to reach his destination. Something deep in his bones urged him to go faster, the clock ticking over his head and the animal in his chest pounding hard against his ribcage, sending sharp shooting pain through the structure and through his heart.

Sweat beaded Jordan’s forehead as he pressed down on the accelerator, the car jostling as he veered off the road and towards the preserves, his instincts taking him to the Hale House, something inside him howling in outrage.

His vision sharpened, the sound loud in his ears and the smell of smoke drifted to him from this distance. Jordan picked up the radio on his shoulder and called in the code when he saw plumes of smoke rising above the canopy of trees. A growl scraped past his lips.

“11-41 at the Hale house,” The words tumbled out, something obstructing his speech and digging into the flesh of his lower lip. “11-41 at the Hale House,” He announced and came to a skidding stop at the porch that had been immaculate a mere hour ago.

The Hale House was a beautiful three-story mansion usually alive with life and laughter. Designed with pillars supporting the structure and a plethora of windows looking out at the beauty of the preserves from every angle.

Just an hour ago it had been lit up and homely, and now that Jordan staggered out of the car, gasping and choking, he found the house burning and engulfed in the red and orange flames.

His heart sank to realize that Stiles was in there.

Chapter 14: Hale House

Chapter Text

There was something dark and convoluted residing inside Jordan.

Something that didn’t have a definite shape other than being a black mass with tendrils of smoke curling around his feet and ankles, it smelt of fire, and its oppressive demanding presence paralyzed Jordan in place.

He first became aware of it when he returned from the war, knowing in some deep part of himself that he wasn’t the same as before, but then thought who was after the war and left it at that.

But then things started to happen.

His durability to heat was one. Jordan had accidentally bumped into his burning stove that one time and flinched away thinking he’d be burnt and need to go to a hospital. But when he didn’t feel the sting of open wounds and looked at himself in the mirror and saw nothing, he thought maybe he’d overreacted and thought he’d touched the flames but missed.

Then came the fact that some of the supernaturals seemed to sense that thing inside him, a flicker of their eyes or an instinctual twitch was all he needed to confirm that the supers could feel beyond the physical. Like the were-children with their sharp sense of smell and their obvious discomposure to his scent, whatever it was.

A primal sense had awoken in Jordan.

An instinctual drive to covet and protect. It started with Stiles and then his friends and now Noah, something inside him urged him to remain near these people and Jordan had personally wanted that too, so he had made the effort. Knowing things that he didn’t realize he knew, like how to address the Fae people or their funeral rites. Then this realization that something wasn’t right, that there was something off. Like when the Argents moved and Jack Graeme, or the Centaur Case, then the Faerie Case.

He didn’t get any alarm bells when meeting with Chris Argent, instead, he got a perverse sort of pleasure in manhandling him and cutting him off to follow the proper etiquette.

He’d referenced a Bestiary to Argent. Jordan wasn’t sure what exactly that was or where he’d come to know of it.

Despite the oppressive presence in his subconscious, it didn’t cause him any trouble. That was until it started making itself known with pulses of urgency that had Jordan’s heart skyrocket, the blind wave of panic washing over him knowing that something was very, very wrong. Noah had been fine, and so had Talia, but the thing inside him had snarled, banging against his consciousness to be brought forward and demanding to take the reins of control before it was too late.

Jordan was scared of what it was and didn’t know what form or shape it would take or if it would relinquish control back to him once it was done. He had so many unknown variables regarding this thing residing inside him that all he could do was follow its urgent demands to try and calm down and regain control of himself.

But staring at the inferno felt like a stab to his gut, a knife twisting in his insides and making blood flood him from the inside out, his heart pounding loud in his ears and he could feel something snap taut in him, on the cusp of breaking and made Jordan curl into himself on the forest floor when that thing pushed hard against the cage of his consciousness, dark and burning, rearing to take control.

The image of the inferno engulfing the Hale House, knowing that he was one man against the devastation of flames, knowing that not only was Stiles inside, but so was his mate and all the other Hales. He had called for backup, he knows that, but he also knew that by the time they arrived, it would be too late given the speed at which the flames ate at everything. That sense of hopelessness and being confronted by his own limitations made Jordan slip away into the recess of his mind just as a pair of footsteps drew closer.

Heat engulfed him from the inside like someone had left the gas on and struck a match, sending the entire place up in flames. It felt like cutting the wrong wire on a bomb, the device exploding in a flash of bright white light and inescapable searing heat.

“Is this the creature you mentioned?” A man’s voice inquired from somewhere above him, Jordan was able to hear his heartbeat, a staccato rhythm. He could smell him – something sharp and decaying.

“He’s a supernatural, alright, I just don’t know what,” The voice of Kate Argent responded, her gunmetal smell and the revolting stench of maliciousness wafting off her. Her presence made Jordan blind with rage, releasing the tight leash of control he’d been clutching, not having realized he was still holding back. “But it doesn’t matter, I’m sure we can-” Her words died away when steam began to rise from Jordan’s figure, the man straightening with fangs protruding from his mouth, nails elongating into claws with his uniform burning away from his body.

“Get back!” Kate shouted and pulled out a gun.

He always found it funny when they thought their little weapons could harm him. No silver or iron could hurt him like it did the others and watched her waste bullets on his form. Unperturbed by the bullets piercing his skin, a righteous vengeance coursed through him as he stalked forward while Kate staggered back.

Knowing this woman had a special place in hell.

She didn’t get far before Jordan swiped at her with his claws, blood spraying outwards and soaking Jordan only to sizzle away by the heat he emanated. She choked and gagged, clutching at her torn oesophagus as she collapsed, the light leaving her eyes.

“Monster,” The old man with his decaying smell gasped to be splattered in his daughter’s blood. He gawked at Jordan and tried to stagger away, create some distance so he could reach for his weapon.

Before he could draw it, Jordan was in front of him. His eyes ablaze and paralyzing the man long enough for Jordan to grab him by the front of his clothes and throw him at the trees with a satisfying crack that had the man wail out in pain and collapse to the base of the tree in a limp heap of shivering breaths.

With those obstacles out of the way, Jordan ran towards the burning house, noticing that a ring of black powder surrounded the house. Mountain Ash, he knew somehow, but didn’t falter as he pierced his nails into the invisible barrier, making it shimmer and glow an incandescent blue as he tore it open. Rendering the barrier useless.

He didn’t even feel the heat as he stepped into the burning structure, vision sharp, nose filled with the smell of burning wood, polyester, and hints of flesh. Jordan turned towards the sound and smell of fear, rushing towards the back of the house where he found most of the Hale residents.

Alexander covered his children into a corner, the three of them curled up small into his arms. Peter Hale protected his daughter with the other adults trying to create a barrier between the remaining children and the flames. Their cries and fear a palpable wave which Jordan could almost touch. The fire licked at them and caressed their skin with the aim to devour them whole.

Jordan looked around for the nearest exit point, and marched towards the back door in the kitchen, tearing the door off its hinges before returning to the Hale family and ushered them all out, making sure the children got out first before the adults followed.

“Derek!” Alexander coughed, collapsing to the floor with smoke and steam rising off his burns that were slow to heal. “Derek is-!”

Jordan didn’t need to hear more.

Jumping back into the house just as the kitchen collapsed behind him, deafening over the despairing cries of the Hale family. He rushed up the stairs, making sure the first floor was empty, finding evidence of life and love melting away: books, pictures, clothes and personal knickknacks devoured by the beast of flames and walked up to the second floor just as the stairs behind him creaked and groaned, falling to the heat and forcing a part of the top landing to sag with it. The realization that the house was crumbling down around them made Jordan run the rest of the way in search for those two boys, flaming debris falling from the roof. The entire house’s foundation trembling with its instability.

He managed to pick up the scent of something soft tickling his nose, like the smell of pine needles in the midst of the burning wood and followed it to the room in the corner. He found Stiles collapsed in the corner of the room with a part of the roof caved in on his leg. Derek curled on top of him, unmoving and unnaturally still with a radiant purple force field encasing the both of them, protecting them from the flames; but not from the smoke Jordan knew somehow.

Snarling to himself, Jordan pushed the debris off the young boy, his hand slicing through the force field like butter as he picked up Derek from the back of his shirt, the boy dangling limply as Jordan cradled him in his arm, close to his chest. Hoisting Stiles up, he had barely gotten a firm hold around the young boy when he felt the floor give away underneath him.

The entire second landing collapsing in on itself, sending Jordan and the two boys plummeting down.

The Hale family screamed as their house collapsed under the heat of the flames, the entire structure’s stability burnt away as the second floor colliding into the first which in turn crumbled to the ground floor and sunk to the basem*nt.

Alexander screamed in shocked anguish, having been certain that Derek and Stiles would make it out, but could only watch with tears streaming down his face as their home buried his son under the rubble. His son and his little mate and Jordan.

“Derek!” His siblings screamed, rushing towards the inferno but whimpered at the heat, unable to get through the ring of fire and cried at the sound of sirens nearing.

The firefighters were the first to arrive, trailed by ambulances and the police.

If the Hales had been a bit more cognizant of the situation, they’d be able to tell that none of them had called the authorities.

“They’re here!” Someone yelled, the voice distant to Alexander as people rushed towards them, all of them watching in numb shock as jets of high pressured water dosed out the flames. The gaping maw inside him knowing they were too late. The night sky illuminated in hues of orange and red from the flames, sparks getting thrown into the air as plumes of grey smoke contrasted with the darkness of the night.

Alexander barely felt himself being guided away, numb to the pain searing through him, blistering and hot as his skin slowly healed itself form the damage. Paramedics took the shaken children and led them around the house and towards the front where ambulances stood with fire trucks and police cruisers.

“Alex!” Talia’s voice called out, the man blearily looking up and could barely keep standing as his wife collided into him, wrapping her arms around him as she looked out towards the rest of their family. He could smell her sweet relief over the sharp acrid smell of smoke when she saw her family and children, the soft notes quickly soured by fear and panic as she took another look and then another. Her fingers coiling tight into her husband’s burnt clothes and looked at him with trembling eyes. “Alex. Alex where is Derek? Where is Stiles?”

Alexander felt the grief come over him like a tidal wave, putting him in a choke hold and tearing at his lungs until he couldn’t draw in any more air. The man collapsing to his knees with a broken sob, his wife falling with him.

Noah watched in disbelief as Alexander Hale crumbled to the floor, paramedics swarming him as his eyes ran over the survivors again, and again, and again. Again. Shaking his head to try and tell himself that he was miscounting. He must be miscounting, it couldn’t be that-

“Where is Stiles? Jordan? Where-?” Noah choked out to realize that this was all the survivors, breath suffocated by the smoke rising in plumes as the firefighters struggled to contain the flames.

“Jordan got us out,” Peter’s low voice came from somewhere to his right, Noah and Talia looking up to find the man shaking as he clutched his crying daughter close. The man unable to meet their gaze as if in shame. “He came in and he got us out the back door, and then-then he realized-he realized Derek and Stiles were still in there and he-he went back-” The man coughed, Noah’s eyes widening in horror as he looked out at the collapsed house, felt something inside him die as he clutched at his uniform over his chest.

“No,”

“The-the house collapsed.”

“No,” The Sheriff denied fervently and shook his head, taking a step away. Distance himself from the situation at hand.

“Noah-”

“Shut up!” The Sheriff yelled, heart squeezing in his chest and choking him as he shook his head. “No! No! No-” He tried to deny, sure if he denied it hard enough it would not be true, bracing his knees when sensation started to leave his extremities, finding himself sitting on the forest floor and clutching at his hair, a sob building in his throat.

“Sheriff!” One of his deputies called out from the front, the Sheriff’s heart lifting with hope as he staggered to his feet and made his way over to the man. “There is a body here.” He spoke when the man was close enough.

Disappointment flooded the Sheriff at the words as he pushed his way forward and faltered at the sight of a blonde woman lying face up in a pool of her own blood, eyes dark and hollow with claw marks having torn open her throat. The longer he looked at her lifeless body, the more he recognized her before exhaling sharply to realize this was Kate Argent he was looking at.

This was the Argent’s doing.

But then where did the claws come from?

“There is someone else here too,” His Deputy informed, Noah turning towards him and found an old man crumpled at the base of a tree. “He’s still breathing but it looks like he’s sustained heavy injuries,” The Deputy looked up at the Sheriff for further instructions.

He didn’t know who this man was and how he was related to the Argents, but all he knew at that moment was the fact that this man was an accomplice to their ploys.

“Take him to the hospital and keep him under watch, let me know the moment he’s awake,” He instructed before turning back to the Hales. “Also keep Chris Argent detained,” He stated and watched as the paramedics took them to the hospital, Alexander and Talia remaining behind with the Sheriff.

Noah was drowning in this oppressive heat as the firefighters doused out the house, sweat rolling down the side of his face as the Sheriff paced restlessly, heart in his throat and fingers numb. He looked at the rubble of the house with the horrible blood chilling realization that Stiles, Derek, and Jordan were somewhere underneath all this and had to clench his fingers into fists as the firefighters began searching through the collapse for them.

He distantly wondered how the Argents managed to sneak past a household full of werewolves, how were they incapacitated and how was the fire started. He’d need their statement to figure it out. He wondered if it was only Kate and that old man, and if Chris Argent was in on this with them? But the fact that the man in question had wanted a normal life for his daughter made him think that maybe he wasn’t so much as involved as taken as an opportunity to strike.

There were so many unknowns in this.

If the Argents murder the Centaur and Faerie, then why did they send Chris to negotiate an alliance? Was it a distraction so they would burn the Hales? But then, then Jordan seemed to know something was wrong. How did Jordan know?

The Sheriff had so many questions, but at the moment his main priority was to retrieve Stiles and Derek and Jordan. He knew-he knew they were underneath that rubble somewhere and he prayed to every God out there that they’d be alright. He couldn’t help but swallow thickly to know that they had been buried under burning rubble, no human would survive that.

God, he wanted them to find Jordan. He needed them to find Stiles and Derek. He needed them to be alive, to be alright and breathing. Noah didn’t know what he’d do if they weren’t.

“Wait-!” Talia called out suddenly, everyone stilling in their place and looked to the Mayor in question. “Wait, how many-” She heaved breathlessly and began counting the people.

“Talia-?”

“-Thirteen,” She gasped and closed her eyes, tilting her head as if listening for something and muttering under her breath. “I-I hear-I hear sixteen,” Her eyes flashed Alpha red when she opened them.

“What? What do you hear?” Alex staggered to his feet and gripped his wife by the shoulder, demanding to know what she was on about.

“Heartbeats,” Talia laughed breathlessly, the others realizing what that meant, turning back towards the rubble. “I hear sixteen-and they’re-” She struggled to breathe as she jogged around the perimeter of the house, ear tilted towards the burnt remains of her home and stopped at the back right corner.

“Here,” She pointed towards the rubble with wide eyes. “They’re here! They’re alive! They’re-they’re-” Talia exclaimed with a wide grin, turning to the firefighters, one of them moving the Mayor to the side while the others began removing the rubble from the area she had pointed to, needing to get to them as soon as possible.

The Sheriff and the other three immediately joining them in removing the rubble, Talia and Alexander able to pinpoint their exact location under the rubble. The firefighters removing the debris to the best of their abilities before one of them found a way into the basem*nt.

Jordan struggled to breathe, dust and smoke and the weight on his back pressing down on his lungs. He could see in the darkness, both Stiles and Derek curled up on the floor beneath him, unconscious. Jordan couldn’t reach out to them – try and shake them awake – without risking the delicate balance from tipping over and crushing them underneath. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been on his hands and knees, covering the two boys.

He could feel broken bones, skin torn open and rivulets of blood sliding down his side and dripping onto the floor. He could feel his arms shake with the exertion of holding up the weight of wood and cement. Jordan could take only slow shallow breaths, unable to move even his head when a flash of light flickered in his periphery. It was too dangerous.

But then he heard the shuffle of someone approaching, sounding like they too were crouched low, and their footfall crunching the debris underneath. The fact that he could hear footsteps meant that rescue was on the way, blinking away the spots dancing in his eyes and letting out a sharp exhale, accompanied by a cloud of smoke from his nostrils and the edge of his mouth, he steeled himself to hold out just long enough for the boys to be removed. He just had to make sure they were taken care of.

“Found them!” The firefighter called out to the other two somewhere behind them, ducking under the beams and wires as he shuffled towards the man kneeling on all fours. His mouth falling open to find him bearing the weight of the rubble, blood creating a pool around him with two young boys covered by his body. Something inside his chest jumped in fear at the sight of flaming orange eyes peering at him from under soot covered lashes.

“Take them,” The man growled, covered in soot and ash and blood, no doubt injured beyond belief. “Take Stiles first, he’s hurt,” He instructed and moved his eyes to the smaller of the two boys.

The firefighter nodded, taking the younger boy from under him and held him close before crouching out of the debris and back towards the opening they’d found. He watched the other two make their way there as well, the second taking the other boy while the third crouched in front of the man who let out a sigh of relief when he boys were being taken back up, his arms shaking with exhaustion.

“Stiles!” The Sheriff exclaimed, rushing forward to take the unconscious boy from the fire fighter, the elder’s legs giving out under him as he knelt on the ground and cradled his son close, face buried into his little chest and heaving with relief.

“Derek!” The mayor and her husband rushed towards the second firefighter who wriggled out of the narrow space with the boy held close, shuffling in their place as the firefighter made his way out of the rubble and stepped onto solid ground before handing the boy to his father’s arms. They watched the parents clutch their children close, relief and gratitude palpable as they watched the third firefighter come out of the space unaccompanied, sweat soaking him through and eyes wide.

“Wha-where is Jordan?” The Sheriff asked of the man, handing his son over to the paramedics who stood nearby and approached the firefighter who gestured for the others to move away, all of them doing as instructed. “Where-where is Jordan?” He demanded again as the man grabbed hold of him by the arm and pulled him to the tree line with them.

“He said he could have gotten himself out all along, but couldn’t do so with the boys there in case he hurt them,” The firefighter informed the Sheriff who turned red in the face, wanting to scream at him at his idiosyncrasy.

“What the hell is that supposed to-” He began before faltering at the smell of smoke, turning back to the rubble as they all watched smoke rise from one spot of the collapse. The wood and beams turning a sharp bright orange as they caught fire, caving in and collapsing in. The Sheriff let out a startled scream and rushed forward when that little circle of space went up in flames, all of them watching in stunned silence as Jordan climbed out from the rubble, covered in soot and ash, his pretty green eyes transformed into a burning inferno of orange. Sweat and blood dripping down his body, his entire back torn up and bleeding raw, with flames and thermal waves as his backdrop.

“Jordan-” The Sheriff gasped and stumbled over the rubble in an attempt to get to him. “Jordan!”

His trousers were burnt to a crisp, barely protecting his modesty with his shirt long gone. He was bleeding, his eyes ablaze but vacant of cognizance and his sternum was glowing with fire, illuminating the structure of his ribs from inside his skin. He stumbled to the top of the rubble, taking in the sight before him and let out a breath that extinguished the flames around him, the fire on his sternum dying away with steam hissing from his body, his eyes fluttering closed as he began to tip forward.

The Sheriff jumped the remainder of the way, bearing his weight just as Jordan collapsed forward, unconscious to the world around him. Noah cradling him close, chest heaving with wheezing pants at the state the man was in.

*

Melissa had met them at the emergency doors and directed where each of them would go: Derek was taken to a specific supernatural wing on one of the upper landings, Stiles was taken to get an x-ray done and would then be moved to the pediatric ward, while Jordan was wheeled off to an entirely different wing for the wounds on his back to be treated – the man having been put on his front on the stretcher so his open wounds wouldn’t be aggravated. But – this might be just Noah’s mind playing tricks on him – he thought the wounds were looking better already.

They told him Stiles had a broken leg, which they’d put into a cast and then treat him for carbon monoxide poisoning. All the others from the Hale fire having been supplied with oxygen to help along with their recovery. Derek already healing from whatever injuries he’d sustained and was doing miles better already.

They hadn’t told him anything about Jordan.

The Sheriff trailed back and forth, trying to grab a hold of Melissa long enough to find out about his Deputy, but couldn’t keep her in place long enough for her to answer his questions when she had all these other patients to look out for as well.

He had almost resigned himself to finding out which room Jordan was in and seeing for himself when Deputy Clark found him in the waiting room, telling him that the old man from the Hale House had regained consciousness. She told him that he had suffered significant spinal injury, and that if he were to recover, he would never walk again.

Noah had nodded and made his way to the room they had kept the man in.

“His name is Gerard Argent,” Clark informed him outside the room. “Chris and Kate Argent’s father,”

He found the man to have aged a decade since they retrieved him outside the Hale house. His complexion ashen and pale, lines more prominent on his face and oxygen mask placed over his mouth. A neck brace keeping his head still and covered by the hospital blanket, the man moving his eyes and followed the Sheriff’s movement from the door to the foot of his bed.

“Mr. Argent,” Noah began with his hand on his hips, an eyebrow arched at the man. “Care to inform us about your role in the Hale fire?”

“Are they dead?” The old man wheezed, the Sheriff sharing a look with his Deputy who frowned at the question.

“Your daughter died-”

“-Not Kate,” The man snapped with an eye-roll that took both Clark and the Sheriff aback at his disregard for the fact that this man’s daughter had died. “Those-those monsters! Those werewolves!” He spat, spittle wetting the inside of his mask as his eyes blew wide in outrage, heart monitor beeping more rapidly than before with the rise in his pulse. Noah recoiling back at the venom in his tone.

“There were humans in that house-!”

“-Collateral damage. Sacrifices for the greater good.”

Noah wanted to strangle the man, blood flowing loud in his ear and heart pounding with outrage. The Sheriff had to step away from the bed, close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose to keep from actually assaulting him and turned to his Deputy who gawked in shock at the vitriol of his words.

“Clark, please take over from here, I am too personally involved to conduct an objective questioning,” He stated, waiting for his deputy’s nod before marching out of the hospital room and paced away from the door to try and calm himself.

He could never understand hate-crimes, not during his time as a Deputy, and not now as the Sheriff. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that people could be so blindsided and so biased, so consumed with hatred for something they didn’t fully understand – and therefore feared – to the extent that they were willing to take lives. Lives of innocents, be they super or human, lives held the same significance. People blinded by their own hate could never understand that they would all be buried the same, regardless of what their view was.

The Sheriff spent a few minutes pacing the waiting room, before he went and grabbed a water bottle form the vending machine and sat down to compose himself. Once he felt calm enough, he found exhaustion weighing on him and pressed his head into his hands, the reality of the events crashing in on him now that he had sat down long enough to digest everything.

The Argents had set the Hale house on fire aiming to kill all those inside. Stiles had been in there. They all could have died. Jordan had gotten to them, he had gotten them out and then went back in to get Derek and Stiles. He had fallen with them, and protected them with his own body when the house collapsed around them. The Sheriff had to throw his head back, close his eyes and breathe to realize how close he had been to losing it all. Stiles, Jordan, the Mayor and her family; all of it.

He would need another deputy to make inquiries into this case, but first, he needed to check on Jordan. Recalling how the man had looked, engulfed in flames that didn’t harm him, eyes ablaze and covered in soot and blood. Jordan was most definitely not human. He was a supernatural, Noah just didn’t know what kind.

Finding out the room number, Noah walked into a room with three beds and walked over to the center one where Jordan was meant to be lying. Bracing himself for the sight of a bandaged and injured young man and pushed the curtain aside, but faltered to find the bed empty.

Lunging forward, the Sheriff pressed the call button and stared at the door in urgent wait for the nurse to enter, his heart pounded. God, he had no idea how Jordan was faring, how badly was he injured, did he wake up? Was he scared and panicked? He was all alone.

A woman in deep red scrubs stumbled in and stared at the Sheriff with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Your patient log says Jordan Parrish is supposed to be on this bed,” The Sheriff pointed to the empty bed. “Where is he? He is injured!”

“I’ll look into it!” The nurse bobbed her head and ran out to find out where Jordan had gone.

The Sheriff wanted to lie down at this point, lie down with Stiles held close to him and just not get up. It had been an emotionally exhausting day, first the panic that accompanied the news that Jordan was thinking of moving, the pain of hearing about how lonely the man felt in that house by himself; confessing his feelings – God, that felt like eons ago rather than a few hours – then the mayor calling them in, and the fire, and now the hospital had somehow lost a full grown adult.

Noah deserved a vacation once all this was over.

The pounding in his head warned him of an upcoming headache and had him sigh in defeat, knowing there was nothing he could do. Maybe he was overreacting, maybe they’d taken him in for some tests and he was kicking up a storm for no good reason. Rubbing a hand over his face, Noah made his way to the pediatric ward where they’d put Stiles.

Stepping into the private room, he found Stiles laying straight in the bed, his right leg elevated and in a cast, a motley of bruises on his arms and face, the left side of his forehead was swollen and had a bandage over a cut there, an oxygen mask over his face to combat the carbon monoxide poisoning. It ached to see him lying straight like this, his boy was most comfortable when he was sprawled all over the bed, taking up as much space as his 10-year-old body could occupy; on top of that, Stiles didn’t have his pillow, Noah gnawing at his lips to know that he couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but the ordeal had left him completely unresponsive and unconscious since they’d gotten him out of the rubble.

The sight of him alive and breathing – the slow fogging and clearing of the mask and the steady beep of the heart monitor unwound knots in the Sheriff’s chest, the man making his way over to the chair in the corner and pulled it closer to the bed. He took Stiles little hand in his own and pressed his lips to Stiles’s palm, tears of relief stinging the back of his eyes to know that he hadn’t lost his boy. No matter the wave of despair he’d experienced when they’d arrive to the Hale house burning and devoured from the inside out. He had been paralyzed when he’d seen the survivors, gaze roving over the faces again and again in a desperate search for his son. His little boy. His mischief. The Sheriff had stood there and prayed, he prayed and prayed and prayed that a higher deity allow his boy to come out of this alive, when the firefighter had climbed out of the rubble with Stiles in his arms, Noah had buckled with relief, legs turning into jelly and relief leeching every single ache from his body.

One day, this boy was going to give him a heart attack with the way he kept getting dragged into these situations, Noah thought flatly and rested his head on the edge of the mattress, closing his eyes only for a minute.

His eyes snapped open to the sound of the door clicking shut, the Sheriff straightening and turned halfway over his shoulder to see deep red scrubs making their way to him in his periphery.

“Did you find him?” The Sheriff rubbed at his eyes, scrubbing away the stray tears.

“Who am I supposed to be looking for?” An amused voice inquired, Noah startling in his seat and whirled around to get a proper look, finding Jordan standing before him, seemingly showered and dressed in deep red scrubs and scuffed sneakers.

“Jordan,” Noah exhaled in disbelief, he’d been convinced that the man would not be getting out of bed for weeks yet, but here he stood before him, looking like he hadn’t been through a burning building and buried under rubble. There was no pain in his posture, no hunched shoulders, and no cuts or bruises to attest to his ordeal. “Jordan,” He called out once more in complete and utter relief and jumped off his seat to tug the man to him by the front of his scrubs. He noticed how the man flinched before they collided together, the Sheriff wrapping his arms tight around the younger, holding him close and pressed his forehead to Jordan’s shoulder. He could feel his hesitation, Jordan’s hands hovering in the air for a moment longer before he returned the hug, warm arms wrapping around the Sheriff and nuzzling into his temple.

“What the hell are you doing in scrubs?” The sheriff laughed breathlessly and pulled away to take in the sight of the man before him. He looked like he was actually a part of the hospital staff.

“I woke up and felt disgusting, so I snuck into the nurses’ station and took a shower and borrowed some poor guys scrubs and shoes,” He looked down at himself and the shoes.

“Not even completely awake and stealing already, Deputy?” Noah arched a brow, hands bracing Jordan’s forearm, needing to touch him to assure himself of his physicality.

“I did not steal them. I’m borrowing them. I’ll return it,” He sniffed in response and sidestepped the Sheriff to walk over to Stiles on the bed.

Noah watched him sit down on the edge of the bed and gently comb back Stiles’s hair, frowning at the bandages and bruises, gaze roving over the length of his body before resting on the cast over his leg.

“Before coming here, I checked up on the Hales,” Jordan murmured lowly, Noah retaking his seat and looked up at his Deputy expectantly while Jordan put Stiles’s palm in his own and turned to his superior. “I asked them what happened and they said they couldn’t recall exactly how the fire started. All they know is that they had been settling down for dinner and then blinked to find themselves surrounded by flames. They said they tried to get out, but a ring of Mountain Ash was formed around the house and kept them caged in. This was orchestrated. This was attempted murder, Noah,”

“By the Argents, yeah,” Noah nodded and took Jordan’s free hand into his own, needing to assure himself that the man was here before him. He knew they needed to talk about Jordan’s…abilities, sooner or later. “When we arrived, Kate Argent was lying dead with her throat ripped out and her father, Gerard Argent was nearby with his spine broken-”

“-I…I think-I think I did that to them, Noah,” Jordan murmured in a low voice, head bowed and shoulders hunched. “I don’t-I’m not-I’m not sure what I am-but-but I know-I can remember claws, and fangs, and-and-and the Mountain Ash didn’t stop me. The fire didn’t hurt me. When-when I found the Hales, I got them out, I was in the thick of the flames and it didn’t hurt me at all. When I went back to find Stiles and Derek, I found them-I found Stiles pinned under debris and Derek lay on top of him. I was capable of removing the debris without trouble and when-and when the floor caved, I pulled the boys close to me so I could take the impact. Instinctually I knew that would protect them,”

“So you’re not a werewolf,” Noah stated. “Because Mountain Ash stops them, and-and your eyes glowed a different color to werewolves,”

“My eyes?” Jordan’s brows furrowed at the words.

“Yeah,” The Sheriff nodded. “Do you remember that you got out of the rubble yourself? Once Derek and Stiles had been removed?”

“No, not really,”

“Well, I’m not sure how you did it, but things caught fire and you walked out the debris and your eyes were glowing like-they glowed like fire. Werewolves have either yellow, blue, or red eyes. Yours were most definitely none of those,”

Jordan’s lips were parted in shock, the man untangling his hand from Noah’s to rub it over his face and grunted, his eyes screwed shut as he let out a trembling exhale.

“I don’t know what I am, Noah,” He whimpered, the Sheriff straightening at the pain in his voice. “I-I’ve never heard of a supernatural creature that’s resistant to fire, has accelerated healing, and superhuman strength, or whose eyes glow like fire. What-what am I? How-how can I be sure that I won’t hurt you? Or Stiles?” His words shuddered on the last question, gaze flickering to the boy lying beside him.

“If you were going to hurt us, Jordan,” The Sheriff took his palm back in his own, squeezing his hand between both of his. “You’d have done that long ago. Instead, you’ve been saving our asses time and again. You knew something was wrong. You were the first to know something was wrong. If you hadn’t left, Jordan, if you hadn’t called in the code-do-I-I don’t even want to think about what could have happened,” He pressed his forehead to their conjoined hands.

“You saved my son, Jordan,” Noah exhaled breathlessly. “You saved his life, do you realize that?” He asked and looked up to find the younger with his gaze distant and brows furrowed as if in thought, whirling around towards Stiles with parted lips.

“There-there was a force field,” Jordan exhaled, Noah frowning at the words. “When I-when I found Stiles and Derek, I found them-there was this purple force field-a-a bubble around the two of them, protecting them from the fire,” He turned to the Sheriff with wide eyes, the elder’s lips parting in confusion, knowing for a fact that werewolves weren’t capable of producing force fields.

So does that mean that Stiles…?

“Dad-” Stiles voice came from behind them in a pained whimper, both Jordan and Noah turning to him to find the boy moving his head side to side, eyes screwed shut and whining his fingers twitching in Jordan’s hold. “Daddy-” His voice cracked in fear, Noah rushing around to the other side and stroked back his hair, taking his other hand.

“I’m right here, buddy,” He soothed his son and watched the heart monitor increase the frequency of its beeps, his heart rate increasing. “I’m right here, Stiles. Dad is here,” Noah assured and watched his son crack open his eyes, gaze distant and bleary with tears streaking down the side and getting soaked into his pillow as he let out a whimper and broken sob. Noah’s heart breaking at the confusion and fear his son must be experiencing.

“Dad, I’m gonna-” He managed to choke out, Jordan and Noah understanding as the Sheriff lowered the oxygen mask and sat his son up while Jordan held the garbage can under his chin just as Stiles threw up, vomiting into the can.

He whimpered in humiliation, tears leaking down his eyes as he clutched at the garbage can, feeling his dad holding him up, while another hand stroked down his back and another stroked back his hair.

Everything hurt, he thought with panic. He couldn’t remember what happened. He wanted Derek, where was Derek? He wants his dad, and-and-

“Better now, buddy?” Noah asked and took the garbage can from him, setting it down and straightened to have Stiles throw himself at his father to the best of his abilities. Noah’s heart sinking at the sound of his sobs and sat back on the bed to properly pull his boy onto his lap, cradling him close. “I’m here, kiddo, Dad is right here,”

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Jordan murmured softly, feeling like he was imposing on a scene he had no place in and was about to leave the room when Stiles’s head shot up and he gasped, reaching out towards him with trembling fingers.

“Jordan,” He whimpered and reached out for him. “Jordan, please stay, please-”

He didn’t need to beg. Jordan immediately whirling around and squeezed himself in beside the Sheriff and took hold of Stiles’s hand, kissing his knuckles in reassurance and promised the boy he was right here and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter 15: Spark

Chapter Text

Melissa had given them both a lashing down when she returned to find the Sheriff and his Deputy squeezed onto the children’s bed with the actual patient cradled to Noah’s chest and his legs draped over Jordan’s lap. All three of them were sound asleep. She wanted to hit both of them but settled on pinching the Sheriff’s thigh, his resulting jolt and yelp waking Jordan with a flash of orange eyes that settled into their normal green at the sight of the nurse.

No soon had she finished berating them for taxing her patient that she took note of exactly what Jordan was wearing and shrieked at him for breaking and entering, and then stealing – Jordan tried to correct her that he was only borrowing them and got his wrist slapped by the clipboard in retaliation – another nurse’s scrubs and shoes.

She had dragged Jordan away by his ear to get checked up and warned Noah to behave himself while the doctors took Stiles to get his carbon monoxide levels checked. The Sheriff raised his hands in surrender and bit back his smile at how Jordan had to hunch in Melissa’s hold, his expression resembling that of a chastised puppy.

He stayed with Stiles, holding his hand throughout the checkup while the doctor informed them of common carbon monoxide poisoning symptoms and told them that Stiles could go home once his tests came back normal. He warned them to keep an eye out for symptoms like confusion, vomiting, headaches, etc. and gave them a list of things they had to be mindful of regarding Stiles’s leg, the boy frowning at his cast and tapping at the plaster to know that his movement would be greatly limited and that would drive him crazy.

“Hey,” Noah leaned closer to Stiles to see his disheartened expression and squeezed his palm. “Think of this as an opportunity to make Jordan carry you everywhere,” He winked and grinned when he watched Stiles brighten at the words and beam at his dad, giving a manic grin to the cast and wriggling in his place at the sheer possibilities now.

Stiles, that little opportunist, announced that his leg being broken constituted as an emergency and that now Jordan had to carry him when the man in question had returned – still dressed in the scrubs because there was nothing else on hand for him to change into. To his credit, Jordan had nodded along thoughtfully to Stiles’s claim and readily agreed, hoisting the boy up into his arm and made him giggle in delight to know that despite how lithe he looked, Jordan was fully capable of bearing Stiles’s weight with the plastered cast.

They made their way over to the supernatural wing once the doctors gave them the green light. Jordan carried Stiles the whole way, with the boy resting his head on his shoulder, and Noah beside them with a hand on Jordan’s back, leading the way.

Arriving at Derek’s room, they knocked before entering and found Talia and Alexander sitting on the edge of the bed Derek occupied. His three siblings squeezed onto the little couch in the corner, the air somber and tense until Derek’s eyes landed on Stiles like a honing beacon, the boy immediately sagging with relief at the sight of his mate. Jordan felt the residual tension leave Stiles’s body at the presence of his mate as well. Jordan had to stop Derek from making his way to them, knowing that the little werewolf was just as drained from the experience as everyone else, and walked over to the bed and deposited Stiles next to him.

Immediately, the two boys grabbed at each other, hugging tight and curling up together like they could fuse through skin and bone, Derek letting out a content rumble to be reunited with his mate and scented his hair and cheek and neck. Alex and Talia huffed a fond laugh at the display and nodded their greetings to Jordan and Noah. Talia being the one to raise her eyebrows at Jordan’s “borrowed” scrubs.

“How’re you guys?” Jordan turned towards the other three siblings who had been sitting quietly till now, all three of them looking up at Jordan with varying degrees of awe and concern, but mostly their eyes reflected gratitude.

“We’re fine now, thank you, for asking,” Ajax nodded with a shy smile, the boy having the most awe in his eyes. “And-and thank you for-for getting us out of there and protecting Derek and Stiles and-”

“-There is no need for that,” Jordan waved away, heat traveling up his neck, immediately three other Hales letting out various sounds of disagreement.

“No! Really! Thank you!” Cora exclaimed, jumping up from her seat and deflated immediately after, fiddling with her fingers and looking toward her parents for guidance, no doubt both of them urging her to continue what she wanted to say. “It’s just-we-uh-we were-we were really stuck in there and-and-and we-it was-it was-” She struggled to convey her gratitude, lower lip wobbling and tears shining in her eyes as a whine escaped her throat, Laura putting a grounding hand on her back.

Jordan took hold of her hand and watched her flinch before staring in confused shock at where he was holding her and watched him lower himself to his knees so he was more eye to eye with her.

“It must have been scary for you,” Jordan murmured, rubbing her knuckles under his thumb as she nodded with tears welling in her eyes. “But it’s all over now, right? And all of you came out of it uninjured, and that’s what matters,” He smiled when the girl let out a fortifying breath and gave a decisive nod, beaming wide at Jordan who grinned in return, tucking her hair behind her ear before straightening from his place and walked over to stand beside Noah.

They asked about the other Hales, learning that most of them had gone to look for places to stay, given that their house had been burnt down and left them homeless.

“We should probably do that too,” Alex murmured, rubbing at his chin in thought.

“I’m staying with Stiles,” Derek announced from where he lay curled around his mate, Stiles perking up and beaming at his mate. He was unusually subdued today, Jordan noted, but then that was given how taxing the entire experience had been.

“Derek,” Talia chastised with a stern look, her son whining in complaint.

It was endearing to Jordan, a part of him fascinated by the concept of werewolf mates while the other part was just enamored by how comfortable Stiles and Derek were with each other. Their visible relief of being back in each other’s vicinity, or the way they seemed to be ready to take on the world as long as the other kept hold of their hand and didn’t let go. He wondered how they’d managed to live away from each other.

“How would you feel about being next door to Stiles, instead?” Jordan inquired from his place by the Sheriff, all of them immediately turning to him: Derek's eyes wide with delight while Stiles stared at him in horror. He could feel the Sheriff tense behind him, taken aback by the sudden offer and the casualness with which he threw it out. The other Hale siblings gawked at the man in startled shock, all of them knowing that Jordan lived next door to the Stilinskis. “But you’d have to share with Ajax-”

“-I can share a room with him!” Derek announced and straightened before shrinking into himself when his parents gave him a sharp look, silently urging him to be quiet.

“My house has 2 bedrooms upstairs and 1 downstairs, Alex and Talia can be downstairs and the kids can be upstairs, though the boys and girls would have to share, but I think you guys would be able to utilize the space better,” Jordan shrugged, ignoring the way the Sheriff fisted the back of his borrowed scrubs, tugging at them gently as if silently begging him to stop. “I’ve been thinking about moving anyways, I don’t have a problem with leaving earlier than planned. Plus it's right next door to the Sheriff and Stiles and the backyard has a fence door connecting the properties-”

“-No,” Stiles sat up from his place on the bed, expression ashen and face clammy, his eyes wide in horror as he let out a shuddering breath, staring at the elder with disbelief clear in his eyes. “No, I don’t-I don’t want you to go-”

“-Wouldn’t you like having Derek right next door? You two could hang out more often-”

“-Why can’t I have you both?” Stiles demanded, tears stinging his eyes and chest heaving with his breaths. “Why-why does it have to be you or him? Why not you and him?” His voice grew thick and wet, breath shuddering and small frame trembling with his confusion.

“Baby, where do you think I’m going?” Jordan’s eyebrows furrowed and tilted his head with a confused smile. The Hale family watched their argument like a tennis match in stunned silence.

“That-you’re moving to those apartments-!” The boy shrieked, tears streaming down his face staring in bewilderment when Jordan started chuckling at his outburst. “What’s so funny?”

“We had this discussion, baby, just because I was looking at apartments doesn’t mean I’m going to be moving to one,” Jordan unwound Noah’s hold from his scrubs, the man releasing him in his confusion, not sure where the man would go if he gave his house to the Hales. Jordan crouched in front of Stiles and cupped his face into his hands, wiping away the tears that streaked his cheeks. “Besides, you’re the one who offered me the guest room downstairs. Should I think that offer doesn’t stand-” He began, choking on his words when Stiles suddenly launched himself off the bed and into Jordan’s arms. Jordan shrieked about his broken leg and grabbed hold of him in a way to protect his leg from sustaining any further injury, losing his balance and falling back on the floor, everyone clamoring around them while Jordan kept a firm hold on the boy, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes and huffed a breath.

Jordan wanted to say something about the sudden swing of Stiles’s emotions but didn’t as he felt Stiles trembling in his arms and whimpering into his neck. The concern on Derek’s face made it obvious that the boy was crying. Jordan heaved a breath and held him tighter, content with laying on the floor with the boy on top of him, nuzzling the top of his head till the boy calmed down.

They stayed on the floor for a moment longer, before Jordan sat them up, Stiles refusing to come out of his hiding place while Jordan hoisted the both of them up to their feet. The boy with his face in Jordan’s shoulder, arms around his neck while he was held in a princess carry to not strain his leg.

“Such a dramatic boy,” Jordan huffed fondly and rested his cheek against Stiles’s head and turned around towards the Sheriff as if to say ‘can you believe him’ but faltered to see Noah flushed with delight at the realization, eyes shinig and hands braced on his hips. “Oh God, you both are the worst,” He chuckled with a fond shake of his head, reaching out with his foot to tap the toe of his borrowed shoes against Noah’s ankle. The Sheriff chuckled and rubbed at his face to compose himself.

“Stiles, are you ready to go?” The Sheriff asked, stepping forward to put one hand on Jordan’s shoulder while he placed the other on top of his son’s head, the boy nodding in confirmation. Noah looked to the Hales who nodded in agreement.

Talia needing to take care of a few things, and said they’d follow behind them. Derek decided that since he wasn’t needed, he would leave with the Sheriff.

Derek and Stiles sat curled up together in the back seat, talking in low murmurs and touching from one place or the other while the Sheriff drove Jordan’s cruiser back to their house.

Once they made sure that Stiles was comfortably situated in bed, Derek curled protectively around him, the Sheriff joined Jordan at his place to help him pack up his belongings. Fascinated when all of Jordan’s belongings fit into a suitcase and medium-sized duffle bag. The Sheriff took them back to his house while Jordan grabbed a cardboard box and put his personal knickknacks into them – his books and photo frames and any personal items he would not leave behind.

Their guest room’s door was situated under the staircase, directly opposite the kitchen archway. It doubled as Noah’s study/office, the study table placed in the corner opposite the door, looking out at the room with the wall to the table’s left occupied with a bookshelf that was crammed with files. The washroom door beside it. The bed was a black wrought iron frame, placed into the rightmost corner of the room beside the window, two side tables on both sides, and wardrobes installed into the wall opposite the bed. The wall behind the bed was painted evergreen.

Entering the room, the Sheriff tensed at the sight of the mess he’d left behind him: files littering the desk, two old coffee mugs lying around, the room smelt stuffy and thick like a window hadn't been opened in this room for a while. Old paperwork littered the bed whose sheets needed to be changed, and the bookshelf was almost throwing up its contents.

Cursing to himself, Noah put the luggage to the side and immediately began tackling the mess he’d left behind in his wake.

This is why he would tell Stiles to clean up after himself so he didn’t end up in an embarrassing position like him – stuffing everything into a cardboard box he’d found against the side of the table, cursing to himself when he heard the front door click shut and Jordan’s footfall approaching down the hall. Putting everything in there – files, papers, empty mugs – he lifted the box off the bed just as Jordan stood in the doorway, the bottom of the box giving out and throwing all the contents across the floor, both mugs shattering and skittering across the floor as the Sheriff stared wide-eyed at his Deputy in the doorway.

Jordan stared at the mess on the floor before looking up at the Sheriff standing with the bottomless box in hand and staring at Jordan. The younger was forced to press his lips into a thin line to keep from laughing, coughing to cover the sound of mirth that escaped him before he put his box on the floor beside the luggage and stepped towards the Sheriff.

“Come on, I’ll help you clean this up, then we can get some dinner,” Jordan beckoned the Sheriff as they both crouched down to right the papers and files, removing the shards of the mug.

“Sorry about the mess,” The Sheriff gave a sheepish smile as they put everything away in their rightful places. “I’ll be sure to empty this out in the morning,”

“There is no need for that,” Jordan reassured as he straightened out the files and put them on top of the study table next to the desktop. “You and I have different working hours, so there is no need for you to do that. Besides, I don’t get bothered by light when I’m sleeping. You’re more than welcome to continue using this room as you have been. Imagine I’m not even here,” He turned to the Sheriff, leaning against the front of the desk, legs stretched out before him and arms crossed over his chest.

“I think you and I should talk about your working hours,” The Sheriff sighed and rubbed at the back of his head, the day’s exhaustion catching up on him,

“You and I have a lot to talk about,” Jordan nodded and pushed himself off the edge of the table, Noah flinching at the words as the younger walked over to him, patting the Sheriff on the chest over his uniform. “Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook, Sheriff,” He gave him a stern look before walking out of the guest room, and announced he was ordering pizza up the stairs, Stiles and Derek calling back their preferred flavor in response. The Sheriff sighed to himself and rubbed a hand over his face, swallowing to wonder what he’d dragged himself into.

They ate pizza in Stiles’s room, the boy settled in Jordan’s lap, back to his chest with Noah against the headboard, Derek sitting between the two men and voraciously devouring an entire large pizza on his own, all of them used to the sight.

“You know,” Derek rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, staring at Jordan who looked up from where he was combing back Stiles’s hair, the boy almost asleep on his chest. “You smell like striking a match,” He told him, Jordan blinking at the information, feeling Stiles tilt his head back to look at the underside of his jaw.

“Oh?” Jordan blinked. “Is that why you guys always look so uncomfortable? Because it’s a sharp stinging smell?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, the Sheriff looking between them. “Also, you were literally smoking that one time you confronted Kate Argent,”

“Smoking? Was I?”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, we watched as smoke started coming off you, then Kate ran away like a scaredy cat,” Stiles giggled and pressed himself firmer into Jordan’s chest before stilling. “Huh, I guess we all pretty much knew you weren’t human,” He mused to himself and looked up at Jordan.

“You know, you’re not really human either,” Jordan arched a brow at Stiles who blinked at him. “You had a purple force field around you and Derek when I found you in the fire,”

“Really?” Stiles sat up with a gasp before whirling towards his dad. “Dad! Does that mean I’m-I-what was that phrase?”

“You’re coming into your powers,” Noah informed as he picked up the empty pizza boxes and plates, walking out of the room to dispose of them. Jordan’s eyebrows disappeared into his forehead as he stared after the Sheriff’s departing figure before whirling towards Stiles and Derek, both of the boys grinning at each other in delight.

“I’m sorry,” Jordan interrupted their excitement. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve known you’re not human?”

“Of course,” Stiles tilted his head in confusion. “I mean, I’m a Spark like my mom,”

Jordan blinked at the nonchalance with which the boy had delivered that information. He wondered how it didn’t occur to anyone to inform him that the boy he’d been watching over was also another form of a supernatural. It wouldn’t have changed anything about how much Jordan adores him, it would have simply prepared him better for the news if he were to be told this over coffee instead of after a house fire.

“And what exactly is a Spark?” He inquired, burying the sudden pang of hurt to be kept out of the loop, looking down at the boy and felt Derek tense beside him on the bed.

“Well, it’s a magical being, kind of like a wizard,” He mused to himself, fiddling with Jordan’s fingers. “I can do magic, spells, and that kind of stuff, but it’s more instinctual than it is learning. Deaton said it’s rooted in self-confidence, like if I believe I can do it, I can do it,”

“So like, if you believe you can open a locked door, you can?”

“Exactly!” Stiles beamed wide at Jordan, straightening to look back at the man with a sparkle in his eyes that he understood what he was driving at before faltering to see the blankness on the man’s face. “Jordan?”

“So you’re magical,” Jordan stated, reminding himself that he had no right to feel hurt over this. He needed to understand his place with these people, hell he probably shouldn’t be getting too comfortable around them till he knew exactly what he was. Derek and Stiles shared a look at the statement before nodding. “What else can you do?”

“Well…” Stiles fiddled with the duvet and gnawed at his lower lip, feeling the sudden shift in Jordan which made him a little queasy and uncertain. “Uh…I’m not really sure, since we come into our powers after turning 10, and uh-you said that I had a force field, so I guess that’s one of the things I can do,”

“Deaton also called you a bridge,” Derek pointed out, Stiles nodding, the werewolf turning to Jordan and hunching his shoulders a little – smelling something that made him uneasy. “Uh-well, Deaton said that Stiles being a Spark, he is connected to the Nemeton which is a magical tree in the preserves which sort of attracts supernatural creatures to itself. Which makes Stiles a bridge between the humans and supernaturals,”

“Which is why you attract supernatural creatures,” Jordan concluded, Stiles jumping at the observation and gawking at the Deputy.

“Huh. I never thought that could be why. I thought they just liked how charming I was,” He beamed at Jordan, his smile faltering when the man didn’t return it and turned to Derek.

“And who is Deaton?”

“Uh…Alan Deaton is our Pack’s Emissary,” Derek scratched at his nape, shoulders hunched forward in discomfort. “He’s a druid and works as a vet,”

“So he’s also magical?”

“Uh…yeah, I guess. Well, the hierarchy varies in terms of powers. Squibs and Druids are at the bottom, then come witches and wizards, and Sparks are at the top because they’re capable of growing their power, like filling a bottomless well.” He spoke with pride over the fact that his mate was a powerful magical being.

“And where was he through everything that happened tonight?” Jordan inquired, recalling that Pack Emissaries were the right hand of the Alpha. If this Deaton was Talia’s Emissary, he should have not only been there with them at the meeting with Chris Argent, but he should have been there when they discovered the fire. Who knows, maybe the Druid could have been able to put out the fire quicker than the firefighters through his magic.

Derek flinched at the question, staring wide-eyed at Jordan, and stammered, seemingly arriving at the same conclusion as Jordan. “I-uh-I don’t know,”

“You said he’s a vet? His office is here?”

“Yeah,”

“Okay, I’ll pay him a visit in the morning,” Jordan nodded and stood up before turning to the two boys. “Will you be staying, Derek?”

“If-uh-if that’s okay,”

“I’ll ask the Sheriff,” Jordan said and looked to the two boys sitting silently on top of the bed, peering up at Jordan with wide eyes. “Stiles do you need help getting to the washroom to get ready for bed?”

“I can help him!” Derek assured before Stiles could say anything.

“You sure?”

“Yeah! I’m stronger than I look!”

“Okay, let me know if you two need anything, don’t stay up too late just because you’re not going to school tomorrow,” He instructed and made his way out of the room, head spinning with all the information he’d gathered, heading out of the room and leaving the door open slightly behind him before making his way down the stairs.

He found the Sheriff putting the dishes away, stopping his task to turn to Jordan when the man leaned into the doorway of the kitchen. The man noticed that something was off about Jordan, unable to put his finger on it as the younger began speaking.

“Is it okay if Derek stays?”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” He agreed, eyebrows furrowing when Jordan nodded, stepping back as if he were about to leave but faltered.

“Oh, also, I should let you know that I’m going to go talk to Hale’s Emissary about the fire in the morning,”

“Deaton? Why? He wasn’t there,”

“Exactly,” Jordan nodded. “He’s the Alpha’s Emissary, her right-hand man, don’t you think it’s odd he wasn’t there for the meeting with Chris Argent nor did he visit the Hales after the fire?” He asked, noticing the Sheriff’s lips part in realization and nodded.

“I’ll come to the station with you in the morning-”

“-No, you’re too personally involved in this case,”

“And you aren’t?” The Sheriff snorted at the man’s claims.

“You’re the father of one of the victims,” Jordan stated with dull eyes. “I am just the Deputy that got them out of the fire,”

“That’s not true,” Noah reeled back at the words.

“That’s what would be written on the documents,” He shrugged, the words leaving the Sheriff speechless as he watched Jordan step back. “Good night, sir,” Jordan nodded and walked over to the guest room, closing the door behind him.

Sighing to himself, the Sheriff knew they all needed to sit down and talk everything out once and for all, but tomorrow once Jordan was back they could all sit down after dinner and talk it all out: all of the worries, insecurities, expectations, and realities. Obviously, some things bothered Jordan, on top of that the Sheriff and he had just barely made up, they needed time to find their rhythm again.

Putting the dishes away, Noah wiped his hands before making his way upstairs to tuck Stiles in, finding the boy curled up close to Derek, his face buried into the werewolf’s shoulder before he looked up at the sound of the knock.

“Hey, kiddo,” He greeted and made his way into the room to notice the frown on the boy’s face and sat down behind him, stroking back his hair. “What’s wrong?”

“I told Jordan I’m a Spark,” Stiles shifted onto his back so he could look at his dad without straining his neck. “And…I don’t know, something felt off when I told him,”

“He smelt upset,” Derek nodded from behind Stiles, Noah arching a brow at the words. “Emotions give off chemo signals which have a smell, Jordan smelt upset, or sad,”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Please?” Stiles peered up at his dad from beneath his lashes. “I don’t want him to be mad at me,”

“He wasn’t mad,” The Sheriff shook his head. “No, I think he’s just overwhelmed by everything that’s happened so suddenly. We nearly lost you today, Stiles, it’s a pretty horrible feeling to go through, buddy. Then he finds out he’s not human and it’s scary not knowing what Supernatural he is, or what he can do, and he’s so scared of hurting you or me. Then he finds out you’re a Spark, and he didn’t know that – I guess he was upset about being kept out of the loop on that – and now he has to go to the station in the morning because he has to work,”

“Woah,” Stiles blinked and sat up, looking from his dad to Derek. “That…that is a lot,”

“Yeah, so I guess he’s tired, he’ll be better in the morning,”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Noah chuckled and kissed Stiles’s forehead, before doing the same to Derek and tucked them in. “Good night, boys,”

“Night, Dad,” They called in sync and rolled towards each other, Noah’s eyes crinkling at their closeness, and stepped out of the room, leaving the door ajar before heading to his own bed to crash for the night.

The house couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours, the night on the cusp of dawn when Stiles’s screams permeated through the walls and woke the Sheriff with a start and his heart in his throat. Rolling out of bed and staggering to regain his balance, he rushed towards the door, opening and stepping out into the hallway just as Jordan pushed open Stiles’s door and rushed in, the Sheriff hot at his heels. Both of them entered to find Stiles thrashing in the bed, Derek hovering above him, trying to hold him down and calm him with tears streaming down his cheeks, staring with wide-eyed panic at the two men.

They both rushed forward in sync, Noah hoisting Stiles into his arms and cradling him close while Jordan picked up Derek, holding the boy to him as they both watched Noah struggle to get Stiles to calm down, or wake up. The boy jolting upright with a gasp and choked sobs, trembling and staring in a daze around him till Noah pulled him back to him, murmuring into his ear and cradling him close as the boy cried into his chest, whimpering at the pain that shot up his leg.

Derek wriggled out of Jordan’s arms to make his way over to Stiles, placing his hand on the young boy’s forearm, dark veins traveling up Derek’s palms and wrists to his arms, disappearing into the crook of his elbow. Jordan watched Stiles’s relax and sag into his dad’s arms, letting out a snuffling sound before falling back asleep, the Deputy let out a breath of relief to see the boy calm once again.

“You okay, Derek?” Noah asked softly to the werewolf, the boy looking away from Stiles and nodded to the Sheriff.

“Stiles?”

“He’s fine now, just a nightmare,” The Sheriff reassured and gestured for the boy to get in once he’d settled his son. “Sleep tight, okay? I’m right next door if you need anything,” He told Derek with a soft smile and tucked them in once more before he turned to where Jordan was standing vigil in the center of the room, watching all of this play out in silence.

“Jordan,” Noah called out softly to him, taking the man’s wrist, the touch making the younger startle and turn towards the Sheriff, blinking owlishly at him. “He’s okay now,” He reassured, Jordan nodding along to the words and letting himself be led out of the room.

“You should get some more sleep, too,” The Sheriff suggested at the top of the stairs, Jordan agreeing with a nod, knowing that he had to go to the station in a few hours. “Goodnight, Jordan,” He murmured, kissing the younger’s forehead, and leaving him in stunned silence at the top of the stairs before the man made his way down the hall and back to his room.

Jordan’s heart had stuttered at the touch of Noah’s dry cold lips against his sleep-warm skin, blinking as he touched the spot of contact and stood frozen on the stairs, about to head downstairs back to the guest room. Each step away from the room made anxiety crawl up Jordan’s spine till he had to stop in the middle, exhaling deeply, and whirled around to make his way back upstairs and towards Stiles’s room.

Taking a seat against the wall opposite the two rooms, Jordan crossed his arms over his chest and mentally prepared himself for a few hours of vigil, not assured that everything would be alright, knowing that Stiles could wake up at any hour in a panic and need comfort. Gnawing at his lips to see that he hadn’t gotten around to stashing weapons around the house yet and reinforcing every lock, mentally telling himself that he’d do that as soon as he got a moment, but till then he’ll stay here and protect the Stilinskis’ from anything that would wish to harm them.

Chapter 16: Bestiary

Chapter Text

Jordan arrived at the station bustling with activity, the other deputies asking after the Hales and Stiles following last night’s arson case, Jordan informing them that the Hales had recovered but Stiles had a broken leg which frustrated the boy and hampered his movements. He, in turn, asked if Chris Argent was here and they told him that he had been in a holding cell all night and that his wife had come and was creating a fuss, demanding that her husband be released before leaving with the claim that she’ll return with their lawyer.

“She was demanding to see the Sheriff,” Clark informed, leaning against Jordan’s desk as the man went about his daily routine of checking what needed to be done and what tasks he was assigned, deliberately keeping Argent waiting longer.

“She’s just going to have to make do with Deputies then,” Jordan shrugged before turning to the woman. “You questioned senior?”

“Yeah, the Sheriff asked me to since he was too personally involved and could not be objective, but the stuff the man was saying made even me want to throttle him,”

“What’d he say?”

“Same bigoted bullsh*t racists say, that it was for the greater good and sacrifices for the cause, yadda yadda yadda,” She rolled her eyes.

“Nothing about how they started the fire?”

“No, sorry, he was pretty tight-lipped about it, demanded to lawyer up,” She shook her head, Jordan nodding and leaning back in his seat before grabbing his coffee cup. “What’s the plan for Junior in the back?”

“Leave him there, I need to make a call first,” He sipped at the beverage, the other deputy giving him a two-fingered solute and jumped off his desk, heading to her own to let Jordan deal with the case. The Deputy picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts before coming to the one he needed. “I’ll be cashing in that favor you owe me, Peter,” He spoke into the phone once the call connected.

Being recognized as an authority figure on the force, and one of two people in charge of supernatural cases, most of the community tried to be on their best behavior in front of him and Jordan took advantage of it and got multiple supernatural creatures owing him favors. He had several Wendigoes owing him for getting them out of a holding cell on a misunderstanding during a bar fight, the Deputy in charge having automatically assumed that the Wendigoes had started the fight while it had been a bunch of drunken kids to have done so. Bjorn owed him too, for having gotten him out of a speeding ticket because his daughter had been injured and needed to go to a hospital, and other such instances, but Peter Hale owed him for an entirely different reason.

The first time Jordan had joined Stiles at the Hale House, Peter Hale had slid up to him and tried flirting with him, assuming Jordan’s impassive mask was him playing hard to get, and slid his hand into Jordan’s back pocket. Jordan had never judo-flipped someone as fast as he did Peter Hale, the man’s back colliding with the floor with a loud thud, head bouncing against the wooden flooring, Jordan ready to pop the werewolf’s shoulder out of his socket had the man not shrieked “mercy” in a high-pitched voice that could have been mistaken for a pre-pubescent girl’s.

After some back-and-forth bickering, Peter Hale learned never to touch Jordan Parrish and now the werewolf owed him a favor that Jordan was cashing in.

“I’m here,” Peter came into the bullpen with his arms wide open and walked with a swagger like he owned the place, Jordan rolled his eyes as he stood up from his desk with his coffee mug and beckoned the werewolf to him. “What do you want?”

“I’m going to question Chris Argent,” Jordan informed him as he took a sip of the beverage and watched the man growl at the name. “Down, puppy, I need you to listen to his heartbeat and tell me if he’s telling the truth,” He rolled his eyes at the feral display.

“Why can’t you do it? You’re also a super, aren’t you?” Peter raised an eyebrow, the Deputies closest to them faltering and gawking at the duo while Jordan let out a put-upon sigh to be outed like this.

“I don’t know what sort of a super I am and if listening to heartbeats like creeps is in my purview,” Jordan smiled sharply at him, reaching out towards the man who flinched before stilling when the Deputy merely picked up a white thread clinging to Peter’s shoulder. “So: tag, you’re it,” He announced and lightly shoved against the man’s chest, Peter rolled his eyes and followed the Deputy who was taking him to the observation room.

“Argent is in the interrogation room,” Clark informed, Jordan thanked her and finished his coffee before making his way to the room in question.

Chris Argent was still dressed in the same clothes, hands cuffed to the table, but eyes sharp as he watched Jordan enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s start with a simple yes or no questions,” Jordan announced and took a seat opposite the case file in front of him. “Were you a distraction so your sister could light up the Hale House?”

“No,” Chris answered readily, calm and corporative as he said he would be.

“Were you aware your sister was planning on doing this?”

“No,”

“Were you aware that there were humans inside the house at the time of the fire? And I’m not talking about just the Sheriff’s son, but also some Hale members are human,”

“No, I did not,”

“Then tell me what you do know,”

“I know that you’re not human,” Chris began immediately. “I know that you were on Kate’s list. I also know that Kate had help from someone to incapacitate the Hales long enough for them to start the fire. I also know that Kate subscribed to my father’s ideology of eradication. I do not,”

“How come? You both have the same parent,”

“I don’t subscribe to the same ideology because every day after school my little girl comes home to me and tells me all about how nice the Supers are to her and how welcome they make her feel. Then when she tells me she’s been to their homes and they’ve been nothing but kind, I can’t help but think we’ve been raised on overgeneralizations based off a few rare cases,” Chris answered readily. “My wife, on the other hand, believes the opposite,”

“Must make for quite the marital dispute,”

“I know that Kate called in hunters from around the state. I can provide you with a list of all the names and information to prevent them from entering Beacon Hills,” Chris informed, Jordan arching a brow and leaning back in his seat. “I can also give you our Bestiary, you may be able to find out what sort of supernatural you are,”

“This is not about me, Mr. Argent, I’d like to know how Kate incapacitated a house full of werewolves and started the fire,”

“I am not entirely sure how she managed it, but I know she has an insider informant who has magic on their side. That person was capable of putting a spell on the werewolves long enough for Kate to start the fire before survival instincts kicked in and broke the temporary spell,”

Jordan ran over the words, recalling the hierarchy of magical creatures Derek had given him: Squid, Druid, Witch, and Spark. Could Kate have been in leagues with a witch or wizard? If so, who was it? Was it someone from Beacon Hills or a new arrival? If it was someone from Beacon Hills, what would they gain from having the Hales eradicated? Were they being threatened or did they do it of their own free will? There were so many questions that Jordan needed answered to better understand what happened, but he couldn’t do so with gaps in his knowledge.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Jordan crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Argent.

“Because my baby girl made friends,” Chris Argent stated factually, Jordan arching a brow at the words. “She made friends and refuses to see them harmed, and I would very much like to not deny her this,” The hunter leaned forward, elbows on the steel table, and met Jordan’s eyes.

“I will cooperate and give you whatever you want,” Chris Argent stated. “All I ask is that you ask Mayor Hale to give me another chance to negotiate a treaty between us. It will be beneficial to the both of us in the long run because I can call off all the hunters that are making their way here,”

Jordan scrutinized the man under his gaze, exhaling deeply as he picked up the file and made his way out of the interrogation room, walking over to the room next door to where Peter stood. The werewolf stared out the observation window and frowned at Chris Argent sitting beyond the glass, looking at them as if he could see through the one-way glass.

“He’s telling the truth,” Peter grunted in disgust. “Not a blip of altered pulse,” He turned to Jordan who sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“So some magical being helped Kate incapacitate you all,” Jordan repeated, knowing that Kate already set fire to the house with the help of her father. One perpetrator is dead with the other paralyzed from the neck down. Then there was Chris Argent, a man from the same seed, offering them his corporation in exchange for a chance to negotiate peace for the sake of his daughter. The things one did for their child.

“I think we should kill him,” Peter shrugged and turned back to the window.

“I’m going to let him go,”

“What?!” The werewolf whirled around at him. “Are you out of your mind? He’s an Argent!”

“He’s a father before he is an Argent. You just confirmed he’s telling the truth, and he’s more than willing to ally himself with us. If he crosses the line, he can be taken care of. He’s human,” The Deputy stated as he opened the door. “Besides I have no evidence to hold him any longer. He’s not an accessory to attempted murder,” He stated and went to retrieve the keys.

“You’re free to go, Mr. Argent,” He informed as he undid the cuffs, Chris rubbed his sore wrists and looked up at the Deputy with impassive eyes. “I’ll talk to Mayor Hale, but I can’t promise anything,”

“Come get the list and the Bestiary from my house after your shift,” Chris Argent nodded and stood up, Clark at the door to escort him out of the station.

Jordan watched Peter lean against the doorway, glaring at Chris Argent’s back as he was let out before he turned his displeased stare to the Deputy who was leaning against the edge of the desk and looked down at his phone, having received a message from the Sheriff. Opening it, he found an attachment and downloaded it, he clicked it open and huffed a laugh at the sight of Stiles sitting on the downstairs couch with his broken leg propped up on the coffee table and surrounded by all his little friends. Derek, Scott, Isaac, Cora, Malia, Kira, and another girl whom Jordan placed to be Allison Argent. Laura and Ajax were there as well. All of them were engrossed in what appeared to be a heated debate over one thing or another, the Sheriff having taken the picture in secret from the entrance foyer.

The text under it read ‘Wish you were here’, the words making Jordan’s heart leap in his chest and made him flush.

“Ugh, stop it,” Peter groaned and gagged. “I can tell the Sheriff texted you just by the look on your face, I don’t need to smell that sh*t,” He shuddered and snuffed, Jordan arching a brow at him and rolling his eyes at the man’s theatrics before responding to the text.

Why? Jordan typed back. So I can babysit? No way, it’s your turn now, he told the man before pocketing the device and making his way toward Peter.

“How do you feel about visiting your pack’s emissary?”

“Deaton?” Peter arched a brow. “Why?”

“If there is anyone who would know about the magical creatures residing in Beacon Hills, it’s a Druid, no?” Jordan arched a brow. “Besides, I have a few questions for the man,” He shrugged and clapped Peter on the shoulder, beckoning him to follow. The werewolf let out a disgruntled sound to be bossed around but followed all the same.

The clinic was generic with a grey brick exterior and front-facing windows, the inside smelling strongly of animals and medicine, the werewolf with Jordan breathing through his mouth. The smell was overpowering for Jordan, he wondered how bad it must be for those with heightened senses, but despite it, Peter led Jordan past the front desk and towards the back and into one of the examination rooms.

It was also made up of bricks, three high windows on one wall, with shelves and equipment around the perimeter, and a single steel examination table in the center. Peter went and sat on top of it while Jordan looked around at the medical equipment laid out, and wondered if Stiles would ever like having a dog, knowing that he had always wanted one as a child, but never got the chance to own one. Then he wondered if this hypothetical dog and Derek would fight each other for Stiles’s attention. The image of a little puppy and 12-year-old Derek growling at each other made Jordan press his lips to keep from laughing.

Peter could smell the moment Deaton was approaching, his familiar herbal and ozone scent mixed with the air of the clinic drew nearer, the werewolf expectantly looking at the door.

It was the smell that made the mirth die away from Jordan’s lips, Peter jumped off the examination table and turned towards Jordan at the sudden spike in his brimstone smell, gawking as orange flames bled into his irises, fangs elongating and claws unsheathing themselves as he let out a low grumbling growl in the direction of the examination room doors. Peter whirled around to find Alan Deaton stepping in and then still at the sight before him.

Peter Hale stared at the Druid in confusion while another creature in a Deputy uniform growled at him from across the room. Deaton blinked placidly as he closed the door behind him.

“Hello Peter,” He greeted the werewolf without tearing his gaze away from the growling creature eying him with an inferno in his eyes. “Who is your friend?”

“Druid,” Parrish’s voice came out in a deep rumble, Deaton and Peter turning towards him at the rough baritone. “An Emissary of the Hale pack, sworn to protect them, yet why do I smell blood on your hands?”

Peter was startled at the words, mind working double time to figure out what had suddenly sent Jordan into his supernatural mode, why the creature was taking control of the Deputy and snarling at the Druid. The comment about blood on his hands made Peter sharpen his olfactory senses and focus on the vet’s scent: disinfectant, medicine, animal, herbs, ozone, copper, mountain ash, and burning wood. His eyes snapped open at the mixture of scents he could pick up, the oldest not more than 24 hours old, the werewolf turning to the emissary in disbelief.

“I am a vet,” Alan Deaton tried to placate, Peter’s eyes flashing yellow. “Sometimes I have to perform surgeries-”

“-You smell of smoke,” Peter growled rumbling, eyes flashing and claws and fangs extending,

“Don’t be so dramatic Peter, I had nothing to do with the fire,”

“Then where were you!” Peter demanded before falling silent when Jordan spoke again.

“You may not have set it,” Jordan appeared before the Druid, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and shoving him up against the wall, his feet hanging limply. “But you are the magical creature that incapacitated the Hales long enough for the Huntress to set the fire, isn’t that right?” He snarled, teeth snapping as he waited for a response, knowing that if he had nothing to do with the fire, he would say so, but if he did have a hand in the fire and tried to lie, both Peter and he would be able to tell immediately.

Jordan had been so focused on the man’s heartbeat that he never noticed that the vet had hidden a scalpel in his sleeve, the blade slipping into his hand as Deaton swiped it at Jordan’s face. The Deputy leaned back just in time for the blade to nick his cheek, Jordan releasing him in his effort to dodge and let the man drop to the floor as the wound closed. Growling, Jordan took a swipe at him with the elongated claws.

Deaton slipped out from under his arm and lunged towards Peter, scalpel held at a ready, bringing it down from above.

Catching his wrist, Peter twisted his hand back, and applied backward pressure onto the forearm with his left hand, forcing his elbow out and hand to twist back, Deaton letting out a sharp cry as Peter took the scalpel from his weakened grip. Seething down at the vet, his eyes a vibrant yellow with his fangs elongated and gaze murderous as he snarled down at the man.

“No one hurt my family and lives,” He growled, dragging the scalpel across the vet’s throat and sending out a spray of blood soaking Peter and Jordan. “No one,” Peter snarled and released his restraining hold on the body, letting it crumple to their feet, feeling the change of his eyes from beta yellow to blue; looking up to Jordan whose eyes had gone back to their normal green, fangs and claws receded, his gun held out before him and aimed at where the body had stood, staring down at it. The blood had sprayed over his uniform and his face. His gaze moved to Peter who was soaked completely with the blood, still seething with rage.

Mentally putting the pieces together to know that whenever the Hellhound takes control, Jordan blacks out. Even now, he couldn’t remember what had happened between when he had been standing by the equipment and now. But one look around the area and a quick mental reconstruction let him know that the Hellhound smelt something on Deaton that led them to the conclusion that the Druid had been the insider Chris had been talking about. The man’s involvement made sense: someone with magical ability close enough to the Hales that the presence of his scent would not set off any alarms. But then, why had the man cooperated with the Hales? What did he gain from it?

“How’d you know?” Peter’s words came out muffled from around his fangs.

“I don’t know,” Jordan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, pulling the radio off his shoulder and bringing it to his mouth. “I got a 245 at the animal clinic, I need two officers to close off the scene and an ambulance to take the body,” He spoke into the radio, the response of another Deputy crackling with an affirmative that they were sending the necessary detail.

“You should really figure out what the hell you are,” Peter wiped his cheek off his shoulder and scrunched his nose to have spread the blood more than cleaned it, Jordan rolling his eyes at the werewolf before straightening to recall something, pressing down on his radio.

“No one tells the Sheriff,” Jordan added the instruction into the radio. “I’ll personally report it,” He informed, receiving another hesitant affirmative.

When the paramedics and deputies arrived at the scene, they immediately sealed it off. The sight of yellow police tapes, ambulances, and police cars attracted attention and created a crowd around the sidewalk, people whispering to each other and trying to get a look around the security detail and into the clinic. Jordan and Peter sat in the waiting room, wiping off the blood to the best of their abilities with the wet clothes the Deputy Sheriff had provided them with as he took their statement.

“Chris Argent informed me that Kate had a magical creature on her side who helped her incapacitate the Hales to start the fire,” Jordan spoke as he rubbed the blood off his face, knowing his uniform would be ruined by the time he got home. “So, I thought no one would know the current magical inhabitants better than the Hale Emissary and druid, which is why I came. I brought Peter with me because he’s part of the Hale pack and I believed Deaton would be more open to answering questions if he saw a member of the pack with me,”

“Then what happened?”

“I smelt smoke and mountain ash on the man,” Peter informed, reclined back in his seat and arms draped over the back of the chairs. “We figured out he had been the one to help Kate Argent set our house on fire. Jordan tried restraining him but got a little cut on his cheek, and then Deaton came at me with his scalpel, so I fought back,”

“And killed him,” The Deputy tacked on, eying Peter wearily.

“It was self-defense, Hewitt,” Jordan brought his hand up to rub his face and faltered halfway when he noticed his hands were coated in blood and sighed. “I’m witness to that. Deaton came at us to harm, or worse, kill. Peter Hale was defending himself,” He hung his head, the Deputy nodding and told them they could leave.

“Go home, Peter,” Jordan stood up, the werewolf trailing after him. “I’m going to meet with Chris Argent and get the list of hunters. I’ll talk to Talia Hale about what happened here today when I head back,”

“You sure you don’t need the support?” Peter inquired with a raised eyebrow, his tone aiming for blasé but letting genuine concern bleed through. Jordan blinked at the question before smirking at the werewolf.

“Is that concern I hear, puppy?” He teased with a crinkle to his eyes, watching Peter’s ears heat with embarrassment, and snarled at him.

“Get over yourself,” Peter waved dismissively and turned around to walk away.

“Take a hot shower and eat something,” Jordan instructed after him, the werewolf acting like he didn’t hear him – but they both knew better – and walked out the service exit, bypassing the crowd outside entirely.

Jordan waited for them to take the body out on the stretcher, slipping out from behind the paramedics when the crowd was preoccupied with the sight of the black body back being loaded into the back of the ambulance. Slipping away, Jordan hunched low to hide the blood on his clothes and unlocked his cruiser, jogging across the road towards it and got behind the wheel, driving away from the scene, mentally reminding himself that he had to talk not only to Talia Hale but report this incident to the Sheriff as well, knowing that if he didn’t, then one of the other Deputies would before him, and that would be whole other can of worms.

Like most suburban homes, the Argent’s house was, in one word, ostentatious. A stately brick villa with slanted roofs and is large enough to have multiple rooms. Jordan vaguely wondered what a family of three did with that much space, they sure as hell weren’t having Allison’s friends over regularly.

Turning off the car, he stepped out just as the front door opened and Chris Argent stepped out – showered and changed, and looking much more human – with a folder under his arm and a large tome in hand.

Stepping out of the car, he met Argent halfway, the man noting the blood sprayed over him and merely raised an eyebrow.

“I take it you found the accomplice?” He inquired as he handed over the manila folder first, Jordan opening it to find the list of names the hunter had mentioned.

“Something like that,” Jordan murmured distractedly, reading through the names to see if he recognized any before turning back to the older one when he didn’t find a name that sounded familiar.

“This is the Bestiary,” Chris held out an old leather-bound book to him, Jordan looking down at the tome and then the hunter before taking it from him. “It’s in archaic Latin-”

“-Of course it is,” Jordan sighed to himself as he flipped through the pages, seeing brown pages filled with lines of cursive writing and accompanying illustrations.

“It documents all the supernatural creatures that hunters encountered over the years. So if you’ll have any luck finding out what you are, it’ll probably be in there,”

“In Archaic Latin,” Jordan arched a brow at the man.

“Google translates it,” Chris shrugged.

Jordan heaved a sigh before closing the book with a snap that threw up a cloud of dust into the air, making the Deputy heave and cough, giving the hunter a pointed look who shrugged innocently.

“Thank you for your corporation, Argent,” Jordan held the file and book under his arm. “I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with the Mayor,”

“I’d much appreciate it, Deputy,”

“We’ll feed your daughter and make sure she gets home safe,” Jordan waved over his shoulder before making his way back to the cruiser.

Stopping at the station, he garnered concerned calls from the Deputies, Jordan reassuring them he was alright before walking over to the Deputy Sheriff with the list of hunters and showing it to him.

“These are all the names of the Supernatural hunters' Kate Argent had rallied to her cause and called to Beacon Hills,” He informed the man. “Even though Chris has called them off, I have the feeling that some would still come. We need to make sure that they aren’t able to cause any trouble,”

“Supernatural Hunters usually have a rep sheet,” Hewitt murmured. “I’ll divide the names among the deputies and have them pull up their wanted crimes and have them detained on those chargers if they show up. If we know the names and details, it’ll be easy to make sure they don’t cause any trouble,”

“Great,” Jordan clapped the man on the shoulder. “I’m going to meet the Mayor and let her know about Deaton,” He informed as he began to make his way out of the station again.

“Don’t forget to report to the Sheriff, Parrish,” Hewitt called after him as he flipped through the dossier, smirking when the younger Deputy flinched at the reminder and called back his acknowledgment before leaving.

Parking outside the Stilinski’s house, Jordan walked over next door, hearing the sound of the children as he drew nearer, smiling to himself to think that’s how his grandmother’s house should sound: full of life and laughter. Stepping onto the porch, he rang the doorbell and waited for an answer, Talia opened the door with pinched brows, her expression smoothening out at the sight of the Deputy.

“Jordan,” She called with a smile that faltered at the sight of the blood on his uniform. “Are you-”

“-I need to talk to you, Alpha Hale, preferably in private,”

“Would you like to go for a drive?” Talia inquired, picking up her house keys and stepping out of the house.

“I’ll drive,” He nodded, knowing that werewolf hearing makes having a private conversation a challenge.

Talia sat in the front seat of his cruiser, arms crossed as they drove away from the house, and stopped at a random neighborhood once Talia couldn’t hear the sound of her children anymore, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to hear them in turn.

“What happened?”

“I interviewed Chris Argent today and asked Peter to verify his honesty,”

“Peter? My brother?” The Mayor drawled slowly, confusion making her features contort as she stared at the Deputy. “How did you manage to do that?”

“He owed me a favor,” Jordan shrugged. “Peter verified that Chris Argent had nothing to do with the fire, instead Argent offered his assistance and informed us that Kate had been working with a magical creature. Last night I learned about the existence of your emissary-”

“-Alan Deaton,”

“Yes, so I thought if anyone knew who could align themselves with Kate, it would be the Hale pack emissary,”

“What did you find out?”

“Mayor Hale,” Jordan exhaled slowly, turning to the woman. “It was Deaton who worked with Argent. He put a spell on your pack to incapacitate them long enough for Kate to set the fire, and then left them to burn,”

“Wha-why-why would he do that?”

“We don’t know,” Jordan shook his head. “When he tried to confront him about it, he attacked us. Peter ended up killing him in self-defense,”

“So the blood is-” She gestured vaguely to his uniform, the blood has turned a dark brown from the deep red it had been, sunken into the threads of the fabric.

“-Yes,”

He watched the Hale Alpha sit in silence for a minute, digesting what she’d been told, and tried to put things into a semblance of order, mentally compartmentalizing. Jordan didn’t start the car until she gave him a nod ten minutes later, assuring him that she was okay now, and stayed silent on the drive back to the houses.

“Thank you for letting me know, Jordan,” Talia expressed her gratitude with a nod of her head, Jordan returned the gesture and watched her step out of the car, making her way back to her house.

He watched her go in before he got out and retrieved the Bestiary from the back of the car. Jordan was about to head to the front door before faltering to hear the sound of children arguing and stepping back, gnawing at his lips to know that it would make Stiles worry if he walked in with a blood-soaked uniform.

Stepping away from the front door, he made his way around to the back of the house, pulling his shoes off outside the back door, and slowly opened it to the sound of distant and incoherent arguing. Picking up his shoes, he entered the mud room, depositing them against the wall before shuffling in on socked feet, the book held under his arm as he slowly made his way inside, gaze fixed on the end of the hallway to make sure that no child accidentally ventured out and saw him sneaking in like a burglar before he straightened to hear the sharp inhale from his left.

Whipping his head in that direction, Jordan put his finger to his lips at the sight of the Sheriff staring at the blood on his uniform, blue eyes wide in concern and mouth parted on an unspoken question. His eyes are expressive enough to convey all his words.

Jordan took the Sheriff’s wrist in his palm, silently making his way towards the guest room with the elder in tow, and closed the door behind him. Noah whirled around once the door was closed, opening his mouth to speak once more but faltered when Jordan covered his mouth with his hands, mouthing “werewolves” to the man and pointing to his ear.

The Sheriff gave a frustrated grunt at the words and watched Jordan walk over to the table in the corner, putting the tome on top of the desk before looking around, grabbing a pen and paper before scribbling something on it, holding the page out to the Sheriff who took it and read the sentence in black ink.

‘The blood is not mine’, was written on the page, the Sheriff looking over Jordan to assure himself the man wasn’t injured before taking the pen from him and writing back his question. ‘What happened’ he asked and slid it back to Jordan, watching his deputy hunch over the table as he wrote, telling him all about the interrogation and Chris’s lack of involvement, and then their visit to Deaton’s and what happened there, how his supernatural creature had known about Deaton’s involvement from the scent alone, Peter able to confirm it as well, leading to a minor scuffle leading in the Emissary’s death. Jordan retrieved the list of names from Argent and gave it to Hewitt to be looked into. Telling the Sheriff that he had personally informed Talia Hale as well, and was now reporting to him.

‘We followed protocol’, Jordan wrote towards the end. ‘Peter and I gave our statements and I gave the list to the Deputy Sheriff to follow through’, he finished and slid the page toward the Sheriff, allowing him to read the words. Jordan watched the change in his expression from furrowed brows, to parted lips, to his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline before ending with a clenched jaw and fist against the edge of the desk. Thumping his curled knuckles against the wood and gritting his teeth in frustration, grabbing the pen off the desk to write out a quick response.

‘You could have gotten hurt!’

‘I’m fine’, Jordan rolled his eyes when he read the words. ‘I heal faster than humans anyways’.

The Sheriff scoffed out loud at the statement, grabbing the pen and writing with more force than necessary.

‘That’s not the point! You need a partner to watch your back!’ Jordan sighed at the text, took the pen from the Sheriff, and turned the page over when they ran out of space.

‘There is no Deputy who can work with me because they don’t know the proper etiquette of dealing with the Supernatural Community,’

‘We’ll teach them’.

‘It does not guarantee that the supers would be willing to interact with them even if they know the proper etiquettes’.

Jordan had a point, God, the Sheriff hated it when Jordan used logic against him. The elder groaned at the words and resisted the urge to crumple the page in front of him and braced the table, head hanging between his shoulders as he took a deep breath to ground himself. Jordan stood beside him with his jaw set in defiance, eyes burning, and arms crossed over his shoulder. Noah hated the defensive lines in the set of his shoulder, knowing that they weren’t communicating like this, they were misunderstanding each other again. He could tell that Jordan thought the Sheriff didn’t think he was competent or needed a minder shadowing him, which was not what he meant at all.

Straightening from his hunched position, Noah took the pen from Jordan’s clenched fingers, his grip loosening on the stationary when the Sheriff reached for it. The Deputy watched him pull the page back to him and write something on the bottom before sliding it to him, not meeting his gaze as heat traveled up his neck, Jordan’s eyebrows furrowed at the sudden bashfulness, and looked down at the page, face heating and heart racing in his chest.

‘I can’t lose you.’

Jordan blinked at the words, once, twice before flushing, so endeared by the simple words and swallowed down the giddiness overflowing in his chest. Taking up the pen the Sheriff had left on the desk and penned back his response before sliding it back to Noah, watching him turn to look at the page and bite his lips in uncertainty.

‘You won’t, Noah. I’ll be careful, I promise.’

The Sheriff sighed at the words, knowing that there was nothing more he could do to convince Jordan of getting a partner to work with him, knowing he’d have to think of a viable course to make it happen and for that he needed time. Instead, he straightened and held open his arm, looking expectantly at his Deputy whose eyes widened a fraction at the invitation before he stepped into the circle of the Sheriff’s arm, burying his nose into the crook of Noah’s neck and sagged to feel his strong thick arms come around his shoulders and hug him close, nuzzling into his hair. Jordan shifted when the Sheriff freed his arm and took up the pen again, scribbling something onto any available space on the page they’d filled with messages.

‘You need a shower, you smell like a butcher’s shop.’

Jordan bit his lips at the words, burying his face into the Sheriff’s shoulder when a snort escaped him at the hilarity of the statement, muffling his laughter into the fabric of Noah’s shirt and nodded in agreement; knowing he needed to shower. Instead, he pulled back far enough to pick up the pen and write underneath the Sheriff’s scrawling script.

‘5 more minutes?’ He suggested innocently, the Sheriff chuckling, nuzzling into Jordan’s temple, and pulling him back into the circle of his arms. Jordan’s arms wrapped around Noah’s waist while the elder stroked up and down his back, from between his shoulder blades down to the curve of his spine.

Both of them knew they wouldn’t get five minutes of just standing like this, with Noah’s hand situated into the curve of his back, cheek against Jordan’s hair, Jordan’s face nuzzled into the crook between Noah’s neck and shoulder, breathing in the warm rich fragrance of the man, wanting to bury himself in the scent and roll around in it till people couldn’t differentiate if it was Jordan or Noah from the smell. They were proven right when Stiles’s call for Noah had them sigh, the Sheriff pulling back and caressing Jordan’s cheek with the back of his hand, pointing to the shower and then at Jordan’s sternum playfully before stepping out of the room and towards the living room where Stiles was with all his friends; leaving Jordan to lean against the front of the desk, secretly smiling to himself.

Later in the night, once everyone had gone to sleep, Jordan stepped out of his room with the Bestiary, made his way up the stairs, and peeked into Noah’s bedroom, finding the Sheriff asleep with Stiles curled up beside him. Once assured that both of them were there, Jordan closed the door and sat down against the wall opposite the entrance and opened the thick tome, flipping through the pages, looking through the illustrations under the hallway light, knowing he couldn’t read Archaic Latin.

He found entries of Wendigos, Kanimas: a strange creatures with spikes and scales on its back, werewolves and their rumored types with anatomy, and different ways to torture them. Jordan scrunched his nose in disgust at the detailed illustrations, continuing to flip through the pages and coming across Werecoyotes, Banshees, and Druids, another entry on the Nematon and fireflies before flipping the pages at random till the book fell open to another illustration. This one is of a dog-like creature standing guard under the base of a tree with a skeleton in front of it. It had sharp claws and pinched-together features, its tongue forked at the tip and tail swinging in the air, something in Jordan stilling at the sight of the image.

Flipping to the next page he came across a detailed entry on the anatomy and structure, weapons drawn into the margins, and words in archaic Latin, all except for the name of the beast:

“Hellhound” Jordan read out to himself, grabbing his phone and began typing in the text tediously to google translate it, knowing he had no other option. It took him some time, and the translation probably wasn’t all that accurate, but Jordan understood the gist of it and swallowed thickly at the entry:

The Hellhound is the Bearer of Death, a species of amortal supernatural spirits who possessed the bodies of humans upon being reborn on Earth in order to complete their destined mission. They possess pyrokinetic and thermokinetic powers and are said to be the Guardians of the Supernatural world, making it their duty to make sure this world is protected.

Other than being beyond life and death, a Hellhound has the ability to possess a human host and give it the power of super strength…increased agility, speed, and reflexes…heightened senses of sight, sound, and smell…super durability…shapeshifting…accelerated healing…Pyrokinesis and thermokinesis…fire immunity-

There was more.

There was so much more, but Jordan couldn’t bring himself to stop shaking long enough to translate the rest of it, putting the book down on the floor in front of him, Jordan could only swallow down his distress to realize that he was a demonic being.

A Hound of Hell.

Chapter 17: Inferno

Chapter Text

Something had fundamentally changed inside Jordan after he came to realize what he was. Something that was accompanied by a constant level of anxiety to know he was a harbinger of death, and tried very hard not to let others find out. He didn’t want people to fear him, he didn’t want them looking at him with distrust and the anticipation that he would do something to them.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell the Stilinski’s.

Stiles’s bruises had faded away, his leg on the mend and the boy back in school; even the Sheriff had resumed working – neither of them had the chance to sit down and talk about their shifts or everything else that was beginning to pile on: why Noah thought Jordan would ask him to let go of the memory of his wife, or where they would go from here, knowing that they both harbored feelings for each other, but since Noah had a son, and Jordan adored that boy, they still couldn’t just dive in headfirst into a relationship; not when Jordan couldn’t even control his abilities and hadn’t even been aware of the full extent of his powers. Then there was the matter of Jordan practically cohabitating at the Stilinski house if he should get an apartment and move out.

They never got the chance to delve into that when they were once again asked by Mayor Hale to oversee the negotiations with Chris Argent; Jordan having convinced her to give the man another chance and listen to what he had to say.

This time, they met at the Mayor’s office, sitting in her conference room, Jordan and Noah on either side of her with Chris Argent across from them, ready to cooperate with whatever demands they set forth.

“Give me one good reason why I would want to negotiate a treaty with you after what your sister did to my family?”

“Had I known Kate and Gerard were going to attack you, I would have let you know,” Chris spoke, Talia able to hear the honesty with how steady his heartbeat was. “I do not want any trouble, Alpha Hale, I just want to make sure my daughter is happy and safe, but I can ensure that unless there is peace between us and the supernatural; and the only person with enough authority to vouch for my intentions is you as the Alpha and Mayor,”

“I can vouch for him,” Jordan nodded, making good on the promise he made to the hunter. Noah didn’t say anything, merely leaned back in his seat while the Mayor turned to him with an arched brow, expectantly waiting for his reasoning. “During the arsons case, Argent had cooperated with us to the best of his knowledge and did not lie – I had that collaborated through Peter who confirmed that he was not an accomplice, and he provided us with a list of the names of hunters whom Kate Argent had asked to come to Beacon Hills. I think a treaty between the supernaturals and Argents would be beneficial in the long run – we can help each other out,”

The Mayor and Sheriff shared a look at the words, considering the points Jordan had placed forth. He didn’t want to mention that Chris Argent was essentially going against his wife by negotiating a peace agreement because it wasn’t his place to out the man’s marital problems, and he most definitely did not want to mention the personal help Argent had provided him with by giving him their Bestiary with complete trust, which allowed Jordan to find out what he was.

He hadn’t even told Noah he figured it out, too scared to face the man’s reaction – or worse, his rejection.

Talia stapled her fingers together, leaning forward on the table, and scrutinized Chris Argent, the man unmoved by the look and remained impassive in the face of their hesitation. Jordan knew the mayor needed one final push to negotiate this armistice; he believed she should go for it. Argent would be able to help them out if they ever came across trouble with Hunters, the man could also put them off and make Beacon Hills off limits to their proclivities – though that would require some effort – but the Argent name was wildly respected in the hunter community, even Jordan knew that. The man could keep them up to date on any on-goings they should be aware of, as well as help them out with his vast knowledge of Supernaturals – Jordan hoped to talk to the man about what being a Hellhound meant once things settled down and he had been able to come to terms with his reality, but not yet.

“If Argent goes against any clause you set up in the agreement, I’ll take responsibility.”

“Parrish!” Noah whirled around at the statement, Talia raised her eyebrows in curiosity, even Chris looked startled at the words.

“It’s only fair since I’m advocating for him,” Jordan stated, arms crossed over his chest and meeting the Mayor’s gaze, choosing to ignore the way the Sheriff spluttered. The Deputy could feel the glare burning into the side of his face, the man no doubt keeping silent to stop from creating a scene with the Mayor and a hunter present.

“Are you sure about this, Parrish?” The Mayor inquired, Noah let out a strangled sound, unable to believe that Talia Hale would accept the terms.

"Now, just hold on-"

“-I am,”

"Jordan!"

“Since he has your trust, I am willing to negotiate an armistice,” Talia nodded and turned back towards Argent, the man looking like he was processing the entire duration of his life. “Shall we do it now?” She inquired, the hunter giving a nod of agreement and straightened in his seat.

Jordan turned towards the Sheriff, gnawing on the inside of his cheek to see the way the man was glaring at him, face turning red with his anger. The man got up, his chair scraping against the floor as he made his way around the desk and grabbed Jordan, tugging him up by the arm, and led him out of the room without excusing them from the meeting. The Deputy could only swallow to know that the Sheriff was furious with his decision.

The Sheriff marched them through the hall and into a random room, closing the door behind them, and released his hold on Jordan to pace around the space. The Deputy watched his progression through the room till the man felt composed enough to speak. The Sheriff whirled towards him with his jaw set and hands on his hips, glaring at the younger.

“Why would you do that?”

“It was the fastest way to ensure that the Mayor negotiates an agreement with Argent,” Jordan answered honestly, listing off all the ways it would be beneficial in the long run to have the man on their side.

“That still does not explain why in the name of God, you would willingly take responsibility if things go down the wrong path!”

Jordan frowned at the Sheriff’s outburst, the man going back to his pacing as if he had too much pent-up energy inside him without any release. The action reminds Jordan of Stiles, seeing the resemblance between father and son.

“Since I’m advocating for Chris Argent, his actions reflect on me too –the outcome, be it good or bad, I’m just as much responsible for the result as he is,” Jordan stated, knowing exactly what he was doing through this. So far, he didn’t have any reason to be distrustful of Chris. The man had cooperated with them, even aided them and gave them all the information they needed on Kate and Gerard – just as Chris discovered that not all Supernaturals are bad, the same way Jordan believed the man deserved the benefit of the doubt. Ha! That thought made him think of how Derek had convinced Stiles and his friends to give Allison the benefit of the doubt as well, maybe the little werewolf was on to something, maybe the father and daughter duo were allies. The thought gained credibility when Argent made sure that the BHPD could detain any and all hunters that were trying to enter Beacon Hills to cause harm despite Chris having called them off.

“Jordan,” The Sheriff groaned and pressed the heels of his palm to his eyes, teeth gritted and shoulders tensed. Jordan couldn’t understand this reaction. “Why would you agree to do something so monumentally stupid?”

“I don’t see how this is stupid-”

“-Say Chris Argent f*cks up, you’ll have to bear the consequences!”

“And I understand that,” Jordan’s eyebrows furrowed, not sure what the Sheriff wanted him to say. He knew what he was doing, “I insisted-”

“-Then tell me: what are Stiles and I supposed to do?” The elder demanded, Jordan reeling back at the question, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing. “Say Argent f*cks up, and you are held accountable as well, are Stiles and I supposed to just sit there and watch? Do you think we can do that?”

Jordan’s mouth opened and closed, unable to form words and reeling from the statement. All this time, Jordan had been drilling it into his own head – reminding himself, time and again – that he had no place with the Stilinskis. He wasn’t Noah’s boyfriend, he was his subordinate; he wasn’t anyone to Stiles either. Whenever Jordan found himself getting too involved, too invested to the extent that their behavior would hurt him – like how Noah had avoided him or how Stiles never told him he was a Spark – Jordan reminded himself he had no right to feel wounded by it. In essence, he was their next-door neighbor.

The younger leaned back when the Sheriff diminished the space between them and jabbed his index finger into Jordan’s sternum.

“If the situation had been reversed. If I had said I’d take responsibility for someone I shouldn’t and then held accountable for their actions,” Noah posed the hypothetical, Jordan tensing at the words, shoulders bunched up. “Can you honestly tell me you’d quietly sit there and do nothing if it had been me?”

“No-”

“-Then how can you expect me to passively watch you stand up for a man we hardly even know?”

“Given that you’re a father, I thought you’d understand what Chris Argent is doing,” Jordan swallowed, knowing he was deflecting the statement, but his words had Noah stilling. “Argent is here, negotiating a peace agreement with Talia Hale, an alpha werewolf, a supernatural creature whom Argent was raised to hate and hunt, and he is ready to put all that aside – even help out when needed – because his daughter likes her school and her friends. He’s here out of the love he has for his daughter, he’s not doing this for kicks and giggles, sir. You cannot honestly say that you would not have at the very least tried the same if you had been in his place,”

The Sheriff’s jaw bulged out with the way he had gritted his teeth, gaze frosty and swallowing thickly as if physically holding back his response. Jordan could only sigh, feeling exhausted and drained, and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Let’s just…” Jordan fumbled, wanting this conversation to be over. “Let’s just see what they negotiate, okay? We’re here as a witness and protective details anyways,”

Noah stepped back, taking a deep breath to calm himself, and looked towards his deputy who despite his neatly styled hair and ironed uniform, there was something off about him. There was something in the way he stood, a little drooped and gaze flickering away most of the time that Noah knew something was wrong, but Jordan wouldn’t tell him. If Chris Argent had anything to do with this, Noah didn’t care if he was the Sheriff, he was going to beat that man up. But despite that, he knew that the hunter had been helping them to the best of his ability, that he was aiding them against his clan, and no matter how much he hated it, Jordan was right. Had the Sheriff been in Chris’s position, he would have done the same for Stiles.

Closing the distance between them, Noah smoothened down the collar of Jordan’s immaculate uniform and sighed.

“I do not think you should have said you’d take responsibility just because you’re advocating for the man,” Noah spoke lowly, rubbing the edge of the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “But know this, if he messes up, and you end up facing the consequences, I will not stand idly by no matter what you say to me-”

“-You can’t-!” Jordan began to protest, hand reaching out as if he was going to grab the Sheriff but faltered when Noah’s grip tightened on his collar and tugged him forward till they were chest to chest. His jaw set and eyes burning with determination as he met Jordan’s gaze if that’s what it took for the man to understand his sincerity.

“-You watch me,”

There was something about the fierce determination in Noah’s words. The way the man was willing to put his job on the line – not that Jordan would let him – but the fact that he was willing to do so for Jordan made something break away in his chest. It felt like opening the window to a sealed room covered in mildew and thick with dust, allowing the sunlight to stream in and illuminate the covered furniture that held years of memories. It felt like allowing the room to breathe.

Jordan’s face contorted with his emotions, the younger struggling to rein them in, and when he failed, he simply placed his hands against the Sheriff’s side and pressed his forehead to the man’s shoulder. Noah let out a breath and cradled the back of his head, the other wrapped around his waist and holding him close.

“You know I wouldn’t let you do that,” Jordan hid in the crook of his neck, just needing to be close and forget everything for a moment. Forget that he was a Hellhound and that he had absolutely no idea what that meant, forget that he didn’t know how to control his powers and so was constantly afraid of unconsciously hurting someone – or worse, hurt Noah or Stiles – the thought making his fingers flex against the man’s side before he screwed his eyes shut and tried to bury deeper into Noah’s warmth and comfort.

“Well, had you not said what you did, we wouldn’t be here, now would we?” The Sheriff taunted with no heat, the hand in his hair moving down to knead at the skin of Jordan’s nape. Noah fought back an amused smile at the choked sound Jordan let out and went boneless in his arms.

Well, that definitely put an end to this conversation, Noah mused to himself, securely wrapping the other arm around Jordan’s waist – preening to know he could completely cover his midriff with one forearm – and nuzzled into his temple while continuing to massage the man’s neck. Smiling into his hair when Jordan brought one hand up to cup Noah’s forearm and tenderly rubbed his thumb back and forth over the skin.

The negotiation ran on for weeks.

Both Jordan and Noah are forced away from work to attend the proceedings with Chris Argent, his lawyer, Talia and Peter Hale, and the Hale lawyer as well – Stiles staying with the Hale children when his dad and Jordan were dealing with this.

Chris was very accommodating, no doubt about it, but even he had some things he would not budge on – the privacy of his family for one, and the second was the fact that he was not willing to give up on the weapons in their arsenal, nor was he willing to expose the location of their secret warehouses.

This matter dragged on the longest.

“You know,” Noah murmured one night, half asleep with his eyes closed, curled onto his side under the covers with Stile sprawled between them – the boy still waking from night terrors most nights and had taken to sleeping with his dad. Jordan had been content to keep a protective watch over them from the hallway, until the Sheriff came out one night for a glass of water and found him sitting against the wall, legs and arms crossed and head bowed to his chest, sound asleep. Noah had woken him with a gentle shake, Jordan jolting upright and staring at him with wide eyes till the man shushed him and tugged him up, guiding him to his room and had him get onto the other side of Stiles. The boy had smacked his lips in his sleep and rolled over towards Jordan, curling into his chest, and sighed deeply in his sleep. Jordan had taken to sleeping there, telling himself it was only until Stiles’s night terrors went away. “Hale should ask Argent to show her the weapon permits,”

“Hmm?” Jordan hummed in question, peeking open one eye, heart warm and close to bursting with his adoration at the sight of Stiles next to him and Noah lying just on the other side of the boy, right there within reach.

“This treaty,” The Sheriff murmured, sinking deeper into sleep. “Ask Argent to show the permits. If he’s got em’, well and good, if not, then hand the weapons over. I want this thing to finally be over, I can’t look over the files on the desk at this point,”

“You should suggest that Mayor Hale,” Jordan recommended around a yawn, jaw creaking and sleep pulling him under, the younger hearing the sound of confirmation from the Sheriff before he too drifted off. Jordan is not far behind.

Jordan woke to find himself in the preserves, kneeling on the ground in the middle of a clearing with a large tree rooted in the center, the thick branches sprawling out above him and blocking out the early morning sunlight. His heart jumped to find himself out of bed, away from home and still dressed in the same clothes he’d worn to sleep, noting that he’d put on shoes but that his hands were covered in soot. His jaw creaked with how hard he’d clenched his teeth to realize the hellhound had taken control again.

Even though Jordan had figured out what he was, he was no way closer to controlling it. The thing sentient and residing inside him, taking over whenever it felt like and doing whatever it desired, and now decided that sleepwalking should be put on the list as well. He really needed to figure out a way to control this thing, or communicate with it at the very least; making a mental note to look into it once this treaty business was taken care of.

Pushing himself off the floor with a frustrated groan, Jordan whirled on his heels and marched out of the clearing and hoped that he could make his way to the main road. Hoping he’d return to the Stilinski house before the Sheriff or Stiles awoke.

Both of them had been awake by the time Jordan had entered from the back door, drenched in sweat and breathing hard having run halfway back, the father and son duo looking away from the task at hand to wish him a good morning.

“Good run?” The Sheriff inquired from his place by the stove, Jordan straightening and making a sound in confirmation. The run was good alright, made his lungs burn and tested his endurance. There was no need to tell them where he’d run from or how he’d gotten there in the first place. “Go take a shower, breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,”

“Okay,” He nodded in agreement, smiling at Stiles before making his way to the guest room, missing how the boy frowned at the mud on Jordan’s shoes, his head tilting in confusion knowing that the Deputy went jogging on sidewalks and would therefore have no reason to get his shoes dirty. The boy pondered on it for a minute longer till he lost his train of thought when his dad redirected his attention. Stiles forgot all about the minor detail he’d picked up on.

Argent had hesitated with the permits, before confiding that most of the weapons he did own did not have a permit given that they were specially modified against the supernatural. The man took out what looked like a baton with a stun gun at the top. The Sheriff arched an eyebrow as he looked it over.

“This is way above the legal voltage limit,” Jordan stated, giving Chris a deadpanned look.

“I only use it for hunting,” The man tried to defend, earning himself a scoff of disbelief from Peter.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you could use it to jumpstart a 747,” The Deputy narrowed his eyes at the hunter. “This thing is a few watts away from being a lightsaber,” His gaze hardened at the man who shrugged.

“Like I said, I use it for hunting,”

“Supernatural creatures, you mean,” Peter clarified in a bored drawl, ignoring the sharp glare his sister and Alpha shot him. “But aren’t you here negotiating a peace treaty with us? That means you’re going to put all this caveman business behind you, no?” He cooed derisively, walking circles around the hunter who sighed, Jordan grabbed the Beta by the collar and tugged him back to his side to prevent him from antagonizing the hunter any further and finding himself on the receiving end of his lightsaber.

“I would still like to request that I be allowed to retain some of my weapons as a precaution,” Argent directed his words to Talia Hale who stood somewhere over Jordan’s shoulder with the Sheriff beside her. “Not every supernatural creature will be ready to accept this, and I would like to be able to protect my family in such a case,”

“Any supernatural creature with an issue would take it up with me,” Talia Hale stated, not feeling secure in knowing the man would have weapons on him, not ready to trust him yet.

“Why don’t you keep the things you can show you have a permit for,” The Sheriff spoke, rubbing a hand over his face. “And you hand over everything that does not have a legal permit which would be placed into lockup at the station,”

Argent took some time to consider this middle ground before agreeing. Boxes upon boxes of unauthorized weapons – that were close to torture devices – were put into lockup at the station.

The treaty progressed smoothly from there before finally getting signed and this whole matter was put behind them.

No soon was the treaty business over with, were both Jordan and the Sheriff catching up on all the backlog that had accumulated due to their frequent absence during the negotiation. Both of them had to take 12-hour shifts just to cater to it all. Jordan went from 12 pm while the Sheriff would relieve him from duty at 12 am – both of them repeating the cycle so that at least one of them stayed with Stiles. Their weekends were spent at the station as well, forcing the boy to go over to the Hales, Stiles was more than happy to spend time with his mate despite how much his cast annoyed him.

But even that got removed after a few weeks as did the workload.

However, the one thing that did not go away with time was Stiles’s night terrors and Jordan’s “sleepwalking”. Both Noah and Jordan having been woken by the boy’s screaming, rushed to his room to calm him down and hold him, often times the three of them would head back to Noah’s room, hold the boy close between them, and go back to sleep.

On the other hand, Jordan found himself waking up in different places every night. Once he came to at the parking lot in front of the grocery store, another time, he found himself in a different neighborhood, he even ended up on the high school lacrosse field or the public swimming pool. With each episode of sleepwalking, Jordan grew more and more antsy. Gnawing at his nails or biting through the inside of his cheek with the fear that he had no control and had no idea what he was doing in those places, how long he’d been there, or if he’d hurt someone. The panic was at a constant simmer under his skin, making his head ache and his mind exhausted.

All of it came to head when Jordan woke up in the Stilinski’s guest room, still dressed in his Deputy uniform, Jordan vaguely remembered the long shift he’d had and returned back to collapse into bed without changing. He even had his shoes still on and began to breathe a sigh of relief to know he hadn’t gone traipsing through the streets unconsciously and brought his wrist up to check the time on his watch before freezing at the sight of blood on his hands. The Deputy choked on his air and rushed to the washroom, scrubbing his hands clean and biting back his whimpers, a sob wracking through him, forcing the man to brace the edge of the counter and sink to his knees, curling into himself at the confusion coursing through him.

“Dad,” Stiles called later that day from somewhere in the house, the boy talking around the entire space now that his cast was off, keeping his father company while Jordan was at the station. The boy’s summer break started last week, giving him plenty of free time.

“Yeah?”

“Is everything alright with Jordan?” He asked as he zoomed into the kitchen and ran out through the dining room, Noah faltering in heating up their dinner as he pursed his lips.

No, there was something off with Jordan, but the man wouldn’t tell him what was going on. He was spacing out on the job, he lost track of the conversation and fumbled, he looked like he hadn’t slept with bags under his eyes and a haze over his gaze. Outwardly, he looked pristine and put together, but now that Jordan was living with them, Noah could notice that things were right; sometimes walking in on the man standing still in the middle of the hallway and looking into the distance, deaf to his calls and getting startled when the Sheriff would touch him. Sometimes, when he was sitting with Stiles, Jordan would forget the entire flow of the conversation and look lost at the boy till he repeated himself.

They were trying to get Stiles to sleep in his own room – which meant that they too were sleeping separately again – but once or twice a week Stiles would wake from his night terrors which is when the three of them would move to the Sheriff’s bed, and time and again, Noah noticed that Jordan would get up in the middle of the night and leave. Noah assumed he was going back to his room because Stiles did have the tendency to sprawl and sometimes that was uncomfortable.

But on the rare occasion that Noah woke up in the middle of the night to find Jordan gone, he’d go downstairs to check on him and make sure he was alright but found his room empty. Noah assumed he was probably in the washroom and would go back, but on those nights the younger would be coming back from a run in the morning. The Sheriff wondered how the man could have the energy to go jogging when he didn’t sleep right in the night. Noah liked to think of it as his military discipline but something wouldn’t sit right with him when he’d see Jordan in the morning, looking more out of it than he would have expected. He thought morning runs were meant to make a person refreshed and fortify them mentally to take on the day ahead of them, but in Jordan’s case it made him look haunted and as if he was ready to burst out of his skin.

Whenever Noah would ask if he was alright, Jordan would give him a tight-lipped smile and nod in confirmation before running off to his room.

Even today, when Jordan had come to relieve the Sheriff from duty, the Deputy could barely meet his eyes and gave short answers to his questions. The sheriff assumed he was just having an off day, but maybe it wasn’t just today, maybe something was going on with Jordan?

“You’ve gone quiet,” Stiles’s voice made Noah jump, the man turning around to find his son hanging from the archway into the kitchen. “So Jordan isn’t alright, right? He looks…weird,”

“Weird?” Noah shook himself out of his daze and began to plate their food, heading towards the table with Stiles following after him.

“You know like…he looks a little scared, I think, I noticed he looks at you sometimes like he’s scared, I think he looks at me like that too,”

“But why would he be scared?”

“I don’t you, I’ll ask him in the morning-” Stiles began, licking his lips as he picked up his burger, ready to bite into it before he froze.

The burger fell from his hands, splatting all over the table and plate, Noah was startled at the suddenness and turned to Stiles with a frown. He swallowed the bite and put down his food, noting the way Stiles had gone completely still, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared off into space.

“Stiles?” Noah called out softly so as not to startle the boy, and pushed back his chair to kneel in front of his son. “Hey, buddy, what’s the matter?” He inquired as he stroked back Stiles’s hair, the boy coming alive with a shudder and gripped at his dad’s wrist with both arms, panic in his eyes and chest heaving.

“There is…” The boy gasped, trembling in his seat. “Something is wrong with Derek-” He managed to choke just as the sound of a fist pounding on their door rattled through the house. Noah and Stiles's heads whipped in the direction, his son whimpering and gripping at his dad who got up with their hands joined and made his way to the front door, the pounding coming again.

Opening the door they found young Ajax standing on their threshold, vibrating out of his skin, fidgeting with his hands and shuffling on his feet as he kept glancing towards their house.

“Ajax,” Noah called out to garner the boy’s attention, the teenager turning to the Sheriff with wide frightened eyes, rocking back and forth and gasping for breath. “Take a breath, kiddo, tell me what’s happened?” He asked, putting a ground hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Something-” His voice cracked and his lower lip trembled. “Something is wrong with Derek and Cora,”

Stiles whimpered at the words, releasing his hold on his dad’s hand, and ran down the sidewalk to the house next door, immediately disappearing inside.

“What do you mean?” The sheriff asked, grabbing his jacket and car keys before following the boy towards their house.

“They-Derek said he was sleepy and was going to take a nap, and Cora fell asleep on the couch watching TV and now-now both-they both won’t wake up. We-we tried everything. Mom-mom used her Alpha voice, and we threw water and shook them and they-they won’t wake up,” The boy whined, burying his face into his hands and trembling, Noah placed a comforting hand to the back of his head and grabbed his shoulder with the other.

“Okay, we’ll take them to the hospital and have them looked over, okay? I’m sure the doctors can tell us what’s going on-” He began just as the front door burst open, Alex coming out with Derek in his arms with Talia behind him, clutching Cora close. Stiles and Laura ran behind them.

“Ajax and Laura can come with me,” The sheriff nodded to the werewolves who nodded, Talia securing Cora in before Alex settled Derek beside his sister, Stiles clambering in after them and staying close to his mate. The elder two Hales settled in the Sheriff’s cruiser as they made their way to the hospital.

Noah was startled at the sight of the hospital emergency room.

The nurse’s station is overwhelmed by parents. Doctors running around and various codes were being called over the loudspeaker. The seats were occupied by patients – young children some who looked sick, others who were bleeding, and some that were clutched close to their parents’ chest. All of the parents looked haunted and concerned, the sounds of screaming and cries loud in the area, both Laura and Ajax flinching at the overload on their senses and huddled behind the Sheriff, the man placed a reassuring hand on their shoulders.

“Let’s find Melissa-” He began to suggest, noting the way both Alex and Talia seemed to get lost in the chaos of the hospital.

“Stiles?” Jordan’s voice came from down the hall, the man was still in his uniform – meaning he was here on duty – and speed walked through the crowded hallway.

“Jordan,” Stiles whimpered and rushed towards him, the Deputy leaning down and catching him in his arms, hoisting him up as the boy immediately began to speak. “Something is wrong with Derek and Cora-”

“-They’re not waking either?” Jordan inquired, the boy stilling at the words as they made their way back to the group gathered.

“How’d you know?”

“I got a call from the hospital in the day, telling me that they were getting an unusual number of supernatural cases coming in these past few days,” Jordan began to explain, looking everyone once over to make sure they weren’t injured. “They said they had supers coming in with extremely high temperatures, delirious from fever, then those who were coughing up blood, and then children who were coming comatose and unresponsive. But strangely, it's only children younger than 13 who are affected. I’ve been here all day trying to figure out what’s going on the number keeps rising. What happened to Derek and Cora?” He asked the Hales, holding Stiles close to himself.

“Derek said he was sleepy and went for a nap and Cora fell asleep on the couch watching TV,” Alex exhaled, eyes wide and flinching at all the noise, smell, and overwhelming chemo signals in the air. “We haven’t been able to get them to wake up since then,”

Jordan nodded, looking down at the two younger Hales, and swallowed thickly.

“Come, I’ll take you to where they’re keeping the children,” Jordan led them down the hall and towards the elevator, taking them up to the fourth floor. The doors open to show the entire floor covered in cots with various children of different ages sleeping on the beds, their parents beside them, and a stifling silence hanging over the whole area.

This was worse than all the chaos downstairs, Noah thought and followed behind Jordan who still held Stiles close to him and led the way down the hall and towards a group of nurses.

“There’s two more,” He called out to them, the nurse immediately turning towards the Hales, their movement efficient and practiced as they took Derek and Cora from their arms and took them away.

“Wait! Where-?” Talia gasped and jumped forward, faltering when Jordan stood in front of her.

“-They need to conduct tests, ma’am,” Jordan spoke softly, the woman looking up at him with parted lips and a tremble in her fingers. “They’re in safe hands and will be right back,” He reassured, the Hale alpha swallowing thickly and nodding, stepping back towards her husband, gripping his hand, and urging her elder two children to her, hugging them close.

“Stiles, will you be okay staying here for a bit?” Jordan asked the boy who kept staring in the direction the nurses had taken Cora and Derek. “I think your dad and I should talk to Melissa to find out what’s going on,”

Stiles wrapped his arms around Jordan’s neck, holding tight for a moment before lightening his hold and nodding. Jordan kissed the boy’s head before lowering him to the floor, Noah combing a hand through the boy’s hair, reassuring him they would be right back, and nudging him towards the Hales before he followed Jordan towards the elevators.

“I would have called,” Jordan informed the Sheriff as he pressed the button for the third floor, Noah turning to him with an arched eyebrow. “You’re the Sheriff of this town, and should be kept in the loop, but I got so occupied with the influx of patients and helping out where I could, and answering questions or asking them that I didn’t have the chance to. It all happened very suddenly,”

“You’ve been here all day?” Noah inquired as the doors opened, wondering how exhausted the man must be to have been at it for so long.

“It’s been a while,” Jordan shrugged and led the way down the hall of patient rooms, Melissa stepping out from one towards the back, her scrubs stained with blood and bodily fluids, her hair in disarray, and her posture slouched. “Melissa,” The Deputy called out to her, the woman turning towards him and straightened at the sight of the Sheriff.

“sh*t, what happened?” She asked Jordan, looking between him and Noah.

“Derek and Cora Hale were brought in,” Jordan informed, Melissa rubbed at her forehead and nodded. “They’re comatose like the other children,”

“Melissa, can you tell us what’s going on?” The Sheriff inquired, straightening his posture and resting his hands on his hips.

“We’ve been getting sick supers coming in for months,” Melissa rubbed a hand over her face. “It was minor at first, a few kids here and there with a fever or some other illness and we tried to treat them, but no medicine was working,” She informed, Jordan frowning at the timeline, straightening to remember something.

“When I came with Stiles to visit Scott,” He gasped. Noah turned to him at the statement. “The nurse at the front desk told me you had sick supers coming in at odd times, this has been going in since then?”

“Yeah, it was a few cases here and there,” Melissa nodded. “But recently it got worse, the kids you had been hospitalized went comatose, then we got supers as young as 2 years old coming in coughing up blood, unresponsive to medicine, and more children who contracted mysterious illnesses or were catatonic. We’ve conducted all sorts of tests but nothing shows up. We’re not too well versed in super physiology and anatomy because they tend to heal themselves, but something is not right,”

“Nothing is working?” The Sheriff inquired, frowning when Melissa shook her head. “Can you tell us about the recent cases?”

“Uh…we got a boy come in who passed out cold in the middle of the aisle at the grocery store a few weeks ago,” Melissa rubbed at her forehead to remember the newer patients in the midst of all this influx. “Then a toddler from downtown kept throwing up whenever you’d feed her anything. Then, another boy on the lacrosse team came in with a severe case of hay fever, and the latest one is a girl who said she was feeling lightheaded after some swimming in the public pool and then started throwing up blood,”

Jordan listened to her list of the latest patients, his lips parting at the familiar locations, and felt a stone drop in his stomach.

“Can you-do you remember the dates of when they came in?” Jordan asked, trying to keep as calm as he could manage as Melissa nodded, rattling off four different dates that didn’t have any set patterns. The Deputy clenched his fingers into fists to remember he had been led there by the Hellhound on those dates, this meant the Hellhound knew something.

“And there is no commonality between them?” The sheriff asked, Jordan whirling towards the man, swallowing to know he would have to do this alone, that he couldn’t involve the Sheriff in case it ended up being dangerous. He had to figure out how to communicate with this creature.

“Nothing other than the fact that they are all under 13 and supernaturals,” Melissa shook her head.

“Okay, let us know if you come across something new,” The Sheriff instructed Melissa nodding before stepping away. Noah stood there with his hands on his hips and rubbed a hand over his face, knowing that this fell under their purview and that he and Jordan would have to do something. “Let’s go and-” He began, turning towards his Deputy who stood beside him, staring blankly at the hallway with dull green eyes and lips set into a thin line, something about the look and the aura around the man made the Sheriff still, a chill running down his spine.

“Jordan?” He called out to the Deputy who tilted his head to be called as the only indicator of having heard him.

“Do you trust me?” Jordan asked, Noah frowned at the non sequitur and gave an affirmative.

“You know I do,”

“Then can you promise me not to ask any questions to what I’m going to say next?” His Deputy asked gently, turning on his heels to face the Sheriff with hands clenched at his side and eyes soft.

“Jordan, what’s going on?”

“I need to leave,” Jordan announced. The Sheriff jerked back at the words as if he’d been slapped and gawked in confusion. “I don’t know for how long and I can’t really tell you anything because I’m not a hundred percent sure if it will, but I know I need to leave,”

“Wha-leave? Go where-?”

“-Noah,” Jordan’s voice took on a softer note, eyes pleading with him as head tilted, everything about the man begging the Sheriff to trust him.

“This isn’t fair,” The Sheriff sighed in resignation. “You can’t just leave without any explanation,”

“And I promise to give you one the minute I’m back,” Jordan reassured and stepped towards him, taking Noah’s hand in his own and giving his palm three squeezes.

“We’ve been making a lot of unfulfilled promises lately, have you noticed?” The Sheriff murmured, heart squeezing to think that Jordan was leaving to go somewhere, and wouldn’t tell him where or for what, just asking Noah to trust him. Noah wanted to trust him, God, he did, but being asked to suddenly let him go made him feel on edge.

“Then that just means we’ll have to fulfill them at the earliest opportunity, no?” Jordan tried to lighten the mood, Noah swallowed at the words, squeezed his palm, and gave a sharp nod.

“You’re going to have to tell this to Stiles,” Noah warned, noting the way the younger flinched and gnawed at the inside of his lips. “He’s going to be upset about it, Jordan,”

“I know,” The Deputy nodded with a sigh, running a hand through his hair before leading the way back to the fifth floor.

Derek and Cora had been settled into beds that were side by side, Talia and Alex standing over them with Ajax, Laura, and Stiles. Neither Noah nor Jordan had to ask to know that the tests came back clear. Whatever was happening to the Beacon Hills community was beyond the understanding of science.

Stiles came running to them when they appeared around the corner, the boy hugging his dad around the waist and grabbing Jordan’s hand with the other, trembling and upset. Jordan grimaced to know he was about to make it a whole lot worse.

“Hey, buddy,” Jordan crouched down beside the boy, urging him to look at him. “I need to talk to you for a minute,”

Stiles sniffled and frowned at him, petulantly rubbing at his eyes, and nodded, following Jordan when the man led the way towards the elevators, Noah right behind them.

On the ground floor, Jordan got chocolate milk for Stiles before leading the boy out to the front of the hospital and taking a seat on one of the benches scattered around the ground. The Sheriff having stopped at the doors looked out from a distance.

“I know this is scary,” Jordan handed the chocolate milk to Stiles once he’d pocked it with a straw, the boy quietly sitting beside him, head bowed and holding the milk without any intention of drinking it. “But because it’s scary you have to be brave for Derek and Cora, okay? You have so many people here who love you and will support you. Scott, Kira, Malia, Isaac, Lydia,”

“And Allison, too,” Stiles murmured, Jordan straightening at the words, an idea coming to his head at the girl's name.

“Allison too? You guys are friends now?” He inquired with a smile, Stiles humming in confirmation and nodded, sipping at the milk. “That’s great that she’ll be there for you too,”

“I’m not going to lie and say that’s it going to be easy, it’s going to be really hard because the doctors can’t figure out what’s happening and that’s scary and frustrating. But you have to be strong, okay?”

Stiles frowned at the words, removing the straw from his mouth, and looked up at Jordan with a furrow between his brows, noting the way the man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“What happened?”

Jordan had to stop himself from biting his lip, having known the boy would see right through him, and sighed.

“I have to leave for a while-”

“-What? Where are you going?” Stiles straightened at the words, eyes wide and lips parted.

“I-I have to take care of some things,” Jordan tried to explain, knowing the boy would not be satisfied with vagueness, noting the boy gearing to argue with him when he reared his head. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll try to be back as soon as possible,” He rushed to explain, knowing that his leaving meant that Stiles would lose some form of support, mentally preparing himself for the backlash to this decision, and going through possible answers to whatever question the boy would pose. He’ll whine, Jordan was sure, complain and blackmail him into staying, but the longer the silence between them stretched, the more unsure Jordan became.

Looking at the boy, he noticed the way tears were gathering in Stiles’s eyes, his fingers clenched at his side and jaw set.

“You promised,” Stiles gritted out, Jordan jerking back at the words. “You promised me you wouldn’t leave,” He heaved with his breath, Jordan’s eyes softening, and swallowed the dryness in his throat.

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Jordan reached out to him, watching the boy slap his hand away to keep him from touching him, the Deputy resting his hand on his thigh as the boy turned away from him. “It’s only for a little while-”

“-Doesn’t matter,” Stiles angrily wiped at his tears. “You promised me you’d stay, but now you’re leaving. So go. I don’t care where you go or for how long you’ll be gone, we’ll just go back to how things were before you moved here. Like you were never here to begin with. We don’t need you,” He snapped, Jordan’s heart clenching at the words, and couldn’t bring his throat to work as he watched the boy jump off the bench and march towards the hospital.

Jordan watched the boy take off into a run, bypassing his dad who whirled around at his son’s speed and chased after him, leaving Jordan to sit stunned on the bench, trying to regain the feelings in his limbs as a sudden chill seeped through his bones, leaving him cold and bereft of warmth.

Taking a shuddering breath, Jordan pushed himself to a stand, turning away from the hospital with numbness in his steps, and walked towards the parking lot where he’d left his cruiser. His heart shattered with every step he took away from the hospital.

He had barely unlocked the door when a hand slammed it closed again, Jordan’s gaze lifting up to find Peter Hale before him, huffing as if he’d run the whole way and stared down at the Deputy’s dissociative state. The werewolf’s nose scrunched at the sharp acerbic scent of grief coming off the man in waves, his lips curling into a snarl with questions poised at the tip of his tongue but held them back at the way the Deputy continued to look past him.

“You’re in no condition to drive, Parrish,” Peter sighed and held out his hand for the keys. “Come on, I’ll take you where you have to go,”

Jordan blinked blankly at the palm being held out to him before he put the keys into his hand, knowing he was in no mental state to be driving, and the way the werewolf had scrunched his nose, he probably knew that too.

Settling in the passenger seat, Jordan looked out ahead as Peter started the car and reversed, driving away from the hospital.

“Where to?”

“Take me to Chris Argent,”

Peter reared back at the instruction, mouth opening as if he was going to unleash a whole dissertation and why he should not be going to that man no matter what it was that Jordan needed but faltered at the Deputy’s next words.

“Peter,” Jordan snapped before stilling at his own harsh tone and rubbing a hand over his forehead. “Please,” He murmured softly, fingers clenched over his thigh and eyes screwed shut, Peter realizing that Jordan didn’t like this any more than he did, and if he was going to Chris Argent, then it was a last ditch effort on his end.

The drive to the Argent’s place was silent with neither of them willing to fill in the space between them. The house stood quiet just as well, most of the lights turned off with only the porch light on. Chris Argent opened the door and stepped out just as the car came to a halt outside his driveway.

“Did you text him?” Peter frowned when Argent approached their vehicle, wondering how the man knew they were there.

“CCTV cameras,” Jordan murmured distractedly before stepping out, Peter following after him to face Chris Argent who looked back at them with arched eyebrows and arms crossed over his chest.

The three of them stood on the driveway, Peter beside Jordan who still looked fragile enough that the werewolf was concerned he would actually shatter on the spot if the wrong tone was used. Argent stood before them in jeans and a t-shirt, waiting for ether of them to say anything, while Peter looked between the Hunter and the Deputy because he had no idea what he’d signed up for. All he knew was that he had arrived at the hospital after hearing about his nephew and niece, met Talia and her husband and had to step out for a breath of air at the chaos engulfing the hospital when he had noticed Jordan sitting at one of the benches in the lawn. Something about the stillness of the man’s figure and the blankness on his face sent alarm bells ringing through Peter’s head which made him chase after the Deputy when he watched him make his way towards the parking lot. Even Peter knew Jordan should not be driving.

“You two showed up to my house in the middle of the night,” Argent reminded, urging either of them to state their business.

“I need your help,” Jordan stated in a monotone, Chris straightened at the words and stepped forward, waiting for him to elaborate. “You’re a hunter so it probably falls under your expertise, but I need a way to communicate with the Hellhound,”

“The what now?” Peter exclaimed, Jordan not deigning to respond to his question and continued to address Argent as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Supernatural children are falling ill and comatose and I think the Hellhound knows something about it, and I need to communicate with it to find out what’s going on and how to fix it,”

“Why do you need my help to communicate with it?”

“Because I’m not a burn supernatural, that is a fact I am certain of, so it’s sentient and possessing my body. I’m not like the Hales who are born wolves and can therefore communicate with their supernatural side as easily as breathing, I need external aid to do that,”

Chris sighed at the words, rubbing a hand over his face as he looked between the Deputy and the werewolf.

“I might know of a way,” he began “but I can’t make any promises that it will work,”

“I will try anything if it fixes the kids,” Jordan stated with such determination that Peter had to do a double take to try and reconcile the image of the heartbroken young man with the sheer power of will in his voice.

Argent nodded, telling them to wait here as he went inside to get his jacket and car keys before telling them to stay behind him. Peter and Jordan followed him in silence for a while until the curiosity got the better of the werewolf.

“Care you explain what’s going on?”

“Not particularly,” Jordan murmured, staring out the window like a lovelorn teenager that had Peter rolling his eyes at the melodramatic display. Sure, he didn’t know what happened to make Jordan smell depressed, but surely it didn’t warrant this display.

“So you’re a Hellhound? What’s that?”

“Yes, and I don’t know,”

Well, at least Jordan was answering the question. Even if the response was short and stilted.

“You know how to help Derek and Cora?” Peter asked again, something like hope fluttering under his ribcage, and watched the Deputy turn towards the front, arms crossed over his chest, and gnaw at his lips.

“We asked Melissa about the newest cases of ill supers,” Jordan explained. “And she told us the dates, location, and circ*mstances. This…hellhound, possessing me, is capable of taking control of my body and had so far taken my body out for a joyride through the town. I’ve been regaining control in the places where the latest cases occurred: the grocery store, the lacrosse field, the public pool, and a neighborhood downtown. The latest cases came from these places and I was on site on the day those cases occurred, so I’m certain the Hellhound knows something. They’re Guardians of the Supernatural, after all,”

Sure, Peter thought to himself, that makes sense. Not! Jordan’s explanation put more questions into his head, but he could see he would not be getting any response from the man when he turned back towards the window and watched the scenery pass by them. The werewolf sighed in defeat knowing a lost battle when he saw one and brought his attention back to the car they were following.

“Of course, you have a bunker,” Peter rolled his eyes when Chris led them to the outskirts of town and down a service hatch and through a series of winding corridors that ended at a steel-reinforced door.

The room inside was occupied by multiple surfaces and shelves housing a plethora of weapons that had the werewolf giving the hunter a deadpanned look, wanting to remind him of the peace agreement and its clauses but faltered when Chris walked across the room and towards the end where a large metal contraption stood. To Peter, it looked like a metal coffin with a little window inside to see the inhabitant. Morbid and creepy, if you asked him.

“This,” Chris crossed his arms and looked towards the contraption before turning to Jordan who stopped beside him. “This will bring your body temperature down to a level that would kill a normal human being,”

“Why down and not up?” Peter inquired from Chris’s other side, the hunter eying him for a minute, they were meeting his suspicion head-on to let the man know he was not going to leave Jordan alone with him.

“Something happens to someone like him,” Chris co*cked his head in Jordan’s direction. For instance, the body cools to such extreme temperatures. Everything slows down: your heart, your mind. It lets you consciously access a part of you that’s usually unconscious. The supernatural part,”

“But that’s dangerous, isn’t it?” Peter arched an eyebrow, spluttering when he turned to find Jordan removing his holster and placing it on the table behind him before he began to unbutton his shirt.

“This will let me communicate with the Hellhound?” Jordan confirmed as he peeled off the shirt, depositing it next to his weapons before pulling off his undershirt as well; leaving him in his trousers and shoes.

“Practically it should,” Argent nodded and pulled open the steel door, attaching electrodes to Jordan as they watched the monitor beside the machine come to life with the Deputy’s vitals.

Peter wanted to stop Jordan, hissing at him that they could not trust Argent so quickly, but found himself faltering at the determined set of the man’s jaw as he regarded the both of them.

“Neither of you tell the Sheriff I’m here nor that I’m doing this,” Jordan warned with narrowed eyes. “Are we clear on that?” He demanded, Peter and Chris shared a look, wondering what was with the back and forth between the Sheriff and Jordan, and nodded in confirmation to the man’s question.

Chris settled Jordan into the machine, closing the door which locked on its own, while the hunter turned knobs and dials, the machine whirling to life with a hiss as cold vapor began to fill the space till everything became obscure on the inside. Peter watched the monitor reduce the pulse lower and lower till it would have killed any human being, but all it did for Jordan was bring the supernatural part of him – the Hellhound – to the front of his mind.

Flaming orange eyes stared back at them from the thick ice vapors obscuring everything else.

Chapter 18: Bunker

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Cerberus

Chapter Text

Jordan clenched and unclenched his fingers, deaf to the sound of Peter and Chris arguing behind him as he steeled himself and unbuttoned his uniform shirt, the act silencing the hunter and werewolf as he put it away followed by his undershirt, shoes, and socks. Swallowing thickly, Jordan looked at the mental contraption that would help him communicate with the Hellhound, knowing he had no other option if he wanted to find out what was going on with the children, with Derek. The Hellhound knew how to fix it, and Jordan was going to do anything it asked of him.

“Neither of you tell the Sheriff I’m here nor that I’m doing this,” Jordan warned them over his shoulder, knowing that if had Noah known that this method could harm Jordan, he would try to put an end to it. They could not afford to wait for a solution. “Are we clear on that?” He demanded, not waiting for their acknowledgment as he stepped into the chamber, back pressed to the cold metal and swallowed once, clenching his jaw as Chris Argent secured the door, latching and locking it into place. The machine was so silent that Jordan could hear his own racing breaths before flinching at the hiss of cold air being let into the interior.

It was excruciating. Jordan shivered, feeling his body temperature drop with every minute, trying to remember the last time he felt this cold. Shivering in the machine and steeling himself against the pain digging into his bones and turning him stiff as he closed his eyes, breathing once, twice, and told himself he could get through this.

Jordan’s eyes fluttered open when the cold suddenly receded, warmth suffusing his body and bright light blinding him. Flinching against the brightness and fluttered his eyes open, taking a moment to adjust to the light and stilled to find himself standing in a hospital room with two beds occupied by two heavily pregnant women. One of them lying back with sweat covering her face and hair matted to her head, gripping the sheets in one hand and her husband’s in the other, smiling up at him from between her breaths.

“I can’t wait to meet our baby,” She murmured up to him, the man leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Do you know what you’re having?” The woman on the other bed, reclined and alone, knitting over her swollen belly and smiling at the other woman, the motion making her green eyes crinkle.

“Oh, we’re having a girl,” The father informed with a wide grin. “We’re going to name her Diana,”

“Diana,” The woman cooed. “Oh, that’s beautiful,”

“What are you having?” The woman asked the other through labored breaths.

“A boy,” She grinned and lovingly stroked her stomach. “We’re naming him Jordan. Little Jordan Parrish,”

Jordan startled in his place, breath hitching and tears stinging the back of his eyes to realize what he was looking at, finally seeing the resemblance of the young woman on the bed to his mother who had looked so different the last time he’d seen her. She was younger, flushed pink with her auburn hair braided over her shoulder and vibrant green eyes that had been a shade lighter than Jordan’s own. He was watching the scene of when he was born, swallowing thickly and made to step forward, call out to his mom but stilled when the door swung open behind him, a harried figure rushing straight to him like he wasn’t even here. Jordan put a hand to his chest where the man had walked through and looked up to find his father hurrying to his mother with a broad grin on his face and eyes alive with love and adoration. Jordan wouldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his father like this: his head covered by thick, dark hair, eyes alive and vibrant, smiling and laughing so easily as he teased his wife and she teased him in return.

His father had become absent and cold following the sudden death of his mother, Jordan reeling from the scene before him but silently watched the two parents talk to each other. The other woman wheeled out first and was taken to the delivery room, Jordan’s mother waving and wishing her happiness as they went.

Jordan watched as the doctor came to check on his mother, telling her it wouldn’t be too long now as her contractions progressed and the pain made her put her knitting away, struggling to walk and breathing labored. Her face flushed and sweaty as she gripped his father’s hand to bear the pain.

The nurses came to take her and wheeled her out towards the delivery room, Jordan silently followed behind them but faltered when he saw a large black hound turn down the corner. Frowning to see the dog walk between the hospital staff unnoticed, Jordan followed after it and watched it walk into one of the delivery rooms, Jordan fell through the door and into the theater, stilling to find the woman who had been beside his mother propped up on the bed, her husband clutching her hand as they both stared out towards the right with wide panicked eyes. All the staff surrounded something, speaking in a flurry of words and bustling about. The Hound walked over to them and calmly sat down on the outskirts of the circle, throwing its head back and letting out a low mournful howl, the doctors and nurses stilling around the table and looking at each other.

“Time of death,” One of the nurses called, the woman on the bed letting out an anguished scream, reaching out for her baby and wailing.

Jordan turned away from the sight, heart in his throat and tears burning his eyes as he watched the hound get up and walk towards the shadow in the corner, disappearing through it.

Jordan followed, melting through the shadow, and walked into his childhood nursery with no sign of the Hound.

He held his breath at the sight of the green accent wall with his name painted on it, his crib lying beneath it. A changing station and closet against one wall and a rocking chair in the other along with a table full of milk bottles and formula. The mobile over the crib letting out a soft tinkling lullaby. Jordan stepped towards the edge, head tilted at the sight of the little newborn fussing under its animal-printed blanket. A part of him realized this was him.

A sudden cry from the newborn had Jordan step back, the door opening to show his father walking in, cooing softly as he picked up the boy, cradling him close to his chest and bouncing him till his mother came to feed him.

Jordan’s heart clenched at the sight his family made. Happy and content. Whole, he thought, swallowing the lump in his throat and watching them.

He watched himself begin to sit up, and then learn how to crawl. Witnessing his parents' joy and delight at his growth and progression. He got to see his extended family as well – grandparents he was too young to remember when they passed, aunts and uncles who’d cut contact sometime in the future. Jordan watched his parents take him to Beacon Hills for the first time following his first birthday, little Jordan waddling with his hand in Grandma’s Mary’s babbling happily and walking ahead when a ball rolled to a stop near them.

Jordan walked behind them, watching toddler him go to the ball and tap the top of it, babbling happily till a young boy who could have passed off as Stiles had his hair not been a light blonde and eyes a sparkling blue, and was clearly younger than the 10-year-old.

“Oh, hello!” The owner of the ball greeted Jordan and looked down at the baby with a grin, Jordan recognized the smile with a start.

“My, my, if it isn’t little Noah Stilinski,” Grandma Mary laughed and walked up to them, young Noah beaming back at her. “I see you’ve met my Jordan,”

“Hello, ma’am,” Noah greeted with a toothy grin before looking down at the baby. “So this is your grandson?”

“That’s right! Isn’t he cute?”

“The cutest,” Noah giggled and whirled around when he was called out to, the boy waving to his parents before turning around towards Jordan and his grandmother. “I have to go now,” He informed, crouching down to take the ball while the toddler was startled to have his toy taken from him and looked up at Noah who held out his hand for the baby. The infant took his finger as Noah laughed and shook their hands, waving to the both of them and running back to his parents with his ball. He turned around one last time to wave at them before walking between his parents.

Jordan watched the little boy go, smiling to himself to realize that the Sheriff of Beacon Hills had been a cutie pie little boy, giggling to himself before turning around to follow his grandmother and toddler him.

He watched himself grow older, he watched the relationship between his parents – their love and arguments – he got to live through the grief of losing one grandparent, then another, and then another; each death was accompanied by the low forlorn howl of the hound. He watched his father come home tired but satisfied from work to fall into his loving wife’s arms, sitting down with Jordan who had started school and scribbled on paper.

They made visits to Beacon Hills to visit his remaining grandparents. Grandma Mary happily welcomed them with open arms. The house next door was occupied by some other family at the time.

Jordan watched himself progress to the first grade, the third, and fourth.

His heart sank to realize what day they were nearing, swallowing thickly and choking down on the sobs building in his throat as he watched 10-year-old him jumping across the sidewalk beside his mother. The woman was older now, beautiful in her maturity with her auburn hair tied back in a bun and her eyes crinkling with her love for her son who showed her the toy he was carrying around with him.

Jordan stood at the end of the zebra crossing, heart in his throat and fingers trembling as he remembered and saw the car speeding towards them. Remembering that it was being driven by a minor, a young boy no older than 16, and high out of his mind to the extent that he couldn’t see straight, much less did he notice the people on the crossing. Jordan watched his mother look up at the sound, eyes widening and dropping their groceries as the car approached. Young Jordan noticed it too when it began to speed towards them, frozen and paralyzed in fear, shrieking when his mother pushed him away with all the strength she had. The young boy collapsed on the asphalt road, crying out and turning around at the sound of screeching tires and the dull thud of something colliding.

Jordan fell to his knees, screaming at the pain of living through this scene again, not needing to turn to know that there was a pool of blood forming under the car that had come to a juddering stop. He did not need to look up to see the panic in his younger self’s face, he could still vividly recall the pain that had engulfed him from the inside out, no sound escaping him as tears streamed down the young boy’s face. People rushed towards his mother and towards him, asking questions and helping him up.

The young boy had remained silent, but Jordan let the anguished screams out now. Everything that had been building up inside him on that day escaped him as screams and cries, fists colliding soundlessly against the sidewalk, before abruptly stopping when he heard the howl. He looked up in search of the beast but didn’t find it, burying his face into his hands and sobbing now for what he had to go through as a child.

He grieved the loss of his mother.

He grieved the loss of his childhood.

Jordan felt the numbness descend over him as he relived his mother’s funeral. He watched his remaining family cut off contact and distance themselves. He saw less of his father, quietly bore the beatings when he was in one of his moods, seeing the tears stream down his father’s cheeks for the first time with each strike he delivered to young Jordan who had his back to him, not letting out a sound as he endured the pain.

He watched himself skirt through High school, not many friends to speak of, and even fewer words exchanged, speaking only when spoken to.

Then he graduated high school, no one in the crowd for him as he took his diploma and walked off the stage.

He enlisted in the army at the first opportunity. He didn’t even tell his father, left him a note, and got on the bus.

Jordan watched himself go through the training, somehow able to breathe easier in the military than he had been for the past few years. Excelling and flourishing under the challenge and found his calling with wires and machinery, going on to become an EOD technician where he made friends with most of the people there, getting along well with his team, laughing and teasing; and growing.

Then Jordan watched himself leave with his team for their first mission and watched the hound appear as well, following behind them.

Uncovering the bomb and opening the hatch, one of his other team members had been tasked with disabling it. Jordan watched himself and his other team members begin to approach when the boy had cut the wrong wire, detonating the bomb. Jordan could remember the warm sensation of blood on his face, paralyzed on the ground – thrown back by the impact – and stared unseeingly at the sky. The howl echoed across the desert.

War was an ugly thing to live through once, much less through it twice.

Jordan watched himself grow from a lanky 17-year-old into his twenties, he got promoted and perfected his skills, but then he lost so many people.

When he was twenty he had received the news of his father’s death.

Jordan had not gone to the funeral and told their family lawyer to pack up their belongings put them into a storage unit and sell the house.

He had received a strongly worded letter from Grandma Mary, but Jordan had not responded to it.

He was moved from one unit to the next, disposing of bombs, and losing friends and teammates.

Jordan had spent a little over 7 years in Afghanistan, he sent letters to his last remaining grandparent when she begged him to write back to her, telling him that she missed him.

Then he was sent to dispose of the last bomb just after the end of the war, his last assignment before they went home.

Jordan watched himself approach the bomb in the desert, swallowing thickly as he knelt beside it. He gently uncovered the top, brushed away the sand, and felt sweat bead under his helmet at the sight of the cover. Unscrewing it slowly, he pulled the lid off, making sure he didn’t touch anything, and put it aside. He laid out his equipment as he picked out what he needed, inhaling deeply and getting ready to cut the wire. Closing his eyes and snapping it.

A flash of bright light blinded Jordan, making him cover his eyes with his hand, waiting for the light to subside and slowly lowered his hand to look out at the scene, but blinked to find himself in the preserves of Beacon Hills, the Hound who had been howling at each death was there too, lying under the twisted branches of a large tree that Jordan has seen once before after he’d woken up after a bout of possessed sleepwalking.

“Do you see why it was you who was chosen as my vessel?” The Hound inquires, voice ringing out through the clearing as Jordan makes his way towards the animal, knowing that he would not be harmed, and thinks back to all his memories and recalls everything he’d learned about the Hound. Harbinger of Death, known also as the Bearer of Death chose Jordan Parrish as his vessel because since the moment he was born, he had been surrounded by loss, from the woman who had shared the room with his mother to the war to now in Beacon Hills where he’d killed Kate Argent.

“I can take a guess,” Jordan sat down beside the hound, watching it raise its head from his paws and look at the man’s action. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that I’ve experienced a lot of deaths in my life,”

“I have come across you multiple times in your short life, Jordan Parrish,”

“And that makes me the ideal vessel?”

“It makes you mentally strong and durable as my vessel,” Cerberus blinked its bright orange eyes at him, Jordan leaning against the tree bark and looking up at the gaps between the leaves on the branches, sunlight filtering in through them. “I possessed you in Afghanistan so that I may carry out my mission to completion,”

Mission. Jordan remembered reading on the Hellhound when he figured out that’s what he was. The creature needed a vessel to carry out a mission, and it had picked Jordan because of his mental durability. Jordan didn’t feel mentally strong, he felt weak and breakable.

“What are the mission parameters?”

“Protect the Supernatural community from the hunters,”

“The Argents are doing something?” Jordan straightened at the words, recalling how the fire had been started, and thought back on it. “Are the Argent’s responsible for what is happening to the children?”

“They are,” Cerberus stretched under the tree and stood up to the size of a small cow, Jordan watching him walk out from under the shade of the tree and into the bright sunlight that seemed to bounce off its shaggy jet-black fur, taking a seat just outside the ring of shadow. Jordan got up and followed, standing beside the animal whose head reached up to his sternum with it settled on his haunches. “The Nematon is an ancient sacred tree that was used as a meeting place for the druids,” The Hellhound informed, looking out at the gnarled branches of the tree, the Nematon.

“You brought me here once,”

“Yes, to see to its health. The Nematon had been healthy then,”

“It’s not now?”

“No.” Cerberus agreed. “The last time I brought you here, it had been healthy, but since then the Druid who protected it has passed on from this world to pay for his betrayal in the afterlife,” The Hellhound explained and began walking away from the field, the creature not letting out any sound as it walked through the forest, over protruding roots and fallen leaves. Silent as the shadows.

“What’s happened to the Nematon now? How is it related to what’s happening to the children? To Derek and Cora?” Jordan demanded, rushing to catch up with the Hellhound who meandered through the forest as if enjoying a leisurely stroll, the creature enormous and majestic in its power. The lack of answer irritated Jordan, the man lunging forward to grab Cerberus by the scruff – knowing it was just an oversized dog – but gasped when his hand went through the hound, the creature disappearing from beneath him and making the man stagger forward, straightening to find the Hellhound seated a few feet away from him in a ring of sunlight, giving him the canine equivalent of an unimpressed look.

“Walk with me, Jordan Parrish,” The Hellhound commanded and continued on his stroll, Jordan let out a groan knowing he didn’t have that much time to indulge a supernatural creature’s whims, but forced himself to calm down and be patient. As the idiom goes: everything comes to those who wait. Running a hand through his hair, Jordan swallowed the irritation in his throat and walked after the Hellhound, meandering through the preserves, finding places he’d never seen before, the bright sunlight illuminating patches and making the place warm and fragrant. The trees were tall and sentient, beautiful in their visage, leaves littering the floor and the grass a lush green with bird songs ringing through the preserves. It was peaceful.

It settled something in Jordan’s chest, made the sting of Stiles’s words disappear, and lightened the burden of having to go through every misfortune and death in his life all over again. The calm of the forest erased the pain his father’s abuse had lit up on his back, it wiped away the burn of the asphalt when he had been pushed away by his mother, and it cleaned the blood on his face when his friend had blown up in front of him. Jordan let out a slow exhale as his shoulders loosened, missing the way Cerberus watched him ground himself before turning around to continue walking, Jordan following behind.

“The Nematon is an ancient tree,” Cerberus repeated. “There is a custom among the Supernaturals of Beacon Hills, where they provide a drop of a newborn to the Nematon to sustain its power and protection. It’s an old practice, but the supernatural community still follows it, where at the birth of their children, they give a drop of the child’s blood to the roots of the tree so it protects them. Every supernatural creature from the Hales to the sirens are all connected to the Nematon and draws strength from it,” The Hellhound informed and stopped at the sight of a colony of rabbits jump out from the burrow under a tree, one big one followed by three little ones.

Jordan looked at the little rabbits from behind the Hellhound, resisting the urge to shoo them away from the creature when one of the kits hopped up towards the creature. The hound lowered its snout to the kit who stood on its back legs and stretched up to snuffle at the Hellhound. Cerberus tenderly licked the top of the kit's head, Jordan gawked at the bunny shook it off, and bounced away towards its mother and siblings. Cerberus straightened and peered back at Jordan from over his shoulder, flicking his fluffy black tail before resuming walking, Jordan biting his lip to keep from laughing at the creature.

“The Nematon was protected by the druids residing in Beacon Hills, but over time they died out and only Alan Deaton remained,”

“But he was an accomplice to the Hale fire,”

“And he will face an adequate punishment in the afterlife,” Cerberus agreed and walked out of the preserves, Jordan blinking to find them at the Beacon Hills Cemetery, walking through the rows of gravestones. “However, with him having betrayed the Supernaturals, the Nematon does not have protection anymore and leaves it open to attack,”

“What has happened to the Nematon?”

“It’s being poisoned,” Cerberus informed as he walked out of the cemetery, Jordan following it down the sidewalk and towards whatever random destination the Hound was heading. “The weakening of the Nematon’s strength and subsequent protection is affecting the younger children first because their blood sacrifice is the freshest. The poison attacks the newer weaker roots and works its way towards the older, stronger ones.”

Jordan could do nothing more than inhale sharply at the words, wondering how long this had been going on, trying to formulate a timeline.

Everything had been alright before the arrival of the Argents. Kate Argent gathered intelligence on the supernatural children, which Jordan thought he put an end to with his harassment complaint. Jordan could remember when Scott had been hospitalized for his injury, the nurse telling him they were getting supernatural patients coming in with odd illnesses, the man able to make an educated guess that the patients had been young and infants – the poison beginning to take hold. But Alan Deaton had been alive back then, he would have protected the Nematon, right? Or had he been working with the Argent since then?

Then the Centaur attack happened, followed by the murder of Glade and Lara Summers. Things went silent after they had detained Chris Argent, who didn’t have anything to do with any of this. But then, Chris asked to negotiate a peace treaty which Kate and Gerard took as an opportunity to try and burn down the Hale family. Jordan intervened and killed Kate. Followed by the discovery of Deaton’s role in all this and his death.

Chris Argent had nothing to do with any of this.

Kate Argent was dead.

Gerard Argent was detained in a high-security facility effectively useless with his paralysis.

Who was poisoning the Nematon? Was it one of the hunters whom Kate had called? Did the Sheriff’s Department miss any new arrivals? The only way they would be able to do so is if someone in the higher chain of command smuggled them in. Who was left in the Argents, a matriarchal clan-

Jordan stilled at the memory of the Argents being matriarchal, gasping in realization, and looked up towards the Hellhound but flinched to realize they had walked across the Stilinski household. Cerberus watched him with his head tilted.

“Have you figured it out, Jordan Parrish?”

Jordan barely heard the question, recalling the last time he’d seen the Stilinskis: at the hospital overrun with ill supers, the Sheriff there with an affected Derek and Cora Hale. Stiles looks green as well with his mate’s suffering. He remembered asking the Sheriff to trust him when he realized he had to go away, had to communicate with Cerberus to find out what the Hellhound knew, what it was trying to tell Jordan by relinquishing control in the sites where the latest patients had been recovered from. His heart squeezed to recall how Stiles had reacted, swallowing the lump in his throat as the boy’s words echoed and stabbed him again:

We don’t need you.

Stiles was right, they don’t need him. Noah and Stiles were a family, Jordan the outsider – intruder – they didn’t need him. But…but Jordan loved them. God, he loved them to death and he knew Stiles was hurting with Derek’s illness, he knew that Noah was suffering for his son’s pain. Jordan was willing to do anything to make it all better again. If they wanted him gone after all of this was over, Jordan would leave knowing they would be alright.

“What are we doing here?”

“This is your subconscious we’re walking through,” Cerberus enlightened and stood up to walk across the road and toward the house. “We are going where you want to go,” He stated and walked into the Stilinski’s house, Jordan swallowing thickly before following behind him.

The house was devoid of people, but the sound of laughter and the warmth of home lingered on the walls and the furniture, sunlight illuminating the space. The couch on which Jordan and Stiles would lie down the read, books gathered on the coffee table, Noah’s armchair sitting beside the couch, the Sheriff oftentimes joining them to listen to the narration. The dining table was bright and warm and fragrant, the place where they’d eat or where Jordan would help Stiles with his homework. Sometimes Noah and Jordan would sit there together late at night and put their heads together to handle a case. The kitchen with its soft blue cabinets, breakfast island, and white marble counters, the space filled with laughter and teasing, the three of them often working around each other during the Sunday meal prep; sometimes Jordan and Stiles would sit on top of the counter in the middle of the night when the Sheriff was on duty and drink hot chocolate with marshmallows and laugh to each other.

Jordan’s guest bedroom had taken on a life of its own with his possessions in their place, the Sheriff’s little office corner organized and neat, the man’s coffee mug on the desk top with a lamp hanging over the surface to illuminate anything he was working on while Jordan slept. Sometimes he slept while the Sheriff worked, sometimes Jordan read and kept him silent company, and on a few rare occasions, the Sheriff would take a break from all the paperwork and scoot onto the bed beside Jordan to rest for a few minutes. Jordan always relished in those moments when he’d feel the dip of his weight on the mattress, Noah collapsing face first into the pillow and immediately dozing off for a few minutes, Jordan was always surprised at how much the man trusted him in that moment to let down his guard. He would reach out to him then, shift towards him and wake to the sight of the Sheriff asleep, or he’d put away his book to simply rub up and down the man’s back, smiling to himself when the man would sag deeper into the bed at the comforting gesture. Jordan would kiss his temple and move away when the man would inevitably begin to wake from the vibration of the alarm he’d set for himself, Jordan giving the impression that he hadn’t moved from his place throughout the time the Sheriff slept.

Walking up the stairs, Jordan wondered if he could convince Noah to allow him to put up his family pictures on the wall, having come across a box in the attic full of albums and photos of him with Claudia and Stiles. Pictures of Noah as a young boy and his achievements, photos of him and Claudia, their time in college, and more pictures of their wedding, and then Stiles’s birth till he was three years old. The pictures stopped after that until Stiles’s birthdays only before more pictures were added to the box. He knew Noah missed his wife, having seen it in the few pictures on the mantle, he could see it in the way he still wore his wedding ring – a beautiful shining gold band – Jordan saw it in the picture of Claudia he’d seen on the Sheriff’s side table. Jordan didn’t want him to forget her, or replace her, or whatever it was Noah thought it would mean. Jordan wanted to keep the memory of Stiles’s mother alive, show her existence in the house, and let Stiles retain some memory of her, knowing he had been too young to really remember his mother when she died. Jordan wanted to give Claudia Stilinski her place in her house, not take it, never.

Cerberus followed him into Stiles’s room, Jordan having been in here countless times to put the laundry away, or to help the boy with whatever project had taken his interest. The walls were slate grey with pictures and posters and stickers put up on them. His bed was kept in the corner with his side table occupied by books and pictures. The nook opposite the bed covered housing his books, his study table pushed against one wall with his dresser against another. The room was littered with Stiles’s notes and belongings, with no amount of cleaning making it spotless. They had tried, but it was Stiles’s brand of cozy and chaos, and in the end that’s all that mattered. Smiling to himself Jordan walked over to the study table, head tilting to see a book laid on the table, ‘The Giving Tree’ by Shel Silverstein, they seemed to be doing an analysis on it in his class, Jordan noted.

He remembered having read this once, a very long time ago, still remembering the opening line: Once there was a tree and she loved a little boy.

He could understand the tree, could understand her love for that little boy. For he loved a little boy just as the tree had. He was happy to let the boy play around him. He was happy to give away his apples for money, his branches for warmth, and his trunk for building boats, no matter for how long the boy was gone, Jordan would give him what he wanted. Jordan would happily cut himself down if Stiles wanted it and put the book away with that thought.

Jordan refused to venture into the Sheriff’s bedroom in broad daylight in the man’s absence. Having only been in there a few times when Stiles couldn’t settle from his night terrors, the three of them would sleep in Noah’s room. Jordan had never seen it in the light, and had never actually woken there with how he often found himself night wandering thanks to the Hellhound on the few occasions he’d sleep there. Even in his subconscious, he didn’t know what the room looked like, the door closed.

The man stepped out of Stiles’s room and headed back towards the stairs, ignorant of how Cerberus had stopped on the top landing.

“You love them,” Cerberus announced, forcing the man to still in his step, having forgotten that the Hound was seeing everything through Jordan’s eyes for the first time. “You love Mieczysław and Noah Stilinski,” The Hellhound noted as a factual statement, sitting back on his haunches and wrapping his tail around his front, looking at Jordan’s back as the man’s shoulders hunched at the words, before lowering in resigned agreement.

“I have a deal for you, Cerberus,” Jordan stated instead, the Hellhound tilting its head at the words. “I will help you complete your mission in exchange for you merging with me,”

“I can achieve far more without your pesky human morality getting in my way,” Cerberus stated and lay down in the middle of the upper landing, Jordan turning around to face the hound who was licking at his clawed paws.

“Let me rephrase it,” Jordan walked up the steps and crouched before the creature. “You can have full control over me till this threat is eliminated, till we defeat Argent and her hunters and the children start recovering. After that, we merge and you return control to me and stay as part of my subconscious like the werewolves,”

“I am not one of your little werewolf friends, Parrish,” The Hellhound sat up, Jordan keeping their gaze connected. “But I will agree to your terms,” He bowed his head in a nod, Jordan nodding in turn and got up, ready to return to the conscious world but stopped when Cerberus growled. The man turned around to find the Hellhound staring out the window, wind rustling the tree leaves and making the branches sway, silence heavy in the air, Jordan bracing himself, knowing something had gone terribly wrong.

“It’s time to return, Jordan Parrish,” Cerberus turned towards him. “The Argents are making their move,”

Chapter 20: Nematon

Chapter Text

Being able to see and feel everything but do nothing felt disconcertingly similar to sleep paralysis: the brain sending signals of danger or picking up on sensations and noises, but being unable to move an inch. When they landed on four feet instead of two and looked up at the inhabitants of the room, Jordan was startled to see Noah and Stiles on the floor of the bunker, Chris Argent and Peter pressed to the wall and looking at Cerberus with trepidation. A part of Jordan wanted to go and soothe the startled look on the boy’s face, nuzzle into him, and hold him close but felt a pang in his chest to know he probably didn’t want that. Instead, he watched Cerberus race towards the edge of the room, slinking into the shadow that washed over him like cold oily tendrils, ruffling through the fur before they stepped onto the mossy floor of the preserves. A loud buzzing noise rang in their ears.

The Hellhound threw its head back to let out a long forlorn howl into the forest air before moving.

It was overwhelming how sharp the senses were in this form, Jordan able to hear the scuttle of wild animals and the rustle of the wind through the leaves, if he strained hard enough, he could hear the cars on the road. He could scent the trail of animals, of people who had walked through here, moss and fern and rain on the horizon. Vision in two-toned colors, but everything was overpowered by the sharp buzz of what Jordan thought was a chainsaw to a tree trunk, his heart sank to realize what was going on just as Cerberus raced forward. He was faster in this form, nimble and agile, jumping over branches and bushes, able to see past the tree line and into the clearing of the Nematon where a congregation of hunters had gathered, most of them armed with guns, and wearing masks over their faces, saw dust heavy in the air and sticking to the inside of Cerberus's windpipe, making him want to hurl it up to try and get the grating sensation out of his mouth.

“Watch and learn, little human,” Cerberus’s words echoed in Jordan’s head, the man left to become a spectator to the Hound silently running through the forest, lunging at one of the hunters closest to them, jaws chomping down on his throat and tearing out a chunk of flesh, spurting blood everywhere as they jumped back into the dark of the forest. They watched the corpse collapse, soaking the floor with the blood that left a sweet metallic taste in their mouth before Cerberus threw away the flesh gripped between his teeth. The other hunters whirling around in search of the attacker, not sure what it was, only knowing it was fast and brutal.

Cerberus remained in the shadows, silent and unnoticed as the hunters stationed around the perimeter turned towards the tree line, guns locked and loaded and raised at the shadows—the smell of the metal of the weapons heavy in the air. Cerberus calculated which hunter to take down next and Jordan felt the power in his legs as they whizzed past another human and slashed at him with their claws, leaving him crying out and bleeding on the floor. The scent of panic and stress rose in the air in a sharp acrid combination that tickled his nose and made Cerberus lick his lips before slinking around the perimeter, watching the remaining hunters move into a smaller circle, covering each other’s back and forming a protective barrier around the Nematon.

The buzzing of the saw had fallen silent with the unknown threat looming in the shadows.

The Hellhound leaped forward from the front, jaws clamped around another hunter’s throat and piercing teeth into his jugular, effectively killing him before they landed on the forest floor. Cerberus standing with his head low and growl rumbling from his chest, all the hunters still in their place with their guns held in their hands, frozen at the sight of the beast with shaggy black fur standing over the corpse of their comrade.

Jordan counted 7 remaining individuals, not counting the three they’d already killed, and noted that two of them were armed with chainsaws, cutting through the thick trunk of the Nematon, more than halfway through it.

“Don’t just stand there!” A feminine voice yelled at the congregation from somewhere over Jordan’s shoulder, jolting the others to attention. “Attack!” She commanded.

Cerberus lept towards the person closest to him, the bullets passing through his body as the hunter collapsed to the floor, struggling to keep the snapping jaws of the hound away from their face, fingers digging the Hellhound’s jowls and mouth. Their fingers scraped against Cerberus’s teeth, trying to keep the mouth open and out, poking the inside of their cheek and writhing in an effort to get enough of a foothold to throw the Hound off, unable to gather enough purchase with the animal’s weight pinning the hunter down.

Jordan felt something warm from deep within their stomach, heat rising from the gut and traveling up to their throat.

The Deputy was startled to feel the heat of a fire in the Hellhound's mouth as Cerberus breathed flames onto the man under them, the hunter screaming and writhing in agony at the heat. The smell of burning flesh overpowered the clearing as the man fell limp under them. Cerberus jumped off the charred corpse and turned towards the remaining hunter who smelt strongly of sweat tinged with something rotten, Jordan instinctually knowing that the hunters were afraid. Their weapons did nothing to the Hellhound and continuing to shoot was just wasting their ammo, then there was the fact that the Hellhound could breathe fire, smoke coming out of its open jaw and nostrils, eyes burning a bright orange.

The sound of the saw was overpowering every other sound, Jordan thought they should deal with those two men first, but Cerberus came up with a similar idea and whirled around towards the tree, seeing they had sawed more than one-fourth of the way. Cerberus crouched low, ready to lunge with the rain of bullets going through him before something sharp seared through his shoulder, plunging through the thick coarse fur and into the meat of the back. The agonizing wet pain made Cerberus yelp and jump away from the attacker. Whirling around and growled at the woman who stared back at him with wide eyes and lips parted. Cerberus tried to reach for the blade embedded into his back, snarling and growling, increasing his body temperature to try and melt it off.

“Silver,” Victoria Argent gasped and turned towards the remaining hunters. “Silver affects it!” She informed them, all of the hunters dropping their weapons and reaching into their kits.

Cerberus hunched low and growled at them, trying to stay away from the approaching hunters, all of them with various instruments of silver. The buzzing of the two saws was loud and overwhelming, making their ears twitch and swivel in different directions. Jordan’s heart pounded, adrenaline flooding through their blood, and thoughts racing in his mind. They were a cornered animal.

He hadn’t known silver could hurt them. He hadn’t known it would feel like having the flesh cauterized, sending sharp tendrils of pain from the site of the wound down to the front leg and into the toes. He could feel blood sluggishly seep into the fur around the area and matte it together. Jordan watched helplessly – trapped in his own body as the Hellhound slithered back, snarling and snapping its jaws in warning at the approaching hunters. The remaining three hunters stepped closer with their silver weapons drawn.

Jordan didn’t know what the Hellhound was thinking when it suddenly stopped backing away, licking at its mouth and standing its ground, paws planted on the ground and gazing from one hunter to the next. Three men and Victoria Argent.

Jordan had forgotten about Victoria Argent and that she was just as much of a hunter as Kate had been. He had forgotten that Chris Argent’s wife was not harmless, or the fact that she had been against Chris’s ideologies – the Deputy never having thought himself close enough to the hunter to even consider asking if his marital disputes had been resolved – but the fact that Victoria had taken over Kate and Gerard’s attempts to eradicate the Supernaturals of Beacon Hills, he could make an educated guess to how that argument had panned out. Some deep internal part of him knew that if the hunters managed to cut down the Nematon, it would be really bad for the affected Supernaturals. It might actually kill them.

It could kill Derek and that would break Stiles, and that would end the Sheriff. Jordan would not let that happen. He would lay down his life right here if it meant he’d put an end to their scheming.

The Hellhound was capable of picking up on his intentions, and willingly turned its back on their enemies, sprinting towards the two hunters with their chainsaws. He could barely hear the outcry of the remaining hunters, lunging towards one of the men with mouth wide open, watching the man scream and try to slice at them with the chainsaw that passed unscathed through their middle. The weight of the Hellhound sent the both of them rolling on the forest floor, till the creature tore the man’s face clean off, leaving him to lie there before disappearing in the shadow when one of the armed hunters attempted to take a swipe at them with his silver-tipped javelin. Cerberus melted into the shadow beneath them and materialized in the shadow of the man who had dropped his chainsaw, breath erratic and eyes blown wide, trembling all over as his eyes darted around him in search of the Hellhound.

Cerberus fit their teeth around the man’s nape, tearing the top of the spine out of him, and watched him crumple like a puppet with its strings cut.

Their momentary distraction was enough for the remaining hunters to attack them together, stabbing them with a silver-tipped javelin, another with a pair of sai, the third with their Rondell dagger while Victoria pulled out her own knife from the Hellhound and plunged it back in, twisting it into the flesh.

Jordan could feel every sharp stab of searing pain, blood spurting out and sizzling, splattering over the hunters who surrounded the Hellhound and attacked without mercy. But something about the situation didn’t make him feel helpless, instead, he felt Cerberus curl in tighter, minimize the area of impact, and force them to step closer – Jordan felt smug at the turn of events like the hunters had walked right into their trap.

He could feel the sudden warmth again, this time it was stronger and with a larger magnitude like a bomb ticking away inside him. Fire rose from inside him and made its way to the surface, the Hellhound bursting into a ball of fire like a bomb exploding, burning any fool who had been too close. Jordan watched through the Hellhound’s eyes, an image he had seen often in Afghanistan. The searing tight heat of a bomb going off, exploding outwards and engulfing everything in its path in flames. Jordan watched the remaining hunters catch flame, shrieking and screaming from the agony of being burnt alive, the smell of charred flesh overpowering the pine scent that permeated the forest. The hunters staggered away, struggling to try and get the flames out, their hearts giving out under the pain, the sound of rapid heartbeats dying away one by one.

Cerberus struggled to keep standing, heaving and panting through the pain of the wounds inflicted by the silver weapons, legs shaking as blood dripped down and soaked into the forest floor.

Is it over, Jordan wanted to ask, will Derek, Cora, and the others be-

Before he could finish the thought, Cerberus’s ears perked up and swiveled on top of his head at the sudden groaning creak that echoed through the clearing.

The Hellhound turned towards the Nematon standing across from them, trunk cut more than three-fourths of the way through, the remainder of the stem unable to carry the misbalanced weight and made the tree sway. The stalk creaked and snapped painfully, swaying back and breaking the remainder of the attached tree.

The leaves rustled in a cacophony of sound, branches snapping upon impact with each other and the trees around it, the trunk groaning as it tipped back. It was like watching it in slow motion, the way the Nematon fell back, tearing down the branches of the trees around it, snapping them off as it fell to the forest floor with a heavy thud, cleaving off trees, and shaking the ground under Cerberus’s paws.

Jordan’s breath left him in a rush at the realization. He could feel a surge of power leave the clearing, turning the surrounding grass dull and brittle, drying out and dying away, getting blown away by the wind as clouds began to roll in, rumbling in displeasure. Clamoring.

Jordan staggered forward, barely noticing that they had shifted from the Hound back to human, he hardly felt the aching pain of torn muscles and flesh, blood rolling down his bare skin and leaving behind a sticky trail in its wake, wounds oozing as he stumbled towards the tree stump in the middle of the clearing.

“We-” Jordan tumbled, falling to the ground between the Nematon’s drying and shrinking roots, breath heavy and eyes wide, touching the flat surface of the trunk with blood-stained palms. “How do I fix this?”

Cerberus was silent in the confines of Jordan’s head.

“Hellhound!” Jordan yelled out into the clearing, teeth gritted and grief twisting like a heated knife into his chest, knowing that the fall of the Nematon meant that the affected Supernaturals were suffering. It meant that Derek was getting worse, which meant that Stiles was hurting. He could not-he will not allow Stiles to be in pain-

“-Blood sacrifice,” The Hellhound answered solemnly. “The Nematon thrives on the blood of the supernatural, gains its power from-” The creature began to explain, watching from behind Jordan’s control as the man willed his claws to extend over his nails, and sliced open the skin of his wrist, turning the open wound towards the roots as blood flowed down his skin and dripped onto the roots.

“A few drops won’t fix things this time, Jordan Parrish,” Cerberus’s voice informed gravely, Jordan shook his head as he tried to squeeze out more blood, groaning when he watched the self-inflicted wound begin to heal. “You don’t have enough blood in your body to give it back its power,”

Jordan heaved as he looked towards the tree stump, unable to reconcile the fact that that magnificent tree had been reduced to something so small. He knew that it took generations and centuries of supernatural blood to power it as that sentient structure. But not it wasn't even 20% of its true size, so it shouldn't need blood accumulated over centuries right? If one drop of blood was provided by each individual over the years, Jordan should have enough blood to sustain it at the very least.

“I may not be able to give it its power back, but I can stabilize it, can’t I?” Jordan heaved, gasping for breath as he looked around at the carnage surrounding them, scrabbling to get his feet under him when he found the silver dagger lying on the ground a few feet from him. His knees buckled, his body experiencing the pain with the adrenaline wearing off, making movement a struggle as Jordan grabbed the dagger, grunting at the way every move tugged at the open wounds. his mind begging him to stop moving and aggravating the injuries as he felt the blood slide down his skin when he stumbled back to the tree with the knife, fingers trembling around the hilt.

“You would have to bleed yourself dry to stabilize it!” Cerberus snarled at him. “You will die!”

Jordan collapsed between the roots, fingers trembling around the weapon and eyes stinging, swallowing the lump in his throat to understand the implications of the words.

It would mean he would leave Noah, the man whom he had fallen for, the man who was still so devoted to his wife that he couldn’t cope with the feelings Jordan brought out in him. With Jordan gone, he wouldn’t have to cope, he told himself. He’d leave Stiles, his little darling boy who wasn’t his but who elicited the same sort of parental love he imagined his own child would have. He would not get to listen to the boy chatter about everything and anything, he would not get to learn about whatever research had grabbed his attention.

That was fine, Jordan told himself.

They didn’t need him, Stiles told him that himself. They did not need him, but they did not know that they had saved Jordan, their presence and their constant and easy affection had stopped Jordan from taking his own life when he had returned from Afghanistan. When everything had been hopeless, he’d thought about ending it. Then the lawyer reached out and told him that Grandma Mary had left him her Beacon Hills residence. Jordan had come here, thinking he’d experience the warmth of his family one last time before joining them, after all, he had no one left to stay for until the Stilinskis had come into the picture.

Now they didn’t need him, but Jordan was more than willing to repay his debt to him.

This time, he would give his life not out of hopelessness, but out of love, knowing that if bleeding himself dry stabilized the Nematon enough to let the children recover, then Derek would get better, Stiles would not lose his mate and the Sheriff would be relieved to have his sons back.

He could imagine it, years from now, Stiles and Derek would get married, giggling to each other and teasing, and the Sheriff would sit in the front row. The seat beside him empty for Stiles's mother. Jordan wanted them to have that, he would do everything, so they could have that.

Letting out a shuddering exhale, Jordan tightened his hold on the handle of the blade, turning his wrist over and put the blade against the skin.

“Jordan!” Cerberus snarled in his head.

“If I have to be bled dry,” He grits out as he cuts deep enough through skin, muscle, and veins so that blood spills up and drips down. “Then so be it,” Jordan stated with finality and cut the veins on his other wrist, recalling where each major artery was located and cutting a single sharp incision across it.

An incision across each wrist. One to the femoral artery in his thigh. Across the iliac artery on his stomach. Blood pooled down beneath him and soaked into the roots of the Nematon that were beginning to expand and stretch with power at the blood sacrifice.

Jordan could feel his head pound at the speed with which he was losing blood, fingers clumsy and trembling as his breath labored with the way his heart pounded to try and supply blood as fast as the body was losing it. Jordan knew it would not be able to replenish the pints. He could feel a chill creep up his back, a cold unlike any he’d experienced – something from deep within his bones – wracked him with shivers, worsening the trembling of his hold on the dagger. His vision blurred, and Jordan tried to blink it away but only managed to make himself dizzy instead. The Deputy was forced to put a hand on the ground to keep from tipping over. His eyelids were heavy and comprehension failed him as a heaviness began to weigh on his mind.

He barely heard the pained whine Cerberus let out.

Jordan let out a trembling exhale, breathing heaving and heart struggling as he tightened his hold on the dagger to keep the shaking to a minimum and brought it up to under his jaw. Gaze unseeing on the stump of this ancient tree.

Jordan would like to be buried here, he thought absentmindedly, when the tree would grow back to its former glory – if it would grow back to its former glory. He would like to be buried under the shade of its twisting branches, the space between the dense canopy of leaves casting shapes and beams of light onto the ground. The sound of rustling leaves a soothing lullaby.

Yes, Jordan thought with a feeble smile, body tipping forward, unable to keep hold of his weight. He’d like to be buried here. Maybe, sometimes – he hoped – the Stilinskis could visit him and sit under the shade of the branches, maybe have a picnic.

The image of Noah and Stiles fluttered behind his closed eyes as Jordan struggled to adjust his grip on the dagger, trying to not tremble as severely as he tipped his chin up and pressed the sharp edge of the blade to the carotid artery under his jaw.

“It’s okay,” Jordan soothed the whimpering Hellhound. “You’re okay,” He cooed, lips trembling as he felt his heart slow, darkness beginning to set in as tears streamed down his face.

Jordan swallowed the dryness in his throat, eyebrows furrowing at the grating sensation, and took one last fortifying breath. A confession perched on the tip of his tongue. Jordan needed to voice the words once even if no one was around to hear them.

“I love you,” Jordan exhaled, sinking deeper onto his haunches, one hand on the ground to try and stay upright. “I love you both. So much,” He whimpered, chest aching and head pounding. Screwing his eyes shut tighter and brought his other hand up to steady his hold on the dagger, letting out a broken sob at what he was about to do, feeling his end draw nearer with every wet slide of blood down his skin and permeating into the soil under him, a pool of damp ground forming around him.

He exhaled once, twice, and swallowed thickly before fortifying himself and slid the sharp point of the blade over his skin, cutting through it like silk, and dropped the dagger with a dull thud. His eyes were blown wide and his mouth opened in a choked sound as blood began to flow from the cut, coating his neck and down his chest, sinking into the roots of the Nematon.

Jordan struggled to breathe, choking on his own blood as his body tipped over, falling to the ground with a dull thud that threw up a cloud of dust. He blinked once, twice, smiling to himself as he felt power begin to return to the Nematon, knowing everything would be okay now.

His chest heaved and stuttered, struggling to get in the air to supply blood that was rapidly leaving the body instead of circulating through to the organs. Jordan couldn’t remember having struggled to breathe like this. He swallowed once, mouth clicking with the dryness, and shuddered on the cold floor, rain beginning to patter down and sting him like icy bullets. He wanted to curl up to try and retain warmth, but he could barely twitch his fingers much less get his body to move. His head hurt, pounding hard against the confines of his skull and making him close his eyes against the pain.

He shuddered as his breathing slowed, tears streaming down the corner of his eyes, and thought about everything his life had come to.

It had been a miserable existence, after the death of his mother. Jordan had to deal with his own and his father’s grief, his extended family abandoning them. He had joined the army to escape, he hadn’t gone to college. Jordan wanted to go to college, maybe he’d pursue electrical engineering – he had always enjoyed working with machinery and wires, and he’d been good as an EOD technician. He wanted to track down the teammates who had survived the war, he wanted to reconnect with them and ask them how they were doing back in civilian life, and laugh about how much he’d struggled to settle back over a cold beer. Jordan wanted to open that storage unit that housed every memory of his childhood, he would have liked to go through the contents with Stiles and answer every question the boy would have had, knowing in some deep crevice of his mind that Noah would have sat there right next to him.

Jordan wanted to tell them he loved them, confess it to them, and then accept whatever verdict they gave him – whether they wanted him gone, he’d graciously accept it and thank them for everything they’d done for him.

He wanted to forgive his father and just…move on from that experience.

Jordan wanted to visit his mother’s grave one last time, sit down and tell her everything his life had surmounted to, and imagine she’d laugh at some of his stories.

He wanted to tell Noah and Stiles how much they meant to him.

Maybe in another life. Jordan thought to himself, breath stuttering and eyes fluttering closed, barely hearing the sound of Cerberus in his head, not feeling the cold drop of rain landing on top of him. Maybe in another life, he’d do better.

Chapter 21: Flatline

Chapter Text

Chapter 22: Anchor

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: Training

Chapter Text

Noah hadn't realized that Jordan's supernatural healing abilities had no effect on Silver. His recovery was slow and tedious along with the fact that it took him the same amount of time to recover from the blood loss as any normal human being. He supposed it made sense that there was no way to accelerate red blood cell formation. But the gradual recuperation put Noah on edge when the younger would suffer from spells of dizziness from just standing or the fact that he got drained quicker so he slept more, but he was definitely on the mend. Especially with how Stiles had come up with a special menu for the man that was rich in iron and vitamins, the Sheriff delighted at the prospect of so much red meat.

The first few days they had a lot of guests over to check in on Jordan and wish him a quick recovery. All the Supernatural creatures from the Nematon had dropped by with little gifts and immense gratitude. Jordan had been uncomfortable with the thanks and tried to wave it off, until Bram Summers took one of his hands and with the utmost sincerity gave his gratitude and said that whatever Jordan asked of them, they’d be more than happy to do it. The Hellhound had effectively saved their children, after all.

Of course, Jordan may be uncomfortable with the gratitude, but he was just as much of a little opportunist as anyone.

“So you all provided some blood to the Nematon so it could regain some of its strengths, correct?”

“Yes,” The Wendigo nodded, the living room crammed with supernatural creatures of varying statures while Jordan sat in Noah's chair as if he were a king holding court. “Of course not as much blood as you provided,”

The Sheriff half expected them to tack on ‘your highness’ to the end of the sentence.

“That’s very selfless of all of you,” Jordan noted with a beatific smile, something about the tone making the Sheriff still in setting up a tray of refreshments. That tone never meant anything good, and Noah had to groan to himself to know that the younger was up to something as he picked up the trey and made his way towards the living room. “I’m curious, have you guys ever thought about working with the Sheriff’s department?”

“Jordan,” The man admonished as he entered, putting the trey down and serving iced tea to all those sitting in his living room. “Behave yourself,” He narrowed his eyes at Jordan as he handed him a glass as well.

“What? I’m just curious,” Jordan shrugged innocently and took the iced tea. “They all have the qualities needed for it, and you, dear Sheriff, are in desperate need of some supernatural staff,”

“That decision is still not yours to make,” The Sheriff stated pointedly, the younger blinking placidly up at him and giving him a smile before nodding, reclining back in the armchair and Noah knew this was not over.

Once the guests had gone, Jordan stood beside Noah helping him wash the glasses. He had insisted on doing small things for now even though he was supposed to be resting. Nothing the Sheriff said dissuaded him, so they had compromised on him doing the little things that didn’t require too much effort.

“They’re all going to come and apply at the station, you know,” Jordan stated as if he were musing on tomorrow’s weather conditions. The Sheriff sighed in resignation, wondering if it was a purely Jordan Parrish thing or if the Hellhound had something to do with enticing people into doing things. Perhaps it was a combination of both. “I’d like you to seriously consider them at the very least. You could use the help and it would only be beneficial in the long run and would greatly improve the view of the station in people’s eyes: an all-inclusive workforce and all that. Great for campaigning,” Jordan resumed as he dried the glass in his hand, holding it up to the light to check if he’d missed a spot.

“You’ve quit the force,” Noah sighed in exasperation and put a heavy hand on Jordan’s shoulder, coming to stand behind him. “Don’t you think you should stop interfering with the matters pertaining to the Sheriff’s department?” The older asked with an arched eyebrow.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Jordan suggested and put the glass down, turning around to face the Sheriff whose hand slid down to his hip, Noah tilting his head in curiosity. “I’ll stop interfering with your workplace when you manage to get Stiles to stop hacking into your accounts,” Jordan smirked and stepped up closer to the man who narrowed his eyes at the words.

“You’re deliberately trying to set me up for failure, I don’t accept,” The Sheriff stated and reduced the space between them, forcing Jordan back and trapping him against the counter. “I’ll give you a better deal. You’ll stop interfering in official matters while I’m asking nicely,”

“Oh really?” Jordan narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to him so that they were chest to chest, eyes sparkling with mischief and eyebrow arched in a challenge. “Why don’t you make me, hmm?”

Something preened inside Noah to be able to have Jordan in his house again. His presence a palpable force in the air around them, the sound of his voice and his laughter permeated every nook and cranny of the walls. This close, the Sheriff could smell Jordan’s apple shampoo and resisted the urge to tug him closer still, knowing he was being challenged.

Noah fitted his knuckles under Jordan’s chin and lightly tilted his head back, making the younger’s gaze half-lidded and making his lips part, pupils dilating. The visible response made Noah smirk to himself, putting ideas into his head. Jordan’s hands came around to under his ribs as if steadying himself.

“Are you telling me you won’t behave, Parrish?” Noah cooed at him, thumb pressing to the underside of Jordan’s lips.

“I haven’t been given a strong enough incentive to do so,” Jordan snarked back breathlessly. “Sir,”

“Well,” The Sheriff exhaled, eyes fixed on the pink plumpness of Jordan’s lips, thumb tracing their outline and felt a shiver wrack through the younger’s body, bringing Noah’s gaze back to Jordan’s blown pupils. The look made the Sheriff lick his lips, Jordan’s gaze immediately jumped to his mouth, and swallowed thickly. “How’s this for-?”

“-Stiles!” Jordan shoved the Sheriff away from him. It made the man stagger and collide into the kitchen island at his back and choke on impact, clutching at his side just as his son came wandering into the kitchen with Derek’s hand in his own.

Jordan mentally cursing at the confused look the little werewolf was giving them as he turned to the Sheriff who was leaning on the counter and cradling his side.

“What happened to Dad?” Stiles asked with wide eyes, the Sheriff coughing and waving away the question.

“Nothing,” The man choked and straightened, Jordan’s hands hovering around him in concern. “Nothing,” He reassured again and squinted against the pain, giving Jordan a nod to let him know he was alright.

“How was it at the Hales?” Jordan asked once he saw the Sheriff regain his bearings and turned to the boys, keeping an eye on Noah.

“Oh, it was fine, we came here cuz Laura was saying we’re being too loud,” Stiles shrugged before beaming wide. “Is it okay if me and Derek play Jenga in the living room?”

“Sure thing, baby,” Jordan smiled at him, the boy immediately shrieked in delight and began to bounce away. “But be sure to clean up after!” He called after them with a hand to the Sheriff’s back.

“Okay!” Stiles called back just as Jordan turned towards the Sheriff with a grimace.

“I’m sorry, are you okay?” He whispered to Noah who slumped against the counter.

“Jesus, Parrish, next time warn a guy before you go slamming him into things,” The Sheriff teased, his words making Jordan wince and chew on the inside of his lip, helplessly hovering around him. “Relax. I’m okay, just a little tender. Nothing a little walking around won’t set right,” Noah reassured and waved away Jordan’s shuffling.

“You sure you’re not bruised? Maybe you should ice it?”

“I’m okay! I promise,” Noah chuckled and stretched out his back before turning to Jordan who was still shuffling uncertainly, fiddling with his fingers and eying the Sheriff if he didn’t believe him. Noah rolled his eyes in fondness and stepped towards Jordan, cupping the younger’s jaw into his hands to make him meet his gaze. “I’m fine. Really,” He reassured with a fond laugh and ruffled Jordan’s hair before pulling away, telling him he was going to use the study for a bit to do some paperwork.

Jordan fixed his hair and watched him go into the guest room with a huff before turning away when Stiles and Derek came thundering downstairs with the Jenga box. Stiles begging Jordan to join their game.

It took six agonizing weeks for the stitches to be removed along with the doctor giving him the green light to his blood loss recovery, telling him he could start slow moderate exercise. Jordan had been the epitome of an obedient patient and nodded along to the doctor’s suggestions, having absolutely no intention of listening to what the man had to say the moment he stepped out of the hospital.

Jordan’s first order of business was a shower.

There was a skip in his step as he returned home, knowing that Noah had taken Stiles with him to the McCalls, the duo taking the boys to the petting zoo. They had invited Jordan to join them, but he had refused on account of his doctor’s appointment and told them to go and enjoy without him. Stiles had kept asking him if he was sure they should go up until they drove away, Jordan laughing and reassuring him that it was okay.

It was both a little strange but oddly soothing to have the house to himself. Jordan knew they wouldn’t be back until late and skipped into his room, humming to himself and shedding clothes left and right to know he could finally take a proper shower and not rely on sponge baths like he had been these past few weeks.

Jordan stood humming under the showerhead, luxuriating under the stream of hot water and leathered shampoo into his hair, followed by conditioner and scrubbing away at his skin till it was pink and glowing. Jordan shaved and blow-dried his hair before faltering when he tilted his head, leaning over the sink to get a look at the scar under his chin that was visible at certain angles. It looked tender to the touch but didn’t cause any discomfort. The flesh was pink and raised, Jordan knew it would leave a scar and looked down at the matching scar on his naval and wrists, knowing one was on the inside of his thighs as well. He vaguely wondered if people thought he was suicidal if they saw them, knowing that’s the impression that they gave, and hummed to himself before getting changed.

He went around the house with a hamper under his arms and threw dirty laundry into it from his own washroom and from the hamper upstairs but faltered at the Sheriff’s closed bedroom door. The impulse to peek inside was overwhelming, Jordan wanted to know what the space looked like in the daylight and he could very easily make an excuse of taking out the laundry if Noah questioned it. But Jordan refrained, and turned away from the door, telling himself he’d start asking Noah to leave his hamper out in the hallway for him instead.

Putting the laundry in the wash, Jordan decided he might as well go all out on the cleaning and set right to it.

He had been cleaning the light fixtures when he heard the familiar pitter-patter of Peter’s heartbeat through the door, his signature earthy scent following.

“Come on in, Puppy,” Jordan called from his perch on the ladder as he cleaned the chandelier, Peter opened the door with grocery bags in one hand and arched a brow at the Hellhound.

“Didn’t you just get your stitches removed?” Peter asked with a shake of his head and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Where are Papa and Smurf?”

“Petting zoo,” Jordan answered and turned the chandelier to get to the next light fixture. “You can put the groceries away and start by vacuuming,”

“Excuse me, I did not come here to play housemaid,” Peter scoffed in derision but went and put the groceries away in their designated places, closing the fridge door and straightening. “Where is the vacuum?”

“Cabinet under the stairs,”

Between the both of them, they got the house clean top to bottom in no time, everything sparkling and smelling daisy fresh. Jordan and Peter stood in the entryway surveying their work and gave a satisfied nod.

“Want a beer?” Jordan inquired as he made his way towards the kitchen, Peter took a seat on the stairs and sprawled, stretching out the kinks and aches from all that bending and movement, calling back an affirmative.

Returning with the beverage, Jordan sat a few steps above Peter with his back to the wall and twisted off the cap on the bottle, taking a long cool swig while the werewolf did the same. Pulling the bottle away and looking down at the label.

“Why drink beer when it doesn’t affect either one of us?”

“I don’t know. Taste, maybe? I like the hoppy taste sometimes,”

Peter considered the response and shrugged before taking another swig, both of them drinking in silence.

“How’s the mutt?” Peter inquired once they’d finished their bottle.

“Cerberus,” Jordan began pointedly. “Still hates you, thinks you’re insufferable, but has been behaving well so far,”

“Well, Cerby isn’t much of a ray of sunshine either,” The werewolf cooed in response, Jordan rolled his eyes in halfhearted exasperation and got comfortable against the wall. “And the powers?”

“Well, while in the hospital, Cerberus was teaching him a few small things, like the thermokinesis, but then we kind of had to stop because of the strain it was putting on the body,”

“What…what else can you do?” Peter shuffled around so that his back was against the railing and he looked back at Jordan. “Other than the fire resistance and melting sh*t,”

“Well…from what I’ve personally seen: we can teleport using shadows as a medium, shapeshifting into a Hound. I can breathe fire, by the way, and turn myself into an actual bomb if that’s worth anything. Uh…I can become intangible at will and hey-” Jordan frowned when Peter took hold of his wrist, the werewolf frowning at him.

“You’re pretty tangible,”

“Yeah, that’s because I haven’t learned how to become intangible at will, yet,” Jordan pulled his wrist out of Peter’s hold, frowning at the look the man was giving the raised scar on his skin. “But yeah, these are a few things I know we’re capable of,”

“You should come to the preserves and train with us,” Peter settled back into his place.

“Train with you?”

“The Hale pack,” Peter rolled his eyes. “We train out in the preserves on the weekend, the pups and adults. You should come and train with us, and you can’t actually hurt us-”

One swipe from our claws with the right intention and we can sever the soul’s connection to the body, Cerberus drawled in the confines of Jordan’s head, the man blinking at the information, not having known that. But, yes, please, let us throw this little puppy around a little for his insolence.

“-and even if you did manage to land a blow, we’ll heal,”

Jordan responded to the statement by unsheathing his claws, Peter flinching at the suddenness of the motion and watching the Hellhound inspect them in the light as if seeing them for the first time.

“Cerberus says with the right intention, our claws can actually sever the connection between soul and body,” Jordan met the werewolf’s gaze, whose eyebrows furrowed at the words. “Which makes sense given that Cerberus is the Hound of Hell and all myth portrays him as the retriever of souls, he’d need to have a way to sever the soul from the body, right?” Jordan gave a placating smile and retracted them again.

“You play some really twisted mind games, Parrish,” Peter huffed and stood up, dusting the back of his jeans and heading towards the door. “But I still think you should explore the extent of your strength in a controlled environment, and since we’re also supernaturals, we can help if things go wrong. I’ll let Talia know that you’ll join us for this weekend’s training session,” The werewolf stated and left out the front door, Jordan stared at the structure for a moment longer before getting up from his place to put the bottles away.

Jordan made himself one of the premade dinners, knowing Stiles and Noah would eat out – smiling to himself to know that the boy would nag the life out of his father for whatever they ended up eating. Chuckling to himself, he took a book and his dinner and enjoyed a quiet night in. Jordan loved them both to death, he really did, but sometimes it was nice to get a few hours alone to go about things at his own pace. Jordan enjoyed his hot meal with his book, leaning back in his seat, and wound down for the night.

He had been reading in the living room when the headlights flashed through the space, Jordan grinning to himself to know that Stiles and Noah were back and put a bookmark between his pages and ambled over to the door. Jordan smiled to himself to hear Stiles chattering even without the enhanced hearing and pulled the door open to find the Sheriff closing the back door just as the boy in question came running towards the house.

“Jordan!” Stiles exclaimed with delight, running towards the Hellhound with his arms spread open. Jordan leaned down to hoist him up into the air and against his hip, grinning widely at the boy in greeting. “Guess what animals we pet today!”

“Hmm…” Jordan thought with a tilted head, picking up on an overwhelming amount of scents. “Rabbit,” He picked up first, probably the freshest or the longest.

The boy nodded to the word as Jordan walked them into the lounge when the Sheriff caught up with his son, closing the door behind them.

“Goat, horse, ducks, cows,” Jordan teased apart the scents, Stiles mouth parting at the correct identification. “Sheep, chickens, and pig,”

“Woah! How’d you know?”

“I also know that you guys went out to dinner and you had fish and chips while dad had the hamburger with curly fries, correct?”

“That’s crazy!” Stiles squirmed, forcing Jordan to put him down, the boy spluttering as Jordan chuckled, noting from the corner of his eyes as Noah looked around him with furrowed eyebrows. Jordan gives Stiles a hint to prevent him from giving himself a brain aneurysm by tapping the side of his nose. “Oh my God! Of course! You’re a Hellhound! You can smell this stuff,”

“Yup,” Jordan chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Why don’t you go on upstairs and take a bath, the smell of animals can get really strong for sensitive noses,”

“Oh! Right! I’m going to take a shower!” Stiles exclaimed and thundered up the stairs to just that. Jordan chuckled at the boy’s rush and shook his head with fondness before turning towards the Sheriff who was still looking around the space.

“You too, you smell just as bad as a farm,” Jordan arched a brow at the Sheriff who redirected his gaze to be addressed. “Shoo. I didn’t spend hours cleaning the house just for you to muck it up with your boots,” He stated, Noah jumping at the words.

“You cleaned!” He exhaled in realization. “I was thinking the space looks different!”

“Yes, yes, you can admire all this after your smell doesn’t make me want to throw up,”

“Oh-ho? Coming from the man who all but got drunk on my scent at the hospital,”

“I was clearly delirious from blood loss and it was the medicine, don’t flatter yourself,” Jordan huffed imperiously and turned away from the Sheriff who snorted at the retort. “Go,” The younger commanded and pointed to the stairs, Noah raised his hands in surrender and retreated to the entrance foyer.

*

Somehow, that training session Jordan was invited to, ended up being more of a picnic with the Hales and the Stilinskis joining as well. He wasn’t sure if the Stilinskis were in attendance to see what he was capable of, or if it was out of concern for his recovery, or a combination of both. He knew that most of the Hales wanted to see what it meant to be a Hellhound. Jordan wanted to see that too.

He knew that these sessions used to occur in the backyard of the Hale House, but with the house under construction, they took to finding a big clearing in the preserves and training there.

Those who weren’t participating were settled on a picnic blanket in the shade, the supers that were training occupying the middle space and doing hand-to-hand combat. Ajax was paired with an older cousin of theirs, Malia with Cora, and Laura against Derek. These children went to a series of sparring movements while Peter directed them, correcting a stance there or having the other adjust power and force. Even as a trainer, Peter was obnoxious with his sarcasm and taunts, Jordan rolled his eyes when he grabbed Ajax by the back of his neck and told him to stop hitting like a coward.

“Puppy,” Jordan called out from where he’d been standing at the edge of the blanket, having watched this go on for long enough that he was getting bored. Energy thrummed through his chest to hit something. He missed his military training on days like these, thinking he should join a dojo simply to work out the energy in a more productive way. Peter turned towards him had some of the elders snickering at the nickname, the werewolf in question snarling at Jordan.

“Stop calling me that,” He growled.

Jordan was able to detect a challenge when he saw one.

“I’ll stop calling you that if you beat me, deal?” The Hellhound suggested. “I’m a little out of practice though,”

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” Peter smirked, and ordered the children away, squaring up in the middle of the clearing with his fists raised to his chin, eyes shining, and one foot back.

Jordan eyed his form and nodded to himself, shrugging off the windbreaker he had on dropped it to the floor, and walked over to where Peter stood at a ready.

“Hand to hand?” Jordan questioned and stood with his fists loosely held up to chest level, an arm's distance between the both of them.

“Doesn’t matter, it’ll be over soon enough,” Peter smirked.

Now, that, Jordan could agree with.

Peter made the first move, throwing a straight punch towards Jordan, who backed away to dodge. He used the momentum to rotate on his back heel and deliver a clean roundhouse kick to Peter side, forcing the man to stagger back at impact. Sounds of surprise rose from their audience. Jordan followed when Peter moved back, throwing another kick with his left leg to where he’d kicked him a moment ago before landing and not wasting a second to lean back and used his right leg to kick at the side of the werewolf’s head. The force sent the man crumpling to the side, no doubt with his ears ringing and disoriented. Jordan let muscle memory guide him as he dropped to his knee and slammed his closed fist to the werewolf’s solar plexus, making him splutter and cough, rolling away from the impact and wheezing. Had this been an actual warzone, his fist would be holding a dagger and Peter would be dead, but this was for fun Jordan reminded himself and stepped back, giving the werewolf a moment to regain his composure. Their audience clapped in awe.

“Again!” Peter growled, shaking away the disorientation and coughing before pushing himself to his feet, glaring at the Hellhound opposite him, and getting into position.

Jordan knew Peter would not make the first move this time, so he threw the first punch. Once and then twice. Peter blocked them with his forearm, Jordan taking a step back to spin in place and try to land a backward hit with his fist, Peter blocking that as well, intently watching and smirking when Jordan kicked at the werewolf’s chest. Peter grabbed his foot on impact. Jordan smirked, using Peter's chest as a brace, and jumped up to kick with his left leg at Peter's head, the werewolf’s hand came up to block the blow but sent the both of them rolling to the floor. Jordan jumped up as Peter blinked away the spots in his eyes.

“Okay?” Jordan inquired from above him, hands bracing his knees when Peter began growling.

Jordan immediately jumped back just as Peter bounced to his feet and aimed a kick at the Hellhound’s chest. Jordan blocked it with his hands once, twice, and moved back, aiming a kick of his own. Noticing that Peter’s eyes were burning beta blue when his foot collided with the werewolf’s side, sending him a step back. Jordan went in for another kick to the other side when Peter grabbed his leg and kept it pinned to his side. Their audience crying out in concern now, Jordan was deaf to their calls to stop them and grabbed Peter by the back of his neck, using his hold on Peter’s side and back to hoist himself up. His free leg came up and wrapped around the werewolf’s neck in a chokehold, the brunette released the hold he had on his leg and stumbled to the floor with Jordan’s sudden weight on his shoulders. Jordan used the momentum of their fall to roll them on the forest floor till he had Peter under him, one hand pressing down on his windpipe with the other on the top of his head. Peter snarled under him with eyes blown wide and beta blue.

“Calm yourself, puppy,” Jordan commanded ignoring the Hellhound’s pleased rumble to disarm the werewolf thrice now, his eyes burning an infernal orange as the other stood to intervene before faltering. “This is a training exercise, not a battlefield, calm yourself,” He told him again, slower but no less firm, and stroked over Peter’s hair, the werewolf’s snarls receding till Peter’s normal eyes glared back at him.

“Get off me!”

“Have you calmed yourself? I have no issue knocking you unconscious if I have to,”

“I am calm, dammit! Get off!” Peter struggled under him before stilling when Jordan’s grip on his neck tightened. The werewolf glared at him before taking a grounding breath and went lax under him.

Jordan watched him for a second longer before nodding and removing his weight from his chest, helping Peter off the ground and dusting him off.

“What the hell was that?” Peter demanded and halfheartedly shoved at Jordan’s shoulder who bore the impact with a huffed laugh.

“When you’ve been doing training drills for seven years, you kind of end up sticking with them even when you’re back in civilian life,” Jordan looked Peter over to see if he’d missed any spot before stepping back and winked at the werewolf. “Had this been the actual thing, I’d have at least one form of weapon and killed you six times by now,”

“Beast,”

“Hellhound,” Jordan corrected and clapped Peter on the back, the werewolf playfully shoving him away as they made their way back to the picnic blanket, everyone gawking at them as Peter filled up a glass of lemonade and held it out to Jordan before he filled another glass for himself.

“What the f-” Alex began to question before faltering to see the children there as well and rephrased. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Training?” Jordan tilted his head in question, not sure what the man was expecting of him, and beamed wide when the Sheriff came up to stand beside him.

“Did you or did you not use these moves on uncooperative suspects?” Noah inquired, Jordan looking over to the clearing they had been training in before turning back to the Sheriff with wide innocent eyes.

“Those moves? No, no,” Jordan shook his head, bringing his lemonade up to his lips when Noah exhaled a sigh of relief. “I was rougher,” He grinned, the Sheriff spluttering in indignation, the admission making Peter burst into a fit of ugly honking laughter, the werewolf clutching at his stomach to calm himself.

“Jordan! Jordan! That was so cool!” Stiles bounded over with the other Hale children in tow, all of them agreeing, and stared up in awe at him. “You-you barely used your hands! You went like shwoom! And then-then wap! Then bam!” Stiles articulated eloquently, Jordan chuckling at the boy’s description and finished his lemonade.

“You want to see something cooler?” Jordan inquired, all the kids nodding as Jordan ruffled Stiles's hair and told him to stay where he was while he went and walked over to the center of the clearing, keeping distance between himself and the others. “Watch the glass, okay?” He instructed and held up the glass in his hand, all of them watching as Jordan focused on it, the glass turning a molten yellow within minutes, making everyone gasp as it melted into Jordan’s hands. The Hellhound, moving it around and molding it into his desired shape, holding out a bright molten sphere, before he stopped sending heat through to it. Holding up the tiny sun for the others to see. Stiles trying to get a closer look.

“No, stay right there,” Jordan held out a hand to stop him, Noah immediately pulling Stiles away. “I can heat this up, but I can’t cool it down. It’s going to cool down on its own,” He told them and looked for a place to put his tiny sun, deciding that in the shade away from everyone would have to do for now.

“Where did you learn how to control that?” Talia Hale inquired, looking at the orb over his shoulder.

“Cerberus taught me,” Jordan informed and dusted his hands which were completely fine as if he hadn’t been handling molten glass.

“Cerberus?”

“The Hellhound,”

“You can communicate with it?”

“Yeah,” Jordan nodded and tapped his temple. “Cerberus is quite a chatty little thing,” He smirked when the hound growled to be called little, Jordan ignored his triad and walked over to the others.

It took some time, but with Peter’s supervision and Cerberus’s guidance, Jordan began to be able to control the Hellhound's power. Learning how to teleport using shadows as a medium had been the hardest thing to master, but it was the first thing Jordan wanted to learn. Now he could very easily move from one place to another as long as there was a shadow, having grown accustomed to the cold wet sensation of walking through the darkness, having shivered for a full hour after having done it the first time.

He also learned how to control the beta shift of setting himself on fire and trained with what he could do in that mode. Peter taught him how to fight with his fangs and claws, while Cerberus taught him how to become intangible at will in whatever form he was in. Jordan quickly picked up on the training, the Hellhound informing him it was another aspect of being a supernatural being.

Jordan learned what it meant to be the Guardian of the Supernatural and Bearer of Death, it meant that he would know when someone would die, supernatural or otherwise. The first time he’d experienced that chilling sensation on the back of his neck, he’d woken up in the middle of his sleep and drove to the destination like he’d known where he had to go. Parking outside the hospital he had made his way through the corridors and towards the wing where they kept their long-term patients. Jordan stopped outside the door of an elderly comatose gentleman and told the nurse to call the man’s family to let them know he didn’t have much time left. The man’s children and grandchildren had rushed over, surrounding the man’s bedside, and stayed till the monitor flat-lined, Jordan had remained out in the hallway till the man passed, before heading towards the doors.

The last thing Jordan learned was how to turn into the Hound, having mastered it in secret so that he could reveal the ability at the next full moon when they’d join the Hales and the rest of the community on a full moon run.

Stiles and the children gasped in delight at how big and fluffy he was, Jordan licking at the boy who squealed and pushed him away so he could rub through Jordan’s thick fur along with the other children. Jordan happily accepted the petting. It was a pleasant sensation to be petted. Noah scratched at the perfect spot at his scruff that had Jordan shaking with how hard his tail was wagging, a pleased rumble coming from his chest, and leaned into the Sheriff’s side, nearly toppling him to the floor with the weight.

“Easy there,” Noah had chuckled and patted Jordan’s snout that came up to the Sheriff’s sternum.

Jordan tilted his head back and licked the underside of the Sheriff’s chin, making the man gasp and recoil at the sudden wet sensation, pulling a face and stumbling around, wiping the saliva away with his sleeve. Jordan let out a canine equivalent of a laugh and bounded away to where the supers that were participating in the run were waiting.

Talia Hale had transformed into her full wolf form as well, smaller than Jordan’s Hellhound, but no less agile he learned as they both took off into the forest. She kept pace with him, both of them chasing each other, being faster than the rest of the pack on account of being on four legs.

Playfully nipping at Talia’s side, Jordan bounded away from her, picking up pace as she chased him. Jordan going faster and faster, hearing the loud pounding of his own blood and relishing in the feel of the wind through his fur, the fragrance of the forest and the brightness of the night made Jordan’s chest warm with delight. Zipping between trees and jumping over fallen trunks and branches, a blur in the forest. Jordan skidded to a stop at the edge of the ledge, staring out at Beacon Hills sprawled out beneath him, something lodging itself into his throat which made him throw his head back and howl into the night, answering howls echoing through the preserves behind him; making the Hellhound giddy, shuffling on his feet before turning around and racing back through the trees.

Jordan tracked all the pack members, playfully nipping at them and instigating them into a chase, and bounded away whenever they’d get too close.

Werewolves had a lot of energy on the full moon, he knew. Might as well exhaust them, Jordan thought and kept taunting them by getting close enough to grab before bounding away with a delighted yip. The weres snarling and growling at him, the children falling into his trap and chasing after him till they were breathless and tired.

He got the wolves to chase him around the preserves, taking mercy on them around midnight, and happily trotted back to the clearing where they had their BBQ dinner before they’d gone off into the preserves. Jordan picked up the mouthwatering scent of the Sheriff the closer he got to the clearing, following it and got Stiles’s forest scent as well, picking up his pace and bounded through the tree line where Stiles was sitting with his human friends, the Sheriff talking to the human parents.

“Jordan!” Stiles exclaimed, arms wide open and sitting on the picnic blanket, wrapping his arms around Jordan’s wide neck when the man lowered his head into his hold, nuzzling against the side of his face and snuffling at him as his tail wagged behind him. The other children immediately drew nearer and petted through his fur, laughing at all the twigs and leaves they found and picking them off one by one, trying to smoothen down his shaggy pelt. Cerberus preening happily in the back of Jordan’s head at all the attention being lavished on him, Jordan flopped down on the ground while the children surrounded him with delighted giggles.

Isaac petted over Jordan’s ribs with slow consistent strokes, chanting “puppy, puppy, puppy,” to himself, the other picking up on it. Jordan let out a pleased rumble as he put his head down on the picnic blanket and closed his eyes at the soothing rubs.

“You do know that still Jordan, right?” Noah inquired once he picked up on the children’s chant of “puppy”, and pointed to the Hellhound lying docilely on the forest floor.

Jordan yapped up at the Sheriff in greeting and pushed himself up, shaking out his fur and making the children shriek before he walked over to Noah, rubbing against his side hard enough to jostle the man before coming to sit down beside him, tail wrapped around the back of the Sheriff’s ankles and his side pressed to his, looking up at the man with bright orange eyes and a tilted head as if expectantly waiting for something.

“Jesus, just because they’re saying puppy doesn’t mean you have to act like one,” The Sheriff huffed and scratched at the perfect spot on Jordan’s scruff, the pleased rumble starting up again while Jordan’s tail thumped against Noah’s ankle with his delight, the man in question chuckling at the behavior before putting down his beer bottle and used both hands to work over the skin of his scruff, their onlookers laughing to themselves, almost expecting the Sheriff to break out the baby talk towards Jordan as a hound.

Once the Hales and the other supernaturals returned from the run, Jordan turned back and pulled on his clothes behind one of the trees before returning with a bounce to his step and humming under his breath. Easily picking Stiles up off the floor and throwing him up into the air, roughhousing with him and making the boy shriek and laugh before the Sheriff told them they were heading back.

Jordan kept humming along to the songs playing on the radio, Noah smiling to himself at how light and happy the younger seemed, and peered into the rearview mirror to find Stiles beginning to doze off in his booster seat.

“I’ll put Stiles to bed,” Noah assured Jordan and pushed the Hellhound towards the door. “You go and shower, you have leaves in your hair,” Jordan laughed at the words combed a finger through his hair, and made his way into the house.

Noah helped Stiles step down from the cruiser before leading him upstairs. He handed the boy his pajamas and told him to go wash up while he waited in his room, looking around at the space of his son’s organized chaos and turning towards the side table where Stiles displayed pictures. There was a frame of all his friends, another with just him and Scott, one of him and his mom when he was a baby, one with his dad, and the latest addition of Jordan.

Stiles could have picked out one with the three of them or one in which it was him and Jordan – God knows there were a lot of those – but instead, his son had opted for a solo of Jordan. In the picture, Jordan was sitting in the corner of the couch, legs pulled up under him, one hand holding a book out in front of him. The picture showed him completely engrossed in the story, while the other hand hovered midair, holding his favorite coffee mug: the polka-dotted blue one with the tiny dragon surprise inside. Sunlight was streaming in from the living room windows and hit Jordan's profile just right, making his hair glow into a halo of fire, his eyes alight and vibrant. It was a stunning picture, Noah had to admit. It highlighted all of Jordan’s best features and caught him completely relaxed and at home in their living room, Noah smiling at the picture he had picked up.

“When are you going to ask him out?” Stiles asked, returning to his room with his clothes slung over his shoulder, and changed into his pajamas. Noah startled at the sudden question, gawked at his son as he put his clothes away, rolling his eyes at his dad’s look. “Seriously? Don’t tell me you don’t know Jordan is head over heels in love with you,” His son scoffed and shook his head before making his way to where his dad sat on the bed and got under the covers.

“I-” Noah stammered, unable to deny that he knew that the young man was in love with him, but he wouldn’t go so far as to say ‘head over heels in love’. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shook his head and tried to articulate his thoughts, putting the frame back into its rightful place. “It’s not that simple-”

“-Why? Because you think he’s going to replace mom?” Stiles inquired with his knuckles under his chin, blinking expectantly at his dad who jerked at the bluntness of the question. Seriously, his son needed to learn some tact. “You and I both know he’s not going to replace Mom. I mean, Jordan spent days convincing you to let him put up pictures of her on the stairway wall, Dad. He went through the attic and took out all the old photos so he could hang them up. I mean if you marry Jordan, Jordan is going to be Dad-no, wait, that’s confusing having two dads. No, Jordan would be papa, yeah. He’d be papa and you’d be dad, and mom would always be mom,”

Noah blinked at his son at the statement, even though it was pretty disjointed, the crux of the matter remained the same: Noah would be Dad, and Jordan would be Papa, but Claudia would always remain Stiles’s mom.

The Sheriff exhaled at the words, fighting back a laugh at the simple statement that pacified one of his main concerns.

“Good night, Stiles,” Noah tucked him in and kissed his forehead.

“Night, Dad,” Stiles’s jaw creaked with his yawn and snuggled into his blanket.

Noah left the door ajar on his way out, standing in the hallway for a moment before deciding to see if Jordan was up for a nightcap. He wanted to know what the man thought about his first full moon run with the rest of the community and in his Hellhound form at that. Making his way down the stairs, the Sheriff faltered on the steps and turned towards the newest additions Jordan had added: a full photo gallery on the wall.

There were pictures of Noah and Claudia in college, both so young and full of life, there was a photo of the proposal and their wedding. A picture of Claudia standing in front of their house when they’d bought it. There was a picture of the both of them when they’d gone down to Santa Cruz, the wind whipping at them but both of them grinning wide. There was one of Claudia during her pregnancy one of Stiles when he was a newborn, and one of his first birthday, both Noah and Claudia leaning over his shoulder to blow out the candles with him. Stiles’s first day of school, sulking and arms crossed over his chest, Derek trying to soothe him with Scott watching in the background.

Then there was a collage of Stiles with his friends, Scott and Isaac, Lydia, Malia, Derek, and Cora. A bunch more with the Hales and the McCalls, and one of when Noah was elected Sheriff. It was only when both Stiles and Noah began arguing that Jordan needed to put pictures of himself on there too that he rummaged through the pictures they’d gifted him on Christmas and put up the ones he felt went well. All the frames in different sizes and neatly puzzled together, depicting some of the happiest and brightest moments of their lives.

Noah knew Claudia would have loved it and thought back to Stiles’s words.

Covering the rest of the way, he walked over to Jordan's room and knocked on the door.

Noah opened it to find the room lit up by the table lamp, Jordan collapsed on top of the bed, hair damp and towel in hand with the man sound asleep. He had to bite his lip from laughing to know the man must be exhausted, having heard all about how he’d worn out the Hales, no doubt tired himself. Shaking his head with a fond smile, Noah took the towel from Jordan’s hands and put it away before he moved Jordan onto the bed properly, the Hellhound going willingly. He stirred with a questioning hum when Noah tugged the covers out from under him, the Sheriff placing a soothing hand on his forehead and placated him.

“Shh, it’s okay, keep sleeping sweetheart,” Noah murmured softly, Jordan’s going weightless under his touch. “Just tucking you in,” He reassured and draped the blanket over him, smiling when Jordan curled onto his side under the cover andsunk deeper into sleep.

He looked so warm and cozy like this, Noah thought with his chest close to bursting and walked back to the door, closing it before returning to the bed. He told himself he’d just lie down next to him for a few minutes before heading back to his own room. Peeling off his shoes, Noah shuffled under the covers and turned off the lamp before lying down behind Jordan, reaching out in the darkness to stroke through his damp tresses, knowing his hair would be a colossal mess when he wakes in the morning and fell asleep with his hand in Jordan’s strands, looking forward to the sight of a fluffy wild-haired Jordan to greet him in the morning. Smiling to imagine the pouting and grumbling he'd do in an attempt to tame his hair.

Chapter 24: Application

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: Glen Ellyn, IL

Chapter Text

The call from his family lawyer had been unusual.

Jordan couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to the man, but when he called early one Saturday morning, he knew it was business as usual. Attending the call, he remembered another matter he wanted to be dealt through him. The lawyer, Mr. Austin Tartal, had called to remind Jordan that at the time of his father’s death, he had asked Mr. Tartal to put all personal artifacts into a storage unit, and he was now calling to inform Jordan that the lease on the storage unit was coming to an end. He wanted to know what was to be done about the possessions.

It had taken him by surprise for a moment. Jordan took a minute to think through his options before telling Mr. Tartal that he’d come to their hometown and go through the artifacts himself and decide what was to be done with all of it. Jordan made a mental note to collect his parents’ wedding bands and the family albums as a priority matter.

Mr. Tartal had asked to be kept in the loop of Jordan’s arrival and assured him that he would begin the paperwork on the other matter.

Ending the call, Jordan stepped out of the room to find Noah making breakfast with Stiles and Derek already eating. He smiled at the sight of them before faltering to wonder how the Stilinskis would take the news.

“Good morning,” He greeted and walked over to where the Sheriff was cooking the eggs, his cup of coffee lying beside the brewed pot.

“Morning,” Noah greeted and smiled when Jordan poured himself coffee and leaned against the counter to give him company while he cooked. “This is yours,” He informed and gestured to the omelet in the pan.

“Oh, thanks,” Jordan exclaimed and put his coffee down on the breakfast counter so he could pop two toast into the toaster and slid a plate near Noah’s elbow.He grabbed a knife and the butter when the toast popped up. Noah plated the omelet just as Jordan was done and placed an empty plate beside the Sheriff for his omelet and took a seat at the breakfast counter beside Stiles, waiting for the head of the house to join before he dug in.

“Did you guys sleep okay?” Jordan asked, knowing that they were trying to get back to normal with all of them sleeping in their rooms. Last night was the third attempt in the week which went better than the previous two tries where they’d all ended up sleeping in Stiles’s room somehow. They were trying to go back to normal because summer vacations were ending and with Stiles’s school, they couldn’t afford to have his sleep disturbed if either Jordan or the Sheriff were staying up late working or reading, or applying to colleges in the Hellhound’s case.

“It was okay, I had Derek with me,” Stiles kicked his leg in the air and grinned at his mate whose eyes crinkled at the edges. “But he’s not as warm as you,” He pouted to Jordan who laughed into his coffee mug at the affronted look the werewolf sent the boy.

“And you?” Jordan asked of the Sheriff who chewed his toast thoughtfully.

“It’ll take some adjusting to have so much space again,” He confided. “I got pretty used to the three of us squeezing on that bed of yours. What about you? You sleep okay?”

“Honestly, I kept waking up in the middle of the night because I thought one of you had rolled off the edge since I couldn’t feel you two on the bed,” Jordan laughed at himself and rubbed a hand over his face. “And it took me a moment to realize that you two weren’t sleeping there to begin with. Like you said, it’ll take some adjusting,” He smiled at the Sheriff who agreed with a nod, the four of them going back to eating their breakfast in contented silence.

Once everyone was done, as per the house rules, Stiles and Derek began to stack up the plates to take them to the sink to wash with Jordan before the man stopped them.

“Oh, you two go on and play, your Dad can help me dry the dishes,” He smiled in reassurance to the two boys who looked from Jordan to the Sheriff who nodded in confirmation. The two shrugged, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, and raced up the stairs.

Jordan picked up the dishes the two had left on the counter and took them to the sink, running the water over them before grabbing the sponge while the Sheriff finished the dregs of his coffee and joined Jordan at the sink with a dish towel.

“My family lawyer called this morning,” Jordan enlightened as he handed a plate to the Sheriff to dry. “Uh…I don’t remember if I told you this, but when my father died, I was in Afghanistan so I told Mr. Tartal to put all personal possessions into a storage unit. He called me to tell me that the lease for the unit was ending and wanted to ask me what to do with all the things,”

“Wouldn’t the army have given you time off to attend your dad’s funeral?” Noah frowned as he put the plate away and took the mug Jordan held out to him.

“They would have, I opted not to attend the funeral,” Jordan stated bluntly and continued to scrub at the plate in his hand. The Sheriff stilled at the words, able to tell that there was something there that Jordan didn’t want to talk about. Even though Noah figured that you had to push and prod to get Jordan to confide, this matter was something he would not take too kindly to being prompted on. All possible reasons why made Noah queasy. “Anyways, I told him I’d come there and go through them and figure out what to do with all that stuff, but I have no idea how long I’d be gone for,”

“There…” Noah hummed, eyebrows furrowed, and tried to recall where Jordan was from. “Where?” He tilted his head in question, the Hellhound giggling at the question and affectionately bumped his sudsy knuckles against the Sheriff’s jaw, making the man pull a face and wipe the bubbles off his shoulder.

“I’m from Glen Ellyn, it’s a small town in the DuPage County,”

“Illinois?”

“Yeah,”

The Sheriff blinked at the information, knowing that Beacon Hills to Illinois was about a thirty-hour drive and a flight from here to there was close to five hours. The thought of Jordan so far away made the Sheriff’s chest squirm in unease, knowing that sleeping in different beds in the same house made him wake after a few hours, so he could forget any sleep with Jordan across the country. Then there was a matter of how to break this to Stiles, Noah could already imagine the waterworks and subsequent tantrum at the news, knowing that the premise hit a little too close to how things had gone at the hospital: Jordan needing to leave without any clear return date.

Oh boy.

“When do you plan to go?” The Sheriff asked as he dried the last of the cutlery and placed it with the rest of the washed dishes, Jordan turned off the tap and shook out the water from his hands.

“Go where?” Stiles inquired, making both men turn around to find the two boys standing in the hallway with a ball under Derek’s arm. Stiles looked at them with his head tilted and curiosity shining in his eyes.

Jordan and Noah shared uncertain looks before the Hellhound took an inconspicuous step back and let the father handle this, knowing that the last time he had tried, it ended badly.

“Well, uh…buddy,” Noah stepped forward and scratched at the back of his head. “Jordan has to go to his hometown to deal with some family business,”

“Hometown? Glen Ellyn, right?”

“Uh…yeah,” Jordan nodded, having all but forgotten about the fact that this boy had dug up his file and knew a lot more about him than was consensually provided. His hometown is one such example.

“Cool, when do we go?” Stiles inquired making both the Sheriff and Jordan stop short at the question and the expectant look the boy was leveling at them, Derek darted his gaze from Stiles to the adults and could figure that wasn’t the plan. “Are we going by car or plane? How long are we going for? What’s the weather like-?”

“-Stiles-”

“-Oh! Do I get to see your house? Where you grew up and your school? Hey! Do some of your childhood friends still live there-?”

“-Stiles-”

“-Oh my, God! This is so exciting! A field trip in the last few days of summer and I got to see where Jordan grew up. That’s so cool! I’m going to go pack-!” The boy announced and rushed towards the stairs, ignoring how Noah and Jordan called out to him and lurched forward, but the boy was long gone. Derek having gone after him.

The Sheriff braced his elbows on the kitchen island and buried his face into his hands while Jordan slumped against the counter and ran a hand through his hair, knowing that this could go south very quickly and very badly.

“Tag, you’re it,” Jordan announced and tapped the Sheriff’s knee with the toe of his shoes, leaning away and raising his hands in surrender when Noah whirled towards him with lips parted and eyes wide in shock. “Hey, I was the bearer of bad news at the hospital, it’s your turn now,”

“It’s your trip!”

“He’s your son,”

“Oh, please, we both know he listens to you more,”

“Exactly, which is why I’m not going to tell him that it’s not a field trip,”

“You’re making me the bad parent?” The Sheriff gawked at the realization.

“Well, we both know you’re the stricter one out of the two of us, so yeah,” Jordan proclaimed with a smirk.

“Unbelievable!” Noah threw his hands up in the air and stalked towards Jordan who stood his ground and smirked at him, the Sheriff resisting the impulse to grab him and kiss that smug look off his face. Instead, he put his fingers through Jordan’s tresses and ruffled his hair hard enough to make the man shriek and try to push him away. Noah stepped back with a self-satisfied smirk at the disarray of his hair, Jordan gawking at him with parted lips and wide eyes, strands standing up on edge and all over the place. “You’re lucky you got off easy,” He stated and turned on his heels to walk up the stairs and to Stiles’s bedroom to break the news to him.

Knocking on the door, Noah entered to find the contents of Stiles’s wardrobe on the floor, the boy standing between the messes and picking up articles at random, with a backpack on the study table, and Derek sitting on the bed with Stiles’s laptop.

“Oh, Dad! Are we going by car or by plane?” The boy stopped his whirlwind movement long enough to ask the question, his dad opening his mouth to respond before Stiles beat him to it. “Doesn’t matter, I still need my pillow. I can’t sleep without my pillow. Do you know where we’re staying? Do you think we’ll get to stay in Jordan’s old house? I’d love to see where he grew up!”

“Stiles,” The Sheriff rubbed a hand over his face knowing that he had to end this misconception before it was too late.

“According to Google, the temperature ranges from 60 to 84 degrees and it rains quite often there,” Derek informed, Noah face palming and shaking his head to know that Stiles had dragged him into this

“Oh, so it’s warm,” Stiles noted and grabbed his t-shirt and flannels from the pile on the floor. “How long are we going for? How many shirts do I need?” He looked up to his dad at the question, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly pouted.

“Son, we’re not going-” Noah announced and watched with growing dread as Stiles blinked at him and went quiet like he couldn’t comprehend what he was being told, even Derek had frozen in his place on the bed. Stiles stared imploringly at him as if silently begging him to take those words back, he could already imagine the waterworks. “-to…need too many clothes. It’ll be warm so pack a couple of light T-shirts and maybe two to three pairs of shorts. Jordan is not sure how long everything will take him, but uh…pack for a week to be on the safe side,” The Sheriff chickened out and watched his son light up in delight at the information, nodding eagerly and began chattering again while his dad stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him and thumped his head against the wall in resignation.

“Well?” Jordan inquired from where he was leaning against the back of the couch, gnawing on the ends of his nails, and straightened at the Sheriff’s approaching figure. “How’d he take it?”

“Depends on how you feel about the two of us joining you,” Noah stuffed his hands into his pockets and gave a sheepish smile to the younger whose eyebrows rose into his hairline at the question.

“We need to build a thicker skin and learn how to refuse Stiles without the fear of upsetting him,” Jordan rubbed at his temple. “Are we spoiling him? I think we’re spoiling him,”

“He’s had a hard summer with the illness and your injuries, I think he deserves a nice outing. Besides, he’s just a kid,” The sheriff reasoned and tugged Jordan towards him by the belt loops, the younger going easily enough. “He’s not going to be ten forever. Next thing you know he’s slamming doors in your face and yelling the house down and screaming about how we’ve ruined his life and how much he hates us,” He waved dramatically with a shake of his head, Jordan grimacing and flinching at the words.

“Oh that’ll break my heart,” He exhaled with a hand to his chest, before rubbing at his face with a resigned sigh.

“Yeah, so, I say let’s strike while the iron is hot,” Noah reached up and smoothened down a spot on Jordan’s head which he’d missed when he had fixed his hair. “Besides, I’m also curious to see where you grew up, and I’m sure you could use the help in sorting through things, right?” He inquired as he rubbed his thumb over Jordan’s jaw.

“Cheeky,” The man scoffed and scratched at his eyebrow in thought. “Would you be able to get time off from the station? I don’t know how long this all will take, you know,”

“Don’t worry about that,” The Sheriff waved dismissively. “I have years of vacation days and sick leaves piled up. Besides, now I have more supernatural staff as well, so they can handle things in my absence,”

“Oh! Ho-ho! Now it’s a great thing that there are supers on the roasters, but when I kept bugging you about it, you were iffy until I had them go and apply at the station!”

“Well, you did say it would benefit me in the long run, and look! It’s benefiting me,”

“You’re unbelievable,” Jordan scoffed with no heat and pulled away from the Sheriff’s hold to march back to his room and figure out their accommodation and his luggage.

“That’s what you get for trying to make me the bad parent,” Noah taunted with a laugh, Jordan whirling around with eyebrows raised into his hairline and mouth parted with a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“We both saw how well that worked out for you. You were so blatantly manipulated by Stiles,”

“Oh, are you saying you want to go and tell him we’re not going?”

“No, thank you!” Jordan announced in finality and spun on his heels to head to his room, Noah laughed in delight to have gotten the last word and grinned at Jordan’s retreating figure.

*

They decided they would fly out on Monday and made a tentative plan for a week. After some lengthy discussions, they settled on getting one room because it was economical and none of them wanted to be separated in a place that was foreign to Noah and Stiles. They settled on getting dropped off at the airport and then renting a car when they’d arrived at O’Hare airport before driving the rest of the way to Glen Ellyn. The Sheriff more than content to sit back and relax, knowing that this was Jordan’s turf and he knew the way.

They stopped at a restaurant for dinner before they checked into their room at the hotel. Stiles immediately ran into the room and looked through everything while Noah put their bags to the side and Jordan talked to the manager who had shown them up.

It was luxurious with dark wooden flooring and wallpapers, clean with fresh sheets, and a king-sized bed that had a TV opposite it. A study table in the corner with a pair of armchairs and coffee tables in front of the windows leading out the balcony where Stiles had ventured out to and exclaimed they had a view of the pool. Announcing that he wanted to go swimming at the first opportunity tomorrow morning before bouncing back inside with a wide grin on his face and climbing onto the bed, Noah decided to take a seat beside him, having forgotten how tiring travel could be.

“Thank you,” Jordan took the key card and closed the door once the manager left, the younger pressing his back to the wooden structure and looking at the father and son duo with a tired smile that made his eyes crinkle at the edges. “I think we should all just sleep now, I’m beat,” He announced and marched further into the room and took out his phone.

“I agree,” Noah seconded the motion, staring pointedly at his son who sat up straight. “Shower, young man, and into pajamas with you,”

“Aww…fine,” He pouted and rummaged through his backpack for his things before skipping to the washroom. Noah turned to find Jordan making a call out on the balcony and went to his bag to take out his pajamas.

Noah took a quick shower and changed once Stiles had been settled into the bed, stepping out while drying his hair to find the lights turned off, only a single lamp on with the boy fast asleep in the center of the bed. Jordan sat at the study table with his laptop open, reading something on the screen.

“Your turn,” Noah walked over to him and put his fingers through the hair on the back of Jordan’s head, gripping the tresses lightly and making the man hum in question. “Shower,”

“Oh, you’re done?” Jordan lowered the laptop screen and looked up at the Sheriff who hummed in confirmation. The younger got up from his place at the desk and grabbed his things before going to the washroom. Noah settled on the side closer to the window and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The Sheriff was the last to wake in the morning, flinching away from the sudden flood of light behind his eyelids and rolling towards the other side of the bed to be greeted by the sound of giggling. Small hands grabbed at his shoulder and shook him awake.

“Come on, Dad, wake up!” Stiles giggled over him. “Jordan’s going to show us where he grew up!” He exclaimed, Noah, grumbling into the pillow under his head to be woken and squinted open an eye to find Stiles sitting beside him. Jordan stood over his shoulder, both of them dressed already. Their chirpy demeanor made the Sheriff grumble before burying his face in the pillow, waving them away.

Once they’d had breakfast, Jordan showed them all the places he grew up.

He showed them his Montessori school and his elementary school. The buildings are big and vibrant, closed for the summer but looking no less grand. He showed them the high school he graduated from, managing to lead them around the high school and towards the back where he’d been part of the track team. Noah understanding why he was so fast now with a huff of laughter.

It was interesting watching Jordan lead the way, Stiles’s hand in his own and the Sheriff right beside them as Jordan looked around at the buildings, trying to recall paths he had taken eight years ago. Noah wondered if it looked different to him, now that he was grown up. He wondered if the places had changed from his time here and if it made Jordan feel a certain type of way; nostalgic and bittersweet to see his home changed so much.

“It should be…” Jordan muttered as he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking around him before whirling towards their back and crowed out in triumph. “Here,” He chuckled to himself and looked up at the building, Noah and Stiles looking up at the four-story brownstone in confusion.

“Come here,” Jordan turned back to the street, made sure that no car was coming before crossing the road, and turned back towards the brownstone. “I used to live on the second floor with my parents,” He enlightened, making Stiles gasp before focusing harder on the building as if he could see the interior if he tried hard enough.

“It was a cozy place with two bedrooms and an open-concept floor plan,” He chuckled to himself with a soft smile to recall how the interior had looked the last time he’d been here.

“Jordan?” Stiles's voice had him blink and turn to the boy with a questioning hum. “What’d it look like?”

One entered the front door to the dining table at the right with the kitchen just beyond, the living room at the left of the dining room. Jordan’s bedroom door used to open out into the living room, while his parent’s master bedroom had been on the other side of the kitchen through a small hallway. It had been light and airy at one point. Bright and full of life, but after his mother’s death, Jordan could hardly remember not being in a dissociative state following his father’s drinking. If someone were to ask him what the house had looked like on his last day there, Jordan would not be able to answer. He was unable to recall what colors the wall had been or if the flooring was carpet, wood, or marble. He couldn’t remember what his room looked like towards the end of his time here or if there had been food in the fridge and felt his fingers twitch to realize he couldn’t remember.

“You know, buddy,” Jordan furrowed his eyebrows. “I can’t really remember anymore. Sorry,” He chuckled to himself as Stiles tilted his head at the words, ignorant to the way the Sheriff was watching him, noting the way Jordan fiddled with the seams of his pants.

“Oh, that’s okay,” The boy reassured and looked around at the street they were in, Jordan doing the same.

“But, I do remember there being a park somewhere near here,” He mused to himself, remembering having spent countless late nights out on the bench when his father would come home drunk to avoid the man’s temper.

It took them a bit of navigating to find the park Jordan was talking about. For some odd reason, he remembered it to be bigger, but now seeing it again after years made him realize it was quite small. It only had a handful of swings and a couple of benches around the perimeter.

“Oh! Can I go on the slides?” Stiles asked bouncing on the tips of his toes and looked towards Jordan and his dad with wide pleading eyes as if they would refuse him.

“Sure, go on, kiddo,” Noah nodded and watched Stiles run towards the slide where a few more children were loitering around, both of them watching him climb up the steps and towards the slide, waving to them from the top. “Do you want to sit down?” He turned to Jordan who shrugged at the suggestion, both of them settling down on the bench closest to them. A mother on the bench next to theirs with a baby stroller and a book in her hand, watching one of the children on the playground.

Jordan leaned back on the bench, arms crossed over his chest, and thought about the conversation he had with Mr. Tartal last night.

He had informed the lawyer that he would need all the information on the storage unit tomorrow since he wanted to take Noah and Stiles around the neighborhood. But now, he was trying to recall why he would want to see these places again. This stopped being his home the day his mother died, every corner of this town held one demon or another. Jordan had forgotten how miserable he had been, why he had been so adamant about escaping to the army at the first opportunity that presented itself. He couldn’t breathe here, he remembered now. Why was he back here?

That storage unit has haunted him for years now. Maybe he should have just told Mr. Tartal to post him his parents' rings and the family albums, he couldn’t imagine needing anything else from what has been placed in lock-up. He could hardly remember what his time here had been like.

“Donation, trash, and keep,” Jordan spoke out of nowhere, Noah turning to him with a questioning hum. “Tomorrow we’re going to sort through the storage unit, so I was thinking that we can give stuff away, throw it away, or keep it,”

“Clothes, shoes, appliances, furniture, books, and toys are all donations,” The Sheriff picked up on the train of thought. “Obsolete documents and miscellaneous items are trash. What would you like to keep?”

“Personally?” Jordan mused to himself at the question, of what he would like to keep. “I can’t think of anything,”

Noah blinked at the admission, leaning back so their shoulders touched and hummed in thought. “Well, if there is something you’d like to keep, we can take it back with us. If there is nothing you want to take back with you, we can either put it in a donation or throw it away,”

Jordan was relieved that Noah didn’t prod into this. Jordan was far too sober to try and explain his sob childhood story. His conflicted emotions towards his father, or how he’d spent the majority of his teen years in a dissociative state to the extent that he couldn’t even remember what his house had looked like or properly remember where this park had been located.

“What’s Stiles going to do when we’re sorting through the things?” Jordan inquired and leaned into Noah’s presence as he watched the boy in question playing a game of freeze tag with the children on the playground; already having made friends.

“We’re going to give him hyper-specific missions to help us sort through the things,” Noah enlightened. “For example, we’ll ask him to gather all the photo frames and put them in one place, or find all matching pairs of shoes to keep him occupied and entertained,” Jordan bit back his laugh at the words, shaking his head and rested his head on the Sheriff’s shoulder.

“You’re mean,”

“Hey, it’s either that or we turn away for a minute and that boy finds himself somehow breaking into another storage unit and getting arrested for vandalizing a local monument or something,”

“Those things have nothing to do with each other!” Jordan burst into a fit of giggles, his laughter making the Sheriff smile who put a hand on the younger’s knee and lightly squeezed the joint.

“And you think anything Stiles does makes sense?”

“Oh, come on, he’s smart!”

“Definitely, but he’s a troublemaker and this isn’t Beacon Hills. Better safe than sorry, I say,” He stated, making Jordan shake with his laughter. The Sheriff watched his face flush in delight and writhing in his place with his mirth, before tangling his fingers with Noah’s and burying his face into the man’s shoulder to try and muffle his unrestrained amusem*nt. “Otherwise, we’d be bailing him out in a place where I have zero jurisdiction,”

“Okay! Okay! Fine, enough! Enough!” Jordan composed himself, giggling breathlessly, and put a hand to his sternum to try and calm down. He turned with a grin towards Noah who looked back at him with a smile of his own. “We’ll give him hyper-specific tasks to do,”

“Otherwise it’s to juvenile jail with him,”

“Noah!” Peals of laughter erupted from Jordan’s lips once more, tears gathering in his eyes as he rolled in his seat, garnering attention from the passerby at his hysterical state. The younger one tries to compose himself and failed when the Sheriff kept saying things to add to the image.

“And you and I both know how that’ll go. Stiles would orchestrate a coup d’état within hours of being there and he’d overthrow the government,”

“Stop! Stop!” Jordan begged breathlessly, heaving with his laughter and clutching onto Noah to keep him from tipping off the bench. The Sheriff bit his lip to keep from bursting into laughter at Jordan’s state.

“Can you imagine…can you imagine Stiles as President?” Noah shook with his chuckles. “He’d-he’d launch a nuclear bomb by mistake because he wanted to know what that button does. Or-or-or he’d-oh he’d add an ice cream machine to the Oval Office and redecorate the place,”

“And-and Derek,” Jordan heaved between his laughter, both of them garnering odd looks from the other patrons at the way they were hysterically laughing at each other. “Derek would be his VP and they’d think he’d be the more sensible of the two but he’d be just as bad,”

“Oh, God! He’d be such a pushover for Stiles,” The both of them clutched at each other and wheezed with their laughter, curling into each other and shaking in their places.

“What’s so funny?” Stiles's voice had them laugh harder, Jordan burying his face into Noah’s shoulder while the Sheriff covered his face with his hand. Stiles watched them with eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a smile on his face. “What the joke? Tell me! What’s so funny?” He demanded and squeezed between his dad and Jordan, looking from one to the other, shaking their arms to get them to tell him what made them laugh like crazy people.

“You-” Noah wheezed and clutched at his stomach when it began cramping. “You as President,” He laughed, the words making Jordan laugh harder and almost roll off the bench with his amusem*nt, Stiles frowning at them, not understanding what was so funny.

“Hey, I could become President if I wanted,” He exclaimed, arms crossed over his chest and pouted at them.

“Oh! Oh! We know!” Jordan cackled and curled into himself, kneeling on the floor now. “But can you imagine-imagine all the havoc you’d create if you were in the White House?” He exclaimed breathlessly and buried his face into his arms, tears streaming down his face and fist banging against the seat of the bench.

“You two are so weird,” Stiles exhaled with a put-upon sigh and shook his head, leaving them cackling to each other, returning to the friends he’d made. The entire park looked at Noah and Jordan in concern, not sure if they should be calling the police or if they should be making sure that no mental institution had two patients on the loose.

The next morning, Mr. Tartal met them at the storage unit. The man was old and balding with severe features and eyed Jordan up and down as if he found him lacking. Noah bristled at the imperious look he gave the younger and handed the keys over to him.

“It’s unit 5689,” He drawled, Jordan looked down at the number on the keychain and nodded. “Kindly be sure to decide what’s to be done with the items so we may clear out the unit,”

“That’s the plan,” Jordan nodded and looked up at the man with a raised eyebrow. “My parents' rings?”

“I will have to retrieve them from the bank locker, Mr. Parrish,” The lawyer sighed as if it were obvious, Noah feeling Stiles tense beside him at the condescension. “When I have them, I will give them to you,”

“Alright,” Jordan nodded. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Tartal, you may go about your day,” He instructed with a smile and walked into the building and towards the receptionist. Stiles and Noah shoot glares at the lawyer before following Jordan inside.

Noah could remember how hard it had been for him when he had to sort through his parents' possessions shortly after his wedding. He remembered struggling to get through the items even with Claudia and others to support him through that ordeal. He had thought it would be something similar for Jordan when the man opened the storage unit and looked at the collection of boxes that were labeled and disassembled bed frames and mattresses. Everything from his childhood squeezed into the 150 square foot unit.

Instead, Jordan had stepped into the well-lit unit and began looking through the boxes with a blankness to his eyes and efficiency in his movement like these things didn’t hold any significance to him.

Somehow, even Stiles could feel that wasn’t quite right and stuck close to his Dad as they looked through everything. Noah would have asked Jordan if he was okay, but they spent the last three days sorting through everything and would return to their hotel dead tired and just collapse on the bed.

Everything that Jordan had demarcated for donating had been taken away, trash bags full of miscellaneous and obsolete items standing in the corner, with only the boxes of the master bedroom left to go through. Something had ached inside Noah’s chest to see Jordan look at the sparse boxes that had come from his room and not even open them before moving them to the other side where he’d kept all the things to be donated.

For his parents’ possession, Jordan had sat on the floor of the nearly empty unit and went through each item as if he were looking for something. Noah sat down beside him, Stiles on the other side and asking questions about all the things Jordan was taking out, the man answered the inquiry with a thoughtful hum but didn’t keep anything from the first box. Jordan had pulled the second box to him, opened it, and found a wedding dress placed on top. Jordan closed the lid and pushed it away from himself before grabbing the third box.

After five days of sorting, all Jordan kept was a box labeled photos and put his mother’s wooden jewelry box in it along with some journals and an old blanket. Everything he wanted to keep fitting into one small cardboard box.

Everything else was either thrown out or donated.

“Do we get to go home now?” Stiles asked once they left the storage unit and returned the key to the receptionist at the front. Jordan carrying the box under his arm, turned towards the boy with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you missing Derek?” Jordan teased the boy who flushed and spluttered, Jordan laughed at the reaction and ruffled his hair in appeasem*nt. “Yeah, I’ll check for a flight, but we should be able to leave by tomorrow afternoon,”

While Noah got Stiles settled for the night, Jordan sat with his laptop open and booked tomorrow’s flight for the three of them, letting them know that they would check out tomorrow in the afternoon and then drive be at the airport by 1:30 for their flight that was at 2:30. Noah nodded along to the itinerary before wrestling Stiles onto the bed, holding him down with a hand to his chest, and told him it was bedtime for young boys.

“Aw! Dad! Come on! How come you and Jordan get to stay up?”

“Because neither one of us is planning on becoming President,” Noah stated bluntly, making Jordan snort and choke on his laughter to be reminded of their conversation the other day. Stiles pouted at the words, not understanding what they were on about.

“You can go and change,” Jordan told the Sheriff as he shut down his laptop. “I’ll give Stiles company till he falls asleep,” He assured. Noah got off the bed and grabbed his clothes before heading to the washroom, needing to wash off all the dust they’d accumulated from the boxes.

Jordan climbed onto the bed and curled around the boy who flopped back with a sigh, leg shaking and pouting up at the ceiling. His hand automatically covered Jordan’s when he placed it on top of the boy’s chest.

“You and Dad are so weird,” He huffed, making Jordan chuckle at the words. “I don’t know what you guys mean!”

“It means, that you’re young and can become President when you grow up,” Jordan deadpanned, Stiles turning to look at him with narrowed eyes and let out an exasperated breath when Jordan snorted and burst into a fit of giggles he had to muffle into the pillow. The boy groaned at his mirth, not understanding what they found so funny, and turned over with a pout, pulling the blanket over his head while Jordan struggled to compose himself. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll behave,” The Hellhound reassured and braced himself on his elbow to lean over the boy who attempted to curl deeper into the blankets, his petulance making Jordan smile and play with the hair at the top of his head that peeked out from his cocoon.

“Hey, Stiles,” Jordan called out softly to the boy who refused to come out of the blankets. The Hellhound swallowed thickly to think that he could have come here alone and dealt with all the items he found. Had he come alone, he wouldn’t have stopped at all the old places like his school and house or the park. He’d have spent his time from the storage unit to the hotel and back, not sure which way he liked better. With Noah and Stiles here or if he had been alone. Jordan is almost certain that had he been here alone he would be worse off for it. Sighing to himself, he lightly scratched at the top of the boy’s head and smiled at the cocoon he’s made of himself. “I love you,” He told the blankets, knowing he hadn’t actually told the boy this yet.

He watched Stiles turn under the blankets and pull them off his face to peer up at him with face flushed and hair in disarray, eyes narrowed as if he wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not.

“Man, you’re really weird,” The boy exhaled in resignation and turned so he could wrap his arms around Jordan and bury himself into his chest. The Hellhound chuckles at his exclamation. “Love you, too,” He pouted into his sternum, still upset about this weird joke between his Dad and Jordan.

Noah was convinced the Hellhound was magic – despite being a demonic being – he was nothing short of an angel because when Noah stepped out of the washroom, Stiles was fast asleep. The lights had been turned off in the room with only a single lamp on to light the way. Noah put the towel down and walked towards the window when he noticed the curtains fluttering.

Stepping out into the warm sticky summer night, he found Jordan seated on one of the chairs, having moved it to face the table where he’d placed his mother’s jewelry box. Settling on the other seat, and shifting it so he faced Jordan, he realized the box lay open. The lid was upright with its wooden carvings darkened by the shadows, Jordan tracing the engravings on the side of the box.

“I remember it used to be full of mom’s jewelry,” Jordan broke the silence first, rubbing his thumb over the edges, chin braced on his knuckles as he lifted the box and upturned it to show Noah it was empty. “It used to sit on her dressing table with all her products and in the evening, the sun would shine through the window and directly onto the box and it would be like the box had its own special spotlight,” Jordan chuckled and put the box down on the table between them, closing the lid with a thud.

“Mom loved it because Grandma Mary gave it to her when she got married. She used to keep her pearls and rings in here, I remember opening it once to see what treasure she kept inside. And along with her jewelry, I found she kept my hospital nametag and the socks I wore when I was born,” Jordan sat back, staring at the box in silence. Noah’s heart warmed to remember Claudia’s love for Stiles, how she had kept the whole outfit Stiles had worn when they brought him home. It was kept in a little box in the back of his wardrobe, he recalled. “I know my father sold the jewelry for alcohol, but I can’t-I thought I’d find that nametag and socks again. Remind myself she kept it. I wonder what happened to them,” Jordan mused to himself with a hum and turned to stare over the railing, Noah wincing to hear that Jordan’s father had resorted to alcohol following his wife’s death.

“Maybe he threw them out,” Jordan stretched his arms over his head, Noah’s mouth parting at the words, unable to keep silent to this, being a father himself.

“He would have kept them,” Noah stated with conviction. “You’re his son,”

“Please, Noah,” Jordan scoffed at his words, head rolling on his shoulders and staring up at the ceiling. “My father hated me,”

“That’s not true,”

“My mother pushed me out of the way when that car came straight at us,” Jordan stated with bitter vitriol making his voice tight, silencing the Sheriff’s idealistic views. “Her loss broke my father. He hated me because I look like her, he hated me because I lived and she didn’t.”

“Jordan-” Noah’s voice was sharp in admonition, knowing that not once had he prayed that he had Claudia instead of Stiles. He would never replace his son or hate him for living, much less for taking after his mother. Stiles was what Claudia left behind, how could Noah not love that? How could Jordan’s father not love what remained of his wife?

“-He would beat me black and blue because he couldn’t stand to look at me. Whenever he’d come home drunk, I’d sneak out and spend the night on a park bench just to avoid him.” Jordan silenced whatever explanation Noah wanted to give him, the Hellhound turning to him with eyes burning orange, jaw clenched and fingers gripping the armrest. “Just because you were able to pull yourself together for your son, doesn’t mean that every man is capable of it,” Jordan spat, chest heaving and eyes burning.

The Sheriff sat stunned in his place, frozen at the words and the fact that Jordan was abused as a child.

It made Noah sick. He swallowed thickly to try and imagine a younger Jordan, curled up small and taking the beating with gritted teeth and nails digging into his palm, because if he knew anything about the man opposite him; he knew for a fact that Jordan would bare his suffering in silence. Noah knew that Jordan’s mother died when he was around Stiles’s age. He also knew that Jordan left for the army immediately after graduating from high school at 17. During the years in between, was Jordan being abused? Why did none of his family members intervene?

Why hadn’t Grandma Mary? He remembered the depressive fugue she had fallen into following her only daughter’s death. He remembered they had held a memorial service at Beacon Hills to help Mary make peace with her loss, it just never clicked till now that Grandma Mary’s daughter had been Jordan’s mother.

But that was no excuse to abandon your only grandchild.

God, just the thought made rage burn in Noah’s chest. He looked up to find Jordan leaning forward, elbows on his knees and scrubbing at his face before rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Jordan exhaled, eyes back to their normal green and shoulder slumped. “I didn’t mean to yell at you,”

Noah swallowed, teeth gritted, and slowly eased himself out of his chair. Jordan visibly shrunk at the scraping of the chair and turned away when the Sheriff covered the distance between them. Placing a gentle hand over Jordan’s nape, Noah lowered himself to kneel by his feet and ducked down to get him to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” He called out softly and rubbed his thumb in soothing circles over the skin on the side of his throat. “Tell me what can I do for you?”

“Build me a time machine, maybe?” Jordan chuckled wetly, unable to meet the Sheriff’s gaze, words muffled behind his palm. “Maybe make it so that she had lived or-if we just-we had been a little slower to leave the store? Things would be different then, right?” He laughed humorlessly, the sound choked and wet as he pulled back, Noah’s hand sliding out from behind him to come and rest on the side of his arm. Jordan leaned back into his seat, the heels of his palm pressing into his eyes and lips pressed into a thin line.

“Sweetheart,” Noah murmured and squeezed his knee to watch the shuddering rise and fall of his chest, clearly struggling to keep himself from crying. Noah wanted to tell him to let it out, scream, curse, and break things if that made it cathartic but knew they couldn’t do that here. People would probably call the police on them. “Here’s what we’re going to do: we’re going to go inside, and you’re going to take a long, hot bath. Not a shower, a bath. Stay in there as long as you’d like, then change into your comfiest PJs. I’m going to go to the 7/11 down the road and get us ice cream and we’re going to eat so much ice cream that we’ll both hate it by the end of the night, okay?”

The sound of Jordan’s wet laugh made Noah smile, palms sliding up to his side and gently rubbing over his ribs, feeling the stretching of his skin under the fabric as the younger sniffled and nodded.

“Yeah, okay,” Jordan cleared his throat, wiping his eyes and nodded. “Sounds like a plan,”

“Okay, come on,” Noah stood from his place on the floor and held out his hand to Jordan, the younger wiping at his face once before taking his hand and getting hoisted to his feet.

The tub wasn’t big enough for Jordan to stretch out his legs, but he fit quite snugly into it with his knees bent. He lay submerged under the steaming water and closed his eyes to relish in the heat. It helped soothe the itch under his skin like something was trying to break out. The size made Jordan squirm in the water, making it slosh over the rim till he groaned in frustration and leaned forward to press his forehead to the mouth of the tub.

He could hear Noah return: the beep of the room door, following the rustle of the base of the door against the wooden floor. The click of it locking in place and the crinkle of the plastic bags as the Sheriff put the ice cream away into the mini fridge under the TV console. His muffled footsteps drew closer to the washroom before he knocked softly against the door and opened it, stepping into the lit-up bathroom to the sight of Jordan curled up in the tub and his head pressed to the edge.

Jordan didn’t lift his head, but he could hear Noah spread out a towel and sit down with his back to the tub, warm and gentle fingers playing with Jordan’s wet tresses.

“You know,” Noah murmured as he leaned down enough for his head to press into the mouth of the tub, Jordan listening without moving. “I think that even if I were able to make a time machine, I wouldn’t,” He confessed in the steaming air of the washroom, Jordan’s shuffling being the only indicator of him having heard the words.

“Because I kept thinking that if you went back in time, and made it so that your mom survived, you wouldn’t have come to Beacon Hills. You wouldn’t have moved in next door, and I never would have gotten to meet you,” The Sheriff murmured, fingers scratching at Jordan’s scalp as the man heaved a breath. “I know it’s selfish, but I can’t imagine life without you anymore,” He turned his head so he could see the darkened tresses on the top of Jordan’s head.

“You first met me when you were younger than Stiles, you know,” Jordan lifted his head and turned it so he could meet the Sheriff’s startled gaze. “I’d say you were seven at the time, which makes me a little under two years old,”

“No way,” Noah gawked at him, Jordan giving him a soft smile and nodded. “What? You remember that?”

“God, no, I didn’t remember that,” Jordan huffed and crossed his arms over the rim of the tub, resting his chin on top of them. “During those three weeks, I was a human Popsicle, Cerberus had me re-live my entire life to show me why he chose me, and one moment I got to re-live was the moment I first met you. We were visiting Grandma Mary, and she’d taken me to the park when a ball stopped in front of us, and you came running after it. You called me ‘the cutest’,” He chuckled to recall and reached out towards Noah, fingers carding into his hair and tugging them up to make his hair stand, before letting go to let them fall back haphazardly.

“People say Stiles looks like his mom, but he looks more like you than you realize,” Jordan informed as Noah continued to gawk at him in stunned silence.

“You…you re-lived your whole life?” Noah echoed, staring with blue eyes wide and earnest. Jordan wanted to cover his eyes with his palm just so he didn’t have to be on the receiving end of that stare. Jordan blinked at him in silence, the Sheriff slumping against the edge of the tub in understanding and rubbing at his forehead in startled shock. “Oh, we definitely need ice cream,” The Sheriff exclaimed and stood up, heading out of the washroom and leaving Jordan to dry up and join him.

Noah had gotten himself a tub of caramel crunch and handed Jordan a tub of Oreo ice cream.

The Hellhound’s eyes widened in delight at the sight of it and took the spoon from him as they sat down on the floor with their backs to the foot of the bed. Both of them bit their lip as they struggled to open the lid without making any sound that could wake Stiles. Jordan peered over their shoulder to the bed where Stiles had occupied eighty percent of the space. For such a little body, he sure took up a lot of space, he mused to himself and grimaced when the rest of the container came off with a sharp crack. Jordan and Noah stared at the boy on the bed who shuffled under the cover but remained fast asleep.

They both continued to look at the boy with a moment of trepidation before turning back around and sagging into the floorboard of the bed. They turned to each other, grinning in the dimness of the lamp before Jordan held out his palm to Noah. The Sheriff frowned at the palm before he placed his palm in Jordan’s.

He watched as the younger squeezed his hand thrice and gave him a secretive smile.

“Is that Morse code?” Noah whispered to the younger with furrowed eyebrows, not sure what it meant, and looked up to Jordan to explain. The Hellhound shrugged innocently before stabbing his spoon into his Oreo ice cream. “What does it mean?” The Sheriff jostled him by bumping their shoulders and faltered when the younger put a finger to his lips and pointed behind them to where Stiles was sleeping. Noah understanding that he was not going to get an answer to what Jordan had said to him resigned himself to his fate with a sigh and shoveled a spoon full of caramel crunch into his mouth.

Jordan grinned at him with his eyes crinkling at the edges and shuffled closer so they were pressed thigh to shoulder. The Hellhound rested his head on Noah’s shoulder and scooped up another spoonful of ice cream to eat.

Stiles could tell something was different in the morning. His Dad and Jordan were the same weird as they were, but now they seemed to stick closer to each other than before as they went around packing things up and making sure they hadn’t left anything before checking out. Even when he’d woken he’d found his dad dead asleep half on top of Jordan, the hellhound more than content to be crushed under his weight before Stiles woke them.

“Do you have your pillow?” Jordan inquired of him as a knock sounded on the door, and he headed there to answer it. “Oh, Mr. Tartal,” Jordan’s voice greeted, Stiles looked up to find his dad rolling his eyes at the visitor’s name which made him giggle.

“Please, come in,” Jordan called him inside just as Noah zipped up the last of the bags. They had to move the contents of that one box into their suitcases and looked up to the lawyer, greeting him with a curt nod.

“I’ve brought the rings and what you asked for,” The lawyer informed and held out a leather navy blue ring box which Jordan took.

“Oh! Show me,” Stiles gasped, Jordan chuckled at the boy’s excitement and sat down on the sofa. Unlatching the box, he peeled back the lid to show the two matching gold wedding bands with leaves engraved onto the band and a single diamond on one of them. “Woah!”

“These rings have been in my father’s family for generations and were hand engraved,” Jordan informed and took out the band with the diamond in it, holding it up to the light and noting it needed to get polished: the inside shinier than the outside. “Ah, look. My mother showed this to me when I was younger,” He pulled Stiles closer to him and tilted the ring so they could see the inside.

“Do you see that?” Jordan inquired of the boy who squinted to see what Jordan meant.

“Oh! There is something written inside!” Stiles realized with a gasp and tried to read the cursive inscription. “Sill…breath?”

“Till death do us part,” Jordan chuckled and realized how small the circumference of his mother’s ring was, curiously slipping it on his finger and laughing to see that it fit. “Ah, I have my mother’s hands,” He chuckled and held up his hand to show it to Noah, the Sheriff mesmerized by the sight of a wedding band on the younger’s finger and stared in awe.

“You look like your mother as well,” The lawyer sniffed and gave Jordan a pointed look. “I have some documents that need your signature, Mr. Parrish,”

“Oh, right,” Jordan nodded and put the ring back into the cushion, latching the case and pocketing it before turning to Noah who continued to stare at him in silence. “Why don’t you and Stiles get the luggage to the car and I’ll join once I’ve signed these last documents, okay?”

“Oh? Sure,” Noah shook himself out of his daze and picked up their suitcases, Stiles taking his backpack and bounded after his dad when he was beckoned to follow.

Jordan waited for them to leave before he turned to Mr. Tartal who had taken out the documents.

“So, this document states that you have opened a college fund for Mie-Me-Mitch-?”

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski,” Jordan supplied, knowing that on the page, the name seemed daunting even though it rolled off the tongue.

“Mieczyslaw Stilinski?” The lawyer enunciated carefully and Jordan nodded. “Right, this confirms that you’ve opened a college fund in his name, is that correct?”

“That is correct,”

“Please sign where I have tabbed,” Mr. Tartal instructed and handed a pen to Jordan, the Hellhound taking it and signing where he was indicated. “And this document confirms that in the events of your death, Mieczyslaw ‘Stiles’ Stilinski will be your benefactor,” He confirmed as Jordan nodded, and signed where he was indicated.

“Would that be all, Mr. Parrish?” The lawyer inquired as he put away the documents, Jordan nodding at the question.

“Thank you for your services, Mr. Tartal, please let me know when these documents have been processed,”

“I will be sure to do so, sir,” The lawyer nodded and left first. Jordan looked around the hotel room to make sure they had everything before heading out of the room to check out and joined Noah and Stiles by the car.

Ready to go home.

Chapter 26: Rosie's Diner

Chapter Text

Noah couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. He had woken a good hour before his alarm with a sense of panic that he had missed his opportunity and then paced the floor realizing he had too much time to kill. Noah knew from experience that Jordan was gone on a run and all the Sheriff could do was wait and keep checking his watch intently for the time to pass. During his wait Noah had cleaned the room, changed the sheets, and put everything in its rightful place, but then noticed he still had half an hour to go, he just decided to get dressed for the day.

He had just pulled up his pants when he heard the front door open.

Noah tugged on his undershirt and rushed out of the room, pulling the hem down as he rushed past Stiles’s room on socked feet and hissed out Jordan’s name so he didn’t wake the boy just yet, knowing the man would hear him.

Stumbling onto the bottom landing, Noah turned to find Jordan in the hallway. His tank top sticking to him and auburn hair flat with sweat, his cheeks flushed and lips parted. Jordan tilted his head in curiosity towards the Sheriff who fumbled to straighten himself.

“You’re up early,” Jordan noted and leaned against the wall to pull off his shoes and socks, stuffing them inside, and peered up at the sheriff. “What’s up?”

Things had felt so easy after they’d come back from Glenn Ellyn. It was almost like Jordan had needed to go back one last time to his old home and put it behind him to fully settle into his new home with the Stilinski’s.

Even though Jordan’s things had long since found a place in the house, Jordan was comfortable doing things without needing to run them by Noah first. Like he’d redecorated the mantle place, and given new homes to some of the frames so that he could add his grandmother’s letter box up there. He’d even placed his mother’s jewelry box on top of the table beside Noah’s armchair. Jordan had changed the setting of the living room and dining room to make it more spacious and airy. The sudden changes had taken the Sheriff by surprise when he’d come home one day to things having moved, but he liked it better now.

They were so familiar with each other’s routines that Noah could make a correct guess about what Jordan would be doing at a certain time; now that Stiles’s school had resumed, the Hellhound came over to the station with lunch and stuck around till he had to go pick up their boy. It was nice to have Jordan keep him company as he did whatever it was on that laptop while Noah worked on the files and groused about some of the content. Jordan’s presence put him at ease, it soothed him and made his problems melt away; his deputies were seemingly aware of the fact if the sly looks on their faces were anything to go by.

“Noah?” Jordan called out to him, making the Sheriff jump and blink at the Hellhound who was watching with concern in his eyes.

“Dinner!” Noah blurted, making the man blink in confusion. “Dinner,” The Sheriff repeated as if that was meant to clarify.

“Aren’t we having lasagna today?”

“No, I mean,” The Sheriff tried to compose himself, taking a deep breath and rubbing his sweaty palms on his pant legs. “Let’s go out for dinner,”

“Oh?” Jordan’s eyebrows furrowed together as he tilted his head. “Uh, sure? But why? Does Stiles want something different today? Is he still craving that sesame chicken we had in Glenn Ellyn because I’m sure I can find the recipe online-?”

“-No, not Stiles,”

“Are you craving something different then?”

“No,” Noah fumbled, making the man stop and look at him with his face contorted in confusion, still not understanding what was going on. “No, uh…let’s go out for dinner today,” The Sheriff repeated, feeling his neck warm and his ears heating as Jordan frowned at him, still not understanding. One of his hands rested on the waistband of his shorts while he held his shoes with the other, sweat having cooled on his skin, the man no doubt wanting to shower.

“Okay, I guess we’ll go out for dinner today,” Jordan rubbed his free hand over his face. “But we’d have to watch out at what time we get back because Stiles has school in the morning and I know for a fact he slept late last night even though we put him to bed-”

“-No, not with Stiles,” Noah thought he was beginning to sound like a caveman now. Jordan’s incredulous look said as much and watched the man fumble with his thoughts once more, drumming his fingers against the side of his uniform pants and pressing his lips into a thin line. The younger giving him an expectant look, waiting for him to clarify. “I-lets-uh-how about you and I go out for dinner?”

“Uh…sure? Is Stiles having dinner at the Hales today?”

“For the love of God!” Peter Hale exclaimed from down the hall. The Sheriff jumped at the voice, not having known the werewolf was there until the man leaned out into the hall through the kitchen archway, sweat-soaked and flushed like Jordan. “The man is asking you out on a date, Parrish!”

Noah flushed pink at the exclamation, Jordan startling at the words, eyes wide and lips parted as the shoes clattered out of his hands. The Hellhound stared at the Sheriff in shock, his lips moved soundlessly, trying to process this information.

“Are you-?” Jordan stumbled when the Sheriff gave a decisive nod in response, feeling as if steam would come out of his ears with how hot his face felt. “Oh, I-wow, I did not-”

“-We don’t have to,” The Sheriff reassured just in case.

“-No! No, I-I want to, I-wow,” Jordan bit at his lip to keep from smiling too wide, the anxiety melting off Noah’s shoulders at the sparkle in the man’s eyes and the wide grin he was receiving now that the Hellhound understood what was being asked. “No, I would-I’d love to go on a date with you, Noah,”

“Finally!” Peter exclaimed from his place in the kitchen and began to march towards the back door with a water bottle in hand. “I’m leaving!” He informed and stepped out of the house, no doubt going next door to torment his sister and her family.

Noah turned back towards Jordan who was beaming wide at him, cheeks flushed for a whole different reason. The look made the Sheriff bashful and scratch at his nape as he shuffled on his feet, noting the way Jordan played with his fingers. God, he couldn’t remember asking someone out having been such a daunting task. Lord, he was the Sheriff of Beacon Hills and he couldn’t manage to articulate the simple words ‘let’s go out on a date’ to the man of his affections.

“I take it Stiles will stay with the Hales today?” Jordan’s cheeks must hurt with how wide he was smiling, Noah looked up at the words and blinked before huffing out a laugh.

“Yeah, I-I guess he’ll stay with the Hales today,”

“Is there…should I know something about today? Like-uh-is there a dress code?”

“No, no, nothing over the top or super fancy, it’s uh…” Noah fumbled and scratched at his jaw before giving a weak laugh. “I was thinking we could go to this place I used to go to a lot when I was younger, I learned they recently renovated and I-uh-I wanted to take you there,”

“Yeah?” Jordan bit the inside of his cheek, eyes crinkling with his smile, and took a step forward.

“Yeah,”

“I’d actually really love that,” He chuckled and pinched the fabric of Noah’s t-shirt between his fingers. “I’d love to hug you right now but I’m sweaty and I need a shower,”

“Oh! Oh, yeah! You go shower and I’ll get Stiles up and ready for school,” The Sheriff reassured, Jordan grinned and nodded before picking up his shoes and heading over to his room to wash off the sweat.

Once he got Stiles awake and ushered into the washroom, Noah went down to put the overnight French toast casserole into the oven for 30 minutes before he began to brew the coffee and prepare Stiles’s lunch.

He had been putting the grilled cheese sandwich into the lunchbox when he felt arms come around his waist, stilling for a second before melting into the way Jordan was nuzzling into the back of his shoulders.

“Need help?” The man inquired, the Sheriff wordlessly handing him a cucumber to slice and add to the lunch box. The Hellhound took up the task with a squeeze to Noah’s side and helped him finish preparing the boy’s lunch of a grilled sandwich, cucumber slices, and blueberries. Just as they finished preparing that, the oven timer went off. “I’ll get the casserole, you set the table?” Jordan suggested to Noah, grabbing the plates and cutlery.

“Stiles! Breakfast!” Noah called out to his son while Jordan pulled out the dish.

“Oh! Careful, baby,” Jordan cautioned, lifting the dish high to avoid the boy running into it when he came zipping through the dining room.

“Oop! Sorry,” He grimaced sheepishly, Noah shaking his head in fondness and having him sit down while Jordan served the brioche French toast. “Hmm! Smells good!” Stiles beamed wide and thanked his dad when he put a glass of cold milk beside his plate.

Jordan drizzled maple syrup onto the French toast before the boy tucked in. Both adults chuckled at the delighted sounds Stiles let out at the sweet taste, happily munching away and wriggling in his seat.

Jordan bit into his French toast, humming at the sweet and soft flavor before leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs till his toes brushed Noah’s ankles. Taking a sip of his coffee. He turned to watch Stiles enjoy his breakfast and chat about what classes he had today and with whom, trying to recall if he’d finished his homework for each class. Jordan looked towards the Sheriff from the corner of his eyes when he felt the man shift his legs so that he had Jordan’s feet trapped between his own, enjoying his breakfast in silence. Jordan smiled into his coffee mug.

Stiles helped Jordan put the plates away before he waved to the man and left with his dad, Noah waving in farewell too, Jordan seeing them off to the door.

Jordan had never experienced the sensation of butterflies in his stomach before, he couldn’t stop himself from grinning wide whenever he thought back to the fact that Noah had asked him out on a date. Jordan had made peace with things being like this between them: like a family without the label behind it. He had been content to cohabitate with the Stilinski’s and go about their routine, knowing everything had its place here, and if conversations were anything to go by, Noah was also thinking of this arrangement as long-term, not till the Hale House was rebuilt, more in the context of years.

Jordan had been more than happy with that, he didn’t need more, and he would never have asked for more as long as he was allowed to stay by their side.

He never would have expected Noah to ask him out on a date.

The thought made him so giddy that he had to go for a run in his Hound form through the preserves just to burn off some of that excess energy till he had to go and pick up Stiles. The boy picked up on Jordan’s good mood and chatted animatedly and excitedly about everything he did at school, Jordan laughed at some of the stories and teased him about some of the things like his attraction to Derek’s longer hair.

“I can play with it!” Stiles pouted defensively when Jordan laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair in turn as he turned into their street. “Yeah! Just like you play with mine!”

“Well, that’s because your hair is soft,”

“Oh, yeah? Derek’s hair is softer!” Stiles puffed up in pride as if it was his own doing. “Don’t tell, but he sometimes uses Laura’s conditioner and says that’s why it’s so soft,”

“Better hope Laura never finds out then,” Jordan winked and parked the cruiser in the driveway, unbuckling himself. “Okay, we’re going to finish your homework and only once you’re done can you go to the Hales,”

“Aww! But homework is so boring!” Stiles trudged after Jordan as he led the way into the house. “I want to go play with Derek!”

“I’m sure Derek is also trying to finish his homework so he can play with you, so why don’t you do the same?”

“But it’s boring, and so long!”

“I know, baby, but once you’re done, you can have two cookies and go over to the Hales and share one with Derek,”

“And if he hasn’t finished his homework?”

“Then two cookies for you,” Jordan winked, the boy beamed wide and took his backpack from Jordan before making his way over to the dining table to start on his homework.

As promised, once Stiles finished his homework, Jordan took him over to the Hale house with cookies for the four Hale children and himself. Just as he was about to knock on the door, it swung open to a haggard Peter staggering out. He unlinked Jordan’s hold on Stiles, gently pushing the boy inside who immediately ran towards his mate with his offering held up in the air, while Peter dragged Jordan back towards the Stilinski house.

“What are you wearing to the date?” Peter demanded as they stepped into the house and closed the door behind them, marching towards Jordan’s bedroom.

“Uh…I-”

“-Are you kidding me? You have less than 3 hours to completely sweep the Sheriff off his feet and you haven’t even decided on what you’re going to wear?” The werewolf demanded with an eye roll. “Don’t you know how dates work?”

“No, actually, this is my first date,” Jordan informed as he sat down on the foot of his bed, Peter stilling in front of his closet and whirled around with eyebrows in his hairline and mouth parted. “Ever,” He felt the need to clarify at the werewolf’s silence.

“Oh, we are giving you the whole first date experience,” Peter muttered to himself and pulled open the closet doors to rummage through his clothes.

Jordan was forced into different outfits, Peter rejecting all of them and gnawing at his nails as nothing seemed to work to his exacting standard.

“Why don’t you have any clothes?” He demanded and threw away another shirt he didn’t like the look of and glared at the heaps of clothes scattered around the room. Jordan standing in the washroom doorway, pinching the bridge of his nose, and dressed in dark blue shorts with a white t-shirt under a light blue button-up. “And we don’t have time to go shopping--Sheriff is back!” Peter exclaimed at the sound of the cruiser parking before he rushed out of the room and towards Noah, leaving Jordan to clean up the mess he’d created. Jordan heard the front door open and close, taking away the sound of Peter with it, the Hellhound figuring that the werewolf had gone to corner the Sheriff before he could even take a step into the house.

Jordan didn’t know what exactly Peter and Noah were talking about, but it gave him enough time to pick up the clothes and put them away. He told himself he’d fold them tomorrow before he heard the sound of the door opening, Noah’s voice drifting through the walls and doors.

“-Just going to shower and change and then we can leave.” He was telling Peter, the Werewolf humming to the words, and marched back to the bedroom.

“Go shower,” Peter commanded and took the clothes from Jordan’s hands with eyes wide and hair frazzled. “Shower, shave, do something with your hair, and I’ll figure something out about your clothes,” He groused and shoved the Hellhound into the washroom, closing the washroom door and leaving the man to pray for patience to the heavens above before doing as instructed.

Showering, shaving, and doing something with his hair; Jordan put on the outfit he had set for himself before stepping out to find the werewolf muttering in distress to himself. Peter holding four different options of shirts in his hands.

“Okay, since it’s a dinner thing, maybe go for the-” He began, turning towards Jordan and holding up a red flannel shirt before dropping all of them and his jaw at the sight of the man before him. “Are you kidding me right now?” Peter demanded and gestured to Jordan looking fresh and clean with his hair styled to the side, dressed in a deep blue button-down shirt with the hem tucked into beige dress pants.

Jordan walked over to the closet, walked past the gawking werewolf, and opened the last closet with the drawers. Jordan pulled open the top one for his cologne, before pulling out the second where he kept his watches and ties; picking out a brown leather strap watch to fit it around his wrist, and closing the door. He turned towards the other closet, picked out a pair of blue loafers, and slipped his feet inside, adjusting the back of the shoe and turned to Peter with a smirk, the werewolf glowering at him.

“You’re an asshole,”

“You wouldn’t let me speak,” Jordan shrugged and ambled over to his side table, picking up his phone and wallet before leaving the room, deciding he’d wait for Noah in the lounge.

“Oh! I didn’t let you speak? You let me pull my hair out trying to figure out the perfect outfit for you! We went through 36 different options! 36 different options!”

“I seriously think that’s an exaggeration, I doubt I have 36 items of clothing,” Jordan rolled his eyes in fond exasperation and sat down on the couch, Peter flopping down beside him and growling in discontent.

“Oh, I’m sorry for trying to make your first date memorable,” The werewolf huffed, arms crossed over his chest, and turned away with a pout, grumbling under his breath. His discontent made Jordan bite back on his laughter and rubbed the inside of his wrist over the back of Peter’s shoulders in consolation.

“Thank you for trying to find me the perfect outfit for tonight,” Jordan smiled at him, the werewolf refusing to meet his eye and huffed more visibly. “What do you think about this one?” He coaxed, spreading his arms out for Peter to inspect, the werewolf looking at him from the corner of his eyes before whirling around and grabbing him by the collar.

“Undo the first button and roll back your sleeves,” He instructed as he undid the top button, exposing more of Jordan’s collarbone before pulling his arm to himself and began to roll back his sleeve. Jordan was endeared by how invested Peter was in this, the Hellhound trying to keep the nerves at bay by telling himself it was just dinner, but could feel the tendrils of giddy excitement tickling his ribcage.

“Thanks, puppy,” Jordan smiled and rubbed his cheek against Peter’s in a show of gratitude when he finished rolling back the sleeves to his elbows.

“Am I interrupting?” Noah inquired with humor in his voice, making both Peter and Jordan turn toward him. Peter gave him a once over and begrudging approval, while Jordan found himself swallowing at the sight of the Sheriff before him.

Jordan had found the man physically attractive from the first time he’d seen him. His clothes never really made much of a difference to Jordan who was used to seeing him either in his uniform or in casuals, but the sight of Noah in a cream polo shirt tucked into the hem of brown slacks made heat burst in his chest. The look was completed with brown shoes and a brown strap watch, the Sheriff’s hair looking soft.

“Just go,” Peter shoved at the Hellhound, forcing the man out of his admiration before he stood up and grinned at the Sheriff, butterflies returning with a vengeance when he noticed the appreciative way Noah gave him a once over.

“Ready to go?” Noah inquired, Jordan nodding and followed him towards the door, Peter trailing behind them.

“Enjoy!” The werewolf called to them as Noah locked the door. “Don’t come back too soon, kids!”

“You make the weirdest friends,” Noah shook his head with a sigh and unlocked the cruiser.

“You’re a testament to that,” He shrugged innocently and made his way to the car.

“Wha-hey!” The Sheriff exclaimed once he registered the words, his indignation making Jordan giggle as he got into the passenger seat, Noah sliding into his seat as well. “Brat,” He muttered fondly and buckled in before starting the car, Jordan crinkling his nose at the Sheriff at the name.

They drove with music playing softly on the radio, Jordan looking out the window and noting their turns, trying to figure out what place they were heading to.

Noah had told him he used to frequent it when he was younger, but then it brought up the question of how young. If it was when he was a child, it could be an arcade, or if he was a little older it could be a cinema. If it was during his college days, there was the probability of a nightclub. While the Arcade and cinema were popular date spots, Jordan got the impression that they weren’t headed there. But since Noah had asked him out to dinner that pretty much narrowed down the options of where they were headed.

They were going for dinner at a place Noah used to frequent when he was younger, and they recently renovated. There was one place that came to Jordan’s mind that ticked off these boxes.

“Are we going to Rosie’s?” Jordan inquired, the way Noah jumped at the question and shot a glance at him made him realize he was right. “I heard their milkshake is good,”

“Yeah,” Noah confirmed with a confused smile. “Yeah, uh-yeah we’re going to Rosie’s. How did you-?”

“-You basically told me,” The Hellhound shrugged and listed the things off on his finger. “You asked me out to dinner, said it was a place you used to frequent when you were younger, and that they recently renovated. Rosie’s was established in Beacon Hills in 1976, and at the height of its popularity in the 80s which coincides with your high school years, given the size of this town and the fact that you were born and raised here means you didn’t have a lot of hangout spots to choose from. Then there is the fact that Rosie’s got recently renovated and I know that because I was there when Gladwell mentioned it at the station and you had looked very happy about that. So, dinner at an old establishment that was popular when you were a teenager, and recently got renovated: Rosie’s Diner.” Jordan stated and turned to the Sheriff with a smile, the man gawking out the windshield, and rubbing a hand over his face before shaking his head with a fond smile.

“I should not have let you quit the force,”

Jordan laughed at the words, eyes crinkling, and reached out to lace his fingers with Noah’s on the gear shift. The Sheriff’s gaze darted to their linked hands before turning back to the road when he felt the younger place their conjoined hands on his lap and play with the tips of his fingers, tracing the knuckles and the shape of each digit.

“It's basic deduction,” Jordan grinned at the side of his face, the Sheriff chuckling and giving a squeeze to his hand in response.

Jordan couldn’t help the smug grin that stretched across his lips when they parked in front of Rosie’s Diner, the Sheriff rolled his eyes in halfhearted exasperation at the look and unbuckled his seatbelt to step out; Jordan following his lead.

Rosie’s Diner looked like one of those places you’d see in old movies: a single floor with a red roof and windows all around to look into the establishment. The name of the Diner was displayed on the roof by bright red lights. The inside was retro as well. Checkered black and white tile floors with white walls and red wainscoting, vintage black and white pictures put up on the walls of celebrities and public figures and places. There were red leather booths against the windows, with red stools in front of the counter opposite them. The recent renovations allowed it to look brand new, he noted and followed the Sheriff to one of the booths in the back corner and stopped to look at the jukebox against the wall, enormous and polished wood, with bright colorful lights around it, corning out the sound of Elvis from its speakers.

“I’ve never seen a jukebox before,” Jordan informed and slid into the red leather booth opposite the Sheriff and turned to the table which was a white slab with sauces, a tissue dispenser, and a promotional card pushed under the window. The sight of them made him smile to himself. “I feel like I’m in an 80s movie,” He chuckled to himself and picked up the menu card, noting that it followed the rest of the theme of the place.

“How old would you have been back then?” The sheriff inquired and took the card when Jordan held it out to him, showing him the sundae they were promoting, the younger tilting his head in question. “You’re right, I came here a lot in my teenage with my high school friends back in 89’, how old were you then?”

“In 89’?” Jordan confirmed and braced his chin on his knuckles as he thought about it. “I was probably 13? Yeah, 12 to 13,”

“So how come you never seen a jukebox?”

“Well, I’ve never seen one up close, I’d see them from a distance when I’d pass by the diners on my way home, but now that I think about it, this is my first time in an actual diner as well,”

“Jesus,” Noah shook his head and straightened when a waitress came over to them with menu cards, both of them thanked her as she left.

“Did they actually wear uniforms like that?” Jordan’s question had the Sheriff look up and in the direction of the young waitress who’d given them the menu cards. She was dressed in a collared frilly red dress with a white apron tied around her waist, her hair pulled into a short ponytail, and a matching red hat on her head.

“Yeah,” Noah recalled. “Back when I used to come here, the place had been turquoise and pink. The new management has kept the original layout, definitely, but they’ve changed the color scheme,”

“It is a lot of red,” Jordan agreed and looked around them. “But it's…I don’t know, retro? I guess you’d say. It reminds me of Grease,”

“You’ve seen Grease?” Noah raised an eyebrow at that, Jordan nodding in confirmation. “Which one?”

“The one with that song,” Jordan leaned back in his seat and snapped his finger to try and recall, Noah smiling to himself at the look of concentration on the younger’s face as he tried to remember. “It went something like ‘I’m just a fool for you’,” Jordan sang softly, Noah struggling to recall what song he was talking about when the younger began humming to the words he didn’t know and snapped his fingers when he recalled the remainder of the lyrics.

“But baby can’t you see, that there is nothing else for me-”

“-Ah! Hopelessly Devoted!” Noah clapped his hand to the top of the table in realization, Jordan beamed wide and nodded. “You watched the one with John Travolta and Olivia-”

“-Olivia Newton-John! Yes, that one!” Jordan nodded and grinned at Noah who chuckled before picking up his menu card to look through what they had, the Hellhound following his lead. “Oh, it's breakfast for dinner night,” He noticed the table on the front of the pamphlet, and Noah turned the menu to see the same page.

“Well, would you look at that? I forgot they did stuff like that. Tomorrow is soup and sandwich night,”

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve always wanted to try out those eggs and bacon they used to show on TV,”

“You tempt me, but you’re not the one who would be hearing Stiles’s voice in their head with every bite,” Noah huffed a laugh to himself and looked down at the menu card, Jordan chuckling at the words.

“Don’t you know how much oil they use when they fry your eggs or the grease in bacon can cause clogged arteries?” Jordan pitched his voice higher, exaggerating his facial expression by widening his eyes and setting his mouth into a severe line, mimicking Stiles’s health spiel. “Are you trying to poison yourself? Might as well chug some arsenic and get it over with,” He shrieked in outrage the same way Stiles does, the imitation making Noah throw his head back and laugh raucously, Jordan tucking his chin into his chest and laughing himself.

“How about we each get something outrageously unhealthy so that if Stiles finds out, both of us are in trouble?” The Sheriff suggested with a teasing smile.

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t,”

“You got yourself a deal,”

Jordan ordered the eggs, bacon, and hash brown platter while Noah got the breakfast sandwich with their blueberry muffin at the side, and added the diner’s trademark pancakes to split between them.

The conversation flowed easily from one topic to the next, their familiarity with each other making it feel like they’d been doing this for years instead of going out for the first time.

When their food arrived, Jordan stopped the Sheriff from digging in and put half his order onto Noah’s plate, while taking half of his breakfast sandwich, biting into it and sliding the plate back to him so they could have both of the orders. Noah smiled at the thought and took a bite of Jordan’s order first, both of them giving each other impressed looks.

They ate while talking about the last time Noah had been here and what his high school experience had been like. The Sheriff didn’t ask Jordan to tell him the same, knowing that his teenage hadn’t been a very happy one, but despite that Jordan told him about his most vivid memories from that time, like he still remembered his locker number and the code. Jordan remembered some of the weirdest gossip from high school.

“Someone once spread the rumor that the principal didn’t have knees, and everyone believed it,” Jordan enlightened as he happily munched away at his breakfast for dinner, Noah snorting into his coffee, and coughing to keep from choking. “Honestly, high school was so weird,” The younger shook his head and continued to eat while the Sheriff laughed to himself at the image of what a middle-aged man without knees would look like.

They talked about their high school experiences throughout the time they ate, before moving on to the possibility of being an extraterrestrial life force out there over the platter of pancakes which they’d moved to the center and just shared. This led to random facts they’d both heard from Stiles when he’d been hyper-fixated with outer space. They talked about the cultural significance of the moon landing and talked about what living in outer space would be like. Both of them fell silent as they finished their coffees, Noah reclined in his seat with Jordan having gotten comfortable by resting his arms on the table, tracing the top of his mug.

His posture made the collar of his shirt flare and expose more of his collarbone and the top of his smooth chest, Noah realized that Peter had him deliberately unbutton the top two buttons for this reason and looked down the man’s forearm where he could see the blue of his veins stand out against his rich complexion. The sight of the scar on his wrist reminded the Sheriff that he had nearly lost Jordan. The realization that he had experienced the hardships of life and never got to live through the fun and joy it could bring made unease squirm in his chest before his gaze landed on the jukebox over Jordan’s shoulder, an idea coming to him.

He put his mug down with a decisive thud that made the younger look at him as he stood up and walked over to the jukebox, fishing in his pockets for spare change. Jordan turned in his seat to watch him fiddle with the controls before turning towards the younger with a grin and pressing a button on the machine, making it come to life with trumpets and cymbal. Noah stepped in tune with the up-tempo beat as a rich baritone began crooning through the speakers.

‘We might have been meant for each other’ the song began as Noah reached him, holding out his hand for him and making Jordan flush at the request and chuckled bashfully to himself before putting his hand in Noah’s. ‘To be or not to be; let our hearts discover.’

The Sheriff led him towards the floor in front of the jukebox, their fingers intertwined with Noah leading Jordan to mirror him, guiding him through a fun and jaunty dance with bouncing steps and quick spins that made Jordan burst into laughter. Both of them swayed to the music, stepping in tune with the beat, ignorant to everything other than the hand in their own, and their gazes locked. Jordan’s cheeks ached with how much he was smiling as Noah led him through the steps, guiding him to follow. Noah spun Jordan out before pulling him back in so that the younger’s back was to him, hands linked with arms crossed over his chest and eyes bright with laughter as the song finished with a solo trumpet.

The sound of applause and wolf whistles made the both of them jump and look out to the rest of the diner where the patrons and staff were smiling and clapping for them, calling out compliments in a disjointed cacophony of sounds.

Both Noah and Jordan flushed in embarrassment and laughed at each other with eyes sparkling and grins wide.

They paid for their meal, despite the waitress insisting it was on the house after their little dance, making the two of them blush and insist on paying the amount as her tip.

“How about we go for a walk?” Noah suggested when Jordan began heading towards the car, humming the song under his breath and turning towards the Sheriff at the question, finding the man gesturing to the park across the street. Grinning to himself, the Hellhound nodded and followed him across the street.

They walked hand in hand through the park, speaking in soft low tones about the future and where they pictured things would be in five years. Noah told him stories of Stiles when he was younger, and how difficult it had been after Claudia’s death and then talked about the things Stiles had picked up from Jordan and Jordan had picked up from Stiles, teasing him about the time he blackmailed Noah into hiring him at the station – as if he needed to do that. In retaliation, Jordan pointed out all the things Noah picked up from Stiles and what habits Stiles had gotten from him.

“He definitely got the hiding stuff from you. The way you hide the things you eat from him, the same way Stiles hides things he shouldn’t be doing from you,” The Sheriff rolled his eyes in half-hearted exasperation and released his hold on Jordan’s hand to wrap his arm around the man’s shoulder and pull him into his side instead.

“The hoarding is Derek,” The Sheriff voiced the habits he’d observed Derek and Stiles and picked up from each other. “And Derek leaves his stuff lying around in hazardous places like Stiles,”

“You know,” Jordan laced his fingers with the hand that was draped over his shoulder. “When I was at the Nematon, I imagined what Stiles and Derek’s wedding would be like,”

Noah’s heart sank at the mention of the Nematon, unable to see anything other than Jordan’s cold, pale, and lifeless body whenever someone spoke of the tree. Sometimes he’d wake up in a cold sweat, dreaming of them being unable to save the Hellhound after he bled out to death at the base of the tree; he always staggered down to the man’s bedroom after such a nightmare, just to make sure that Jordan was alive and breathing. He’d end up getting under the covers beside him and fall asleep with a hand on Jordan’s chest, lulled by the beat of his heart and the warmth he radiated.

But right now, he pushed back the dread of the association and focused on what Jordan had said.

“Stiles and Derek?” Noah questioned, the Hellhound humming in confirmation. “You do know they’re 10 and 12 right?”

“In the future!” Jordan laughed at his words and shook his head with fondness, grazing his knuckles against the underside of the Sheriff’s jaw. “I imagined what their wedding would be like when they’re older. They’d be all wide smiles and laughter, Stiles would refuse to wear a tie, he wouldn’t be able to get his hair to lie flat, and there would be so many supers in attendance,” He chuckled to himself, staring off into the distance as if he could see it.

“You know, people usually imagine their weddings before they imagine the wedding of children,”

“We’ve gone on one date and you’re already proposing?” Jordan teased, making heat rise to Noah’s neck and splutter incoherently, and stopped in the middle of the path. The Hellhound chuckled at his discomposure and continued to walk ahead. “How about making things official first?” He asked over his shoulder with a smile and wink, the Sheriff gawking at his back.

“Hey,” Noah called out to him, Jordan turning around halfway to find the Sheriff standing in the middle of the path with a hand on his hip and the other covering his face. The elder straightened with a sigh and a fond smile as he looked at Jordan with stars in his eyes and a softness to the edges, lips stretched into a smile as he mimicked Jordan’s head tilt. “How do you feel about things being official between us?” He inquired, smirking to himself when he watched Jordan trip on his own feet and gawk up at him with wide innocent, and parted lips as if he hadn’t just been taunting him.

“I-ah-are you sure?” Jordan stammered, his uncertainty making Noah’s heart melt as he chuckled and covered the distance between them.

“I may have messed things up and set us back a few months,” He joked and laced his fingers with Jordan’s, smiling at the Hellhound who looked at him with a softness in his eyes that Noah was familiar with, knowing that he was so very adored by this man. “But it’s better late than never, right? So what do you say? Think you’re up for it?”

“I honestly didn’t think I’d hear you ask this for another few years,” Jordan bubbled with laughter, covering his mouth with his forearm before lowering it to focus the full strength of his grin on the Sheriff. “But yeah. Yes, I want things to be official between us,”

“Yeah?” Noah exhaled breathlessly, cheeks aching with how hard he was smiling, Jordan’s grin nothing short of radiant.

The Hellhound pressed his lips into a thin line to try to ease the ache before he broke with a laugh, and nodded. He couldn’t stop giggling in delight when the Sheriff lifted their conjoined hands so he could guide Jordan’s arm around his neck, the other coming up automatically when Noah wrapped his arms around the Hellhound’s waist, pulling them together and hugged him tight. Jordan buried his face into the crook of his neck while Noah kissed his temple and smiled into his hair.

“Yeah,” Jordan chuckled and nuzzled into the underside of Noah’s jaw, tightening his hold on him.

Neither of them was ready for the day to end, but both of them knew that it was getting late, the time nearing midnight as they made their way back to the car they’d parked at the diner which was closing down for the night.

The drive back found the both of them sneaking glances and bursting with bashful giggles, cheeks flushed and smiles ever-present. Jordan stared out the window and hooked his pinkie with the Sheriff’s on the gear shift, Noah squeezing back in response as he changed gears and continued to drive home.

The house was silent when they returned. Noah parked beside Jordan’s cruiser and turned off the car. Both of them took a moment to sit in the silence, basking in each other presence and grinning at each other before stepping out of the car. Jordan fished his house keys out of his pocket and headed towards the door, Noah content to follow.

“I enjoyed today,” Jordan informed in front of the door, turning around to wait for the Sheriff to catch up with him. “It…let’s do it again, sometimes,”

“The diner, the breakfast for dinner, or the dancing?” Noah teased, crinkling his nose at the Hellhound who laughed and reached out to take the Sheriff’s hand in his own, squeezing it in three quick pulses.

“All of it,” Jordan’s eyes creased at the edges with his smile, Noah’s resulting smile making the Hellhound blush and duck his head bashfully, before he turned towards the door. He needed to let go of the Sheriff’s hand to unlock the structure, the key turning twice with a click before faltering. His eyes flashed orange and his gaze whipped up to the closed curtains of the living room. Jordan was able to hear multiple discordant heartbeats from inside, realizing there were intruders. “Noah?” He spoke softly in a low whisper, not tearing his gaze from the window or releasing his hold on the handle.

“Yeah?” The Sheriff inquired in return at the soft voice, noting the way Jordan took a deep slow inhale and kept his gaze trained on the house.

“Where is Stiles?”

“Isn’t he with the Hales?” Noah frowned at the question and reached forward to twist the door knob.

“No, wait!” Jordan hissed when the Sheriff pushed the door open, heartbeat skyrocketing and tried to pull Noah back but froze when the lights turned on inside, and multiple people jumped out from various corners.

“Surprise!” They all called, making Jordan jump at the volume, eyes wide and blazing with Cerberus’s hackles rising. “Happy Birthday!”

Jordan’s knuckles were white with his grip on the back of Noah’s shirt, amber eyes darting around the room, and heart pounding as he put everything into perspective. He saw Stiles at the front, next to Derek and the remaining Hales. Peter was there with Malia, and so was Isaac and Camden. He could see Melissa and Scott there too and caught sight of Chris Argent standing towards the back with a soft smile with Allison beside him, jumping up and down next to him.

It wasn’t until Stiles came running to him, wrapping his arms around Jordan in a hug and calling ‘Happy birthday’ to him that the Hellhound composed himself, realizing that there was no threat.

“Were you surprised?” Stiles beamed wide at Jordan who combed a hand through the boy’s hair to ground himself and swallowed once before chuckling and nodded.

“Yeah, I was surprised,” Jordan laughed and rubbed at his face to know he was friends with a dramatic lot of people who thought it was smart to jump scare a Hellhound who was very capable of setting things on fire in a moment of discomposure. Before he turned a halfhearted glare towards the boy’s father who was giving him a smug little smile. “You were in on this,” He accused with narrowed eyes.

“Of course,” Noah shrugged innocently and ventured deeper into the living room, Jordan following with Stiles attached to his hip and took everyone’s well wishes and congratulations. The children all gathered around him and asked him questions like how old was he now and when was he born. Jordan teased him by having them do the math to figure out his age, all of them groaning and turning away while the teenagers and parents laughed.

The cake was death by chocolate with Happy Birthday written on top in cursive and no soon had it been distributed to the guests, when Peter grabbed Jordan by the arm and dragged him out the backyard with Chris Argent in tow. Both the hunter and the hellhound shared confused glances when the werewolf tugged them out the back door.

“Okay, to bring you up to speed, Iceman,” Peter turned to Chris once the door closed. “Sheriff and Hotshot there were gone on their first date,” He jerked his head towards Jordan who rolled his eyes at the nicknames.

“Wait,” Chris furrowed his eyebrows and pointed his fork at Jordan. “First date? Are you telling me you guys weren’t together?”

“What? No!” Jordan flushed a deep pink at the question. “What made you think that?”

“Everyone thinks you and the Sheriff are together. Trust me, it’s a surprise that you’re not,” Peter enlightened and took a bite of Jordan’s cake, having left his plate inside, the Hellhound gawking at the information, not having realized that, and turned to Chris Argent who nodded in confirmation. “Anyways, enough with the chit-chat. Spill the beans: where did you go? What did you do? What did you say? What did he say? Did you have fun? Did he kiss you?” Peter bombarded Jordan with questions, the Hellhound taking a step back at the eagerness with which he was being interrogated and looked towards Argent for help but found the man enjoying his cake and leaving Peter to his devices.

Once Jordan got Peter to take a step back, he rubbed a hand over his face and answered Peter’s questions, each answer elicited further questioning till Jordan had revealed almost everything.

“Honestly, I still can’t believe that you haven’t been dating all this time,” Peter stated once he was satisfied with Jordan’s answers.

“I thought they’d been together for years,” Chris enlightened from his place on the back step. “I noticed the way the Sheriff looked at you during the negotiations and his near hysteria when we found you at the Nematon, I was sure you two were married, which was why it was confusing when you told us not to tell him when you went into the cryo chamber”

“Right?” Peter turned to Argent at the words. “They behave like a married couple!”

“Stop it,” Jordan flushed and rubbed at his face in resignation, realizing the Sheriff was right when he had said that Jordan had the weirdest friends. “Can we go back inside now? I’m pretty sure all the kids have a sugar rush,”

“Oh! Damn!” Peter hissed and whirled around to rush inside, probably aware that his daughter was close to breaking something. Argent stood up at a more sedate pace, dusting his pants, and picked up his plate before heading inside, Jordan behind him.

Jordan had been right about the children having a sugar rush, Stiles having rallied all of them to play a round of the floor is lava and made them come up with unusual high grounds to climb onto. The teenagers and adults tried to save things from breaking as well as making sure the kids didn’t get hurt. The Sheriff trying to get Stiles to get off the curtain rod, the pipe creaking under the boy’s weight.

“Who wants to open presents?” Jordan called out into the room, all the children immediately stopping what they were doing to gather around the Hellhound with excited chatter and demanding that their present be opened first. To prevent the children from fighting, Jordan closed his eyes pointed at random, and opened that present.

The Hales got him a weighted blanket that was perfect for him but too heavy for Stiles. The boy had wanted to put it next to his so that they were matching and was nearly toppled over by the weight. Both Derek and Scott braced Stiles while Noah and Jordan took the blanket away from him. The Sheriff put it aside to prevent any further harm from happening. Argent got him a set of black throwing knives from their armory in France, Jordan was surprised by the gift and made plans to train with him since his knife-wielding skills were rusty before the Sheriff closed the box and it as far away as possible to prevent the children from trying to play with that. Melissa got him a fully equipped Supernatural first aid kit, making the Hellhound laugh and accept it with gratitude knowing that he had the human version. Peter got him a beautiful watch with a black leather strap and a white clock face.

Meanwhile, the three teenagers presented Jordan with – what they liked to call – a chocolate bouquet: a multitude of chocolates wrapped together like a bouquet.

Even the younger children had personally made him birthday cards and gave him small presents as well. Malia gave him this cool rock she’d found in the preserves – Jordan promising to keep it on his bedside – while Isaac made him a loom bracelet in shades of blue and green. Scott gave him a candy bar, while Allison handed him a handmade bookmark, Jordan asked Stiles for his book on the coffee table and replaced his bookmark with the one Allison had made, the girl flushing in delight before running to hide behind her dad. Cora also gave him a bracelet made of colorful beads, Jordan slid it onto his wrist with Isaac’s gift, and Derek bashfully handed him a wolf keychain. The Hellhound ruffled the young werewolf’s hair before fishing out his keys and adding the keychain to the karabiner already on it. Meanwhile, Stiles had given him a card with some money inside, Jordan laughed at the bills and knew the boy had gotten them from his dad’s wallet. The Hellhound tugged the boy to him and kissed his forehead at the colorful card he’d made for him.

Jordan thanked everyone for their thoughtful gift and was warned to be mentally prepared for a BBQ in the evening as he waved them off. Noah told him that he would drop Camden and Isaac back home, leaving Jordan to tuck Stiles into bed.

The boy bombarded him with questions about where they had gone and what they did, Jordan chuckled to himself and answered the questions while he had the boy wash up and change for bed. They had lain down and read a chapter, Stiles dozing off within four pages. Jordan closed it and put it aside, kissing the boy’s forehead and tucked him in before heading downstairs to change himself.

He had already settled into bed, lying on his side and reading his book with the butterfly origami bookmark Allison had made him lying next to the rock Malia had given him on the side table when a knock sounded on his door. Lifting his head from the pillow, he smiled softly at the sight of Noah stepping in, Jordan sitting up with the book in his lap and crossing his legs under the covers.

“You dropped Isaac and Camden?”

“Yeah, Stiles asleep?”

“Out like a light,” Jordan laughed and watched Noah walk over to the table in the corner, reaching into the drawer for something. “You going to work for a bit?”

“Uh, no, actually,” Noah informed and took out a manila folder before making his way over to Jordan, sitting down in front of him, and putting the file in his lap. “I thought I’d give you my birthday gift to you,”

“Noah, the dinner was more than enough,”

“I know, but I’ve been working on this for a while, actually,” The Sheriff chuckled and held the file out to Jordan who huffed a fond breath and pulled out the pages inside, turning them around to read what was written and furrowed his eyebrows when he found a list of addresses and phone numbers.

Jordan’s gaze darted to the Sheriff for a moment in confusion before he looked down at the page again and read from the top, his breath audibly stilling to read a name. A name he recognized very well. Jordan straightened to notice the number and address under it, along with an email and any social media accounts in association with the name. Jordan flipped the pages to see the same for multiple people, all names Jordan knew intimately.

“Oh my God,” Jordan exhaled breathlessly, tearing his gaze away from the pages and staring up at Noah with shock, the man giving him a sheepish smile. “How did you-?”

“-It took some effort, but uh…the entire Sheriff’s station pooled in their efforts to find out anything we could-”

Jordan didn’t let him finish, he didn’t need to hear the rest to understand and put the book and document aside so he could tackle Noah in a hug, his grip near suffocating and the impact almost making the Sheriff topple back. Noah laughed breathlessly at the enthusiasm before hugging back, squeezing tight, and holding him close.

“You mentioned them to me once, all your teammates,” Noah nuzzled into the crook of his neck, voice sending vibrations through Jordan’s shoulder. “And I know you’ve been wanting to look for them, so the other deputies and I found them and put together every possible means of communication. You can reach out whenever you’re ready,” He reassured and stroked up and down the Hellhound’s back, feeling him tighten his grip as if he wanted to crush them together, both of them content to stay in silence.

“Happy birthday, Jordan,” Noah cupped his face into his hand and kissed Jordan’s forehead when he was ready to release his hold. The lack of pressure makes the Sheriff feel hollow. Jordan encircled his wrist and fluttered his eyes closed at the contact of his lips against his skin, leaning forward to bump his forehead lightly against the Sheriff’s chin in gratitude.

Chapter 27: Pitbull

Chapter Text

“There you are,” Stiles's voice announced the following morning, making both of them shuffle in their places on the bed. Jordan’s book and the file were placed safely on the side table when they’d drifted off to sleep cuddled under the covers and talking about random things in soft soothing voices. “I’ve been searching everywhere,” The boy huffed and climbed up onto the bed between his dad and Jordan, forcing them to shuffle to accommodate his presence on top of the covers, neither of them ready to get up just yet.

“There are only three rooms in the house, Stiles,” Noah murmured with his eyes closed and beginning to drift back before his son shook him.

“Dad! Wake up! I’m bored!”

“Jordan,” Noah groaned in response and turned onto his side, hearing the sound of Jordan shifting behind him, followed by Stiles’s shriek and giggles. The boy squirmed behind him and shuffled, knowing the Hellhound had dragged him down under the covers and wrapped himself around him, cradling him to his chest and lulling him back to sleep with the warmth he radiated and the firm pressure of his hand down Stiles’s back.

They had discovered this trick by accident, when Jordan and Stiles had been rough-housing, play-wrestling till Jordan restrained Stiles’s lanky body with his limbs, preventing him from moving and they had watched the boy beginning to drift off in his hold. They found out he would be out faster than a light if Jordan stroked his back with just the right pressure, both of them have taken to employing this method anytime Stiles woke too early on a weekend and tried to urge them awake at some ungodly hour. They speculated it was the warmth and weight that lulled Stiles to sleep like a live version of a weighted blanket, but regardless of what it was, it gave them a few more hours of sleep.

Another thing they discovered was that if they put Stiles to sleep through this method, he was bound to sleep in longer than them, allowing Noah and Jordan a slow morning where they could go about setting things up in silence till the boy joined them. They loved him, no doubt, but by lord, he could be a little too active for them early in the morning.

Things were no different this morning, Noah woke first to find Jordan having the boy restrained and sound asleep in the circle of his arms, the Hellhound himself fast asleep with his lips parted and hair ruffled. Chuckling at the endearing sight, he got up and decided to take a shower before starting breakfast.

By the time he had showered and come down, the smell of coffee permeating the house let the Sheriff know that Jordan was awake, his heart jumping as he rounded the corner and entered the kitchen to find the Hellhound peering into the fridge with his back to him.

“How about cereal?” Jordan closed the fridge door and turned towards Noah who closed the gap between them and tilted his head to the side when the Hellhound inevitably leaned forward to nuzzle under his chin like he did every morning. “I’ve had too much breakfast yesterday,”

“The weather looks good,” The Sheriff noted from the kitchen window. “Want to eat in the backyard?” He suggested, Jordan thinking it over before giving a decisive nod.

Pouring themselves a bowl of cereal, Jordan put cut fruit, nuts, and drizzled honey on top before they poured the milk, making a third bowl for Stiles and leaving the milk beside it for the boy to pour when he’d wake up. They took their coffee and cereal out to the backyard, left the door open, and made their way to the picnic table in the corner. Both of them enjoyed the slow morning in silence with the soft sunlight and light breeze, autumn beginning to show its colors in the trees. Finishing their bowls and sitting together, fingers intertwined on top of the table

“How are we going to tell Stiles?” Jordan inquired, head tilted back towards the sun and eyes closed, thumb stroking over the rise and fall of Noah’s knuckles.

“How about we just let him figure it out himself?” Noah suggested, making the Hellhound snort in laughter before shrugging. “He’s smart, he’ll figure it out soon, don’t you think?”

“Look, this the same kid who is capable of getting background information, but he is also the very same boy who decided that pouring sparkling water and milk into his cereal was a good idea, and then kept screaming that his cereal was loud,” Jordan reminded him, Noah laughing at the memory and shook his head. “So the odds of him figuring out we’re dating is 50/50,”

Noah shook his head in fondness at the man before they both agreed that they’d let Stiles figure it out himself before Jordan informed him that he was awake and making a racket in the kitchen already. Stiles appeared in the backdoor after a minute and made his way to them with his bowl of cereal and a glass of juice in hand. Noah and Jordan called good morning to the boy who beamed wide at the sight of them.

The evening found them stringing up fairy lights in the backyard, with guests arriving with dishes laden with food. They had opened the fence door to expand to Hale’s backyard as well, with Noah and Alex on grilling duty while Jordan helped Peter set up the tables for all the food everyone had brought, the children shrieking and playing around. The celebration was a lively and raucous affair with laughter and chatter, Stiles preening to finally be able to celebrate Jordan’s birthday, still hung up on the fact that they didn’t get to celebrate his 25^th last year.

Jordan was endeared by the boy’s excitement and lifted the boy off his feet to hug him tight, ignorant to Noah watching them from the grill.

That Sunday they followed their usual routine of Stiles making the week’s menu, the boy chastising both Noah and Jordan once he’d found out what they’d eaten at the diner, the elders giving each other sheepish smiles to know that Stiles would most likely have them eat vegetarian for the whole week to compensate. Once the menu had been made, and the list was written, they headed to the store. Their Sunday afternoon was spent making the food and storing it in Tupperware boxes, Jordan labeling them and putting them into the fridge with Stiles helping them.

On Monday, once Stiles had gone to school and the Sheriff was at the station, Jordan found himself sitting in front of the document Noah had given him with his phone in hand, fiddling with the cover. Gnawing at his lips, Jordan turned the pages, reading the names again, and felt his chest squeeze to recall the last time he’d seen these people, an unbearable relief aching through his bones to know they were alive. Jordan pressed a hand to his chest and curled forward to know they had survived.

The first name was that of Allen Moore, he had been Jordan’s squad’s Sergeant in Afghanistan and had a soft spot for Jordan on account of him being the youngest among them all. Sergeant Moore used to say that Jordan reminded him of his younger brother, but on that account, he would be just as strict with him as he was with the others. Then there had been Leo Davis who had served with Jordan in Sergeant Moore’s squadron up until Jordan was posted to another location. Leo had been the closest thing to a best friend Jordan had in the army, the man having disabled dozens of bombs with him, survived the hardships of a warzone, and laughed with him in moments of calm. Leo was probably the only one to whom Jordan had told about the abuse he’d faced at the hands of his father and what life had been like before he joined the army.

Jordan could still remember Wyatt’s cries when they had been attacked by terrorists on a routine parameter check. Wyatt had been shot in the chest, and Jordan had dragged him through the sand and under cover, protecting him as he tried to fight off the opposition, realizing they were outnumbered, and threw a grenade at them in desperation, covering Wyatt with himself as the grenade went off and threw sand up in a cloud. Jordan had kept pressure on Wyatt’s wound as they waited for help, urging him to stay awake and think about his little girl who was waiting for him at home. Once help arrived, Wyatt had been taken to the infirmary, then moved to a hospital in the city and that was the last time Jordan had seen him.

Amir Jones had enlisted with him, shared rooms, and trained with him, before they had been given their assignments and gone their separate ways. East Jordan had heard, that Amir had been assigned to the Artillery when he had gone to Ordnance. He vaguely wondered if Amir got to ride a tank, knowing that the man had expressed a desire to experience that once when they both had stayed back on their off day, neither of them having had anyone to go home to.

God, there had been countless times through the years when he wondered what happened to all of them, too scared to dig deeper in case they had died in combat, and now Noah had given him their information: their numbers and addresses, telling him that they were alive.

Jordan could not do this alone, he would break if he called and heard their voices. So, he told himself he’d do it when Noah was home and put the file back into his room before going about his day.

Noah knew that something was bothering Jordan when he returned home to find everything cleaned. He could tell that every nook and cranny had been dusted and even the couches had been vacuumed and the windows cleaned; the floor had been shining to the extent that Noah could see his reflection. The fact that Jordan had once more gone on an obsessive cleaning spree told him that he was trying to distract himself from something. That, and the fact that he received a video from Alex Hale, showing Jordan aggressively scrubbing at the windows from outside, the man asking if Jordan was alright.

“Jordan?” Noah called out tentatively into the house, taking off his shoes and putting them neatly in the wrack beside the door before setting foot into the hallway.

“Up here!” Jordan called from the upper landing, Noah peeked up the stairs to find the man in question standing at the top with a basket full of washed and dried laundry. The Sheriff was forced to sigh realizing that the cleaning spree was still ongoing and he was not going to get a word in unless it was finished.

“Need help with that?” He inquired and made his way upstairs just as Jordan walked into Stiles’s room with the laundry. The Sheriff knew the boy was gone to Scott’s place for the day and so didn’t expect to see him around, but faltered to see that Jordan had cleaned even Stiles’s room from top to bottom, putting everything in its designated space and knew that he would be hearing endless questions of where everything was from his son when he’d return.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Jordan tried to assure as he put the basket down on the freshly made bed, but still slid to the side when Noah joined him in folding the clothes and putting them in separate piles in accordance to whose clothing it was.

The Sheriff decided to fill the silence by talking about his day at the station, Jordan huffing at some of the anecdotes while teasing at other instances. The more the Hellhound engaged with him, the more Noah knew he was getting out of his head and back to the present. His chest ached at the tenderness Jordan’s laugh elicited and reassured himself that everything would be alright and they just needed to get to the bottom of what was bothering Jordan.

He watched Jordan put Stiles’s clothes in the dresser about to pick up his pile but stopped when Noah wrapped his fingers around his wrist, looking up when the Sheriff co*cked his head towards the door and silently asked him to follow. The Hellhound did as asked and faltered when Noah stepped into his bedroom, expecting Jordan to come in.

Despite having lived with them for months, Jordan had never set foot in Noah’s room. It didn’t feel right knowing he had shared the space with his wife, and even though she was gone, it was still their bedroom in Jordan’s head. Swallowing thickly, and bracing himself, Jordan crossed the threshold and didn’t dare move further and was almost keeled over by the scent of the Sheriff permeating every surface. The fragrance was thick and heady and made Jordan subconsciously let out a delighted rumble, the urge to roll around on the made-up bed itching through his muscles, and resisted the impulse.

It was a beautiful room, Jordan noted, ignorant to the Sheriff having raised an eyebrow at the sub-vocal sound he was letting out, shaking his head in fond exasperation before making his way into the washroom. It had carpeted floors with light grey walls and a dark grey accent wall behind the bed. The bed had a solid white headboard with a low footboard, and multiple pillows on top, covered in soft white and blue sheets. Either side of the bed was framed by a window with white curtains and a side table, Jordan realized that he could see through these when he used to sit on the deck of his house.

The washroom was to his left with a sleek dresser against the wall, housing the docking station Jordan had gifted Noah on Christmas, with the wall opposite the bed showing sliding wardrobe mirror doors, giving the room a more spacious and lit-up look. The remaining wall housed a pair of plush armchairs in front of the French windows that looked out to the backyard and led out to the balcony that was rarely ever used, but Jordan knew had two chairs on it. That corner made him think of sitting with the sun streaming in, and reading a book with a cup of coffee, the whole space was cozy and warm.

Jordan figured the left side of the bed was Noah’s, finding a picture of Claudia and Stiles framed on the side table, and his reading glasses set on top of a book.

Jordan could only stand in the doorway and take it all in. He smiled to himself to know that Noah and Claudia had shared this space, it was their little haven and could imagine a bassinet on the right side of the bed where they’d keep a newborn Stiles in the early days. He was almost certain the Sheriff had kept it the way she had set it, knowing the man didn’t have an eye for interior decoration.

“What’s funny?” Noah asked, stepping out of the washroom and changing out of his uniform into more casual clothes, Jordan turned to him with eyes crinkling.

“Your wife had a beautiful taste,” Jordan informed, watching Noah still before looking at the room again.

“What makes you think I didn’t set it up?” The Sheriff challenged, earning himself a raucous laugh from the Hellhound as if the notion was ridiculous enough to warrant it. Noah gawked at Jordan’s unrestrained mirth, shaking his head in fond exasperation before beckoning him. “Yeah, yeah, very funny. Come here and tell me what’s going on with you?”

Jordan hesitated as he watched the Sheriff sit down on the edge of the bed and pat the space beside him expectantly. Letting out a shuddering exhale, he went to him and sat down on the mattress that was firm and bouncy, hearing the creak of springs and laced his fingers in his lap.

“Alex sent me a video of you scrubbing the windows with a vengeance today,” Noah cupped Jordan’s laced fingers with his own, the younger grimacing at the information. “And I know you well enough by now to know that you usually go crazy with the cleaning when you’re trying to distract yourself from something. So, do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?” He inquired gently, rubbing his thumb over Jordan’s knuckles, watching the man gnaw on the inside of his cheek and seem to mull things over.

“I…” Jordan struggled to convey it in words. “You were looking at the numbers and fed them into my phone today and I wanted to call them. I wanted to call them and catch up with them but then I got…I don’t know it,”

“You got overwhelmed?” Noah suggested, realizing he was talking about his teammates from his time in the army. Jordan pressed his lips into a thin line at the question and nodded. “That’s okay, it can be a little overwhelming, especially after what you guys went through together. Do you want to try calling them now? While I sit with you?” The Sheriff inquired, combing his fingers through the hair on the back of Jordan’s head.

“I-is that okay?”

“Of course,” Noah chuckled at the uncertain question, kissing the younger’s temple and squeezing his hand in reassurance. “I’ll sit right here with you for as long as you want,”

The softening of Jordan’s eyes made something crack in Noah’s chest, the blatant adoration the younger looked at him with always made a pang of longing shoot through the Sheriff, it made him want to wrap Jordan up and protect him with every fiber of his being. Either that or squish his face as aggressively as he could to try and make the urge subside.

He watched Jordan take a deep breath before reaching into his back pocket and taking out his phone. The lock screen was still the picture of Noah and Stiles, and it made the Sheriff unbearably endeared by the man as he watched him navigate through his contacts and pull up one, fingers trembling over the call button.

“It’s okay,” Noah reassured, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into his side. “I’m here with you,” He kissed his hair and watched Jordan close his eyes before tapping on the call icon, putting the device to his ear, and keeping his eyes closed as the line rang. His free hand drifted to Noah’s and squeezed tight, lips pressed into a thin line and chest heaving with the breaths he was trying to keep slow.

“Moore Residence,” A feminine voice lilted on the other end, Jordan’s lips parting and words getting stuck in his throat, able to pick up the sound of chatter and the shrill voices of children in the background. “Who am I talking to?” She inquired, Jordan staring off into space and struggling to get his throat to work and get the words out, grip tightening on the Sheriff’s hand till the man nudged him with his shoulder, forcing him to swallow.

“Uh…hi,” Jordan choked out, taking another deep breath to compose himself.

“Hello,”

“Uh…is this-ah-Allen Moore’s residence?” He inquired, feeling his voice tremble with the question and his heart pound in nerve-wracking anticipation.

“Yes, who am I speaking to?”

“I-uh-Jordan Parrish,” Jordan introduced, feeling Noah tighten his grip on him as he swallowed thickly. “I-I served under Sergeant Moore in Afghanistan, would it be possible to talk to him?”

“Oh!” The woman’s voice gave away her surprise, a smile making its way into her words. “Of course! Let me just get him for you,” She assured and left the phone, Jordan’s fingers trembled on the phone, needing to press himself into Noah’s shoulder to try and compose himself as the anxiety twisted his stomach into knots. The realization that he was about to hear from his Sergeant was a daunting one.

He could hear the sound of rushing footsteps, the scraping of chairs as if someone had bumped into one, and the thump of things clattering before there was the rustle of the handheld being picked up off a surface. The sound of breathing is loud and audible.

“Jordan?” Sergeant Moore inquired in a voice that was winded and choked, disbelief clear in the tone which made Jordan bite his lip and his chest ache to recall everything they’d been through together. “Jordan Parrish?”

“Hello, Arctic,” Jordan greeted using the old nickname the Sergeant had earned in the army with his icy attitude towards others, unable to stop himself from trembling in Noah’s arms as a smile made its way to his lips at the sound of Allen’s loud laugh.

“Goddamn! It’s really you!” He exclaimed with loud exuberance that made Jordan chuckle into Noah’s neck, composing himself and straightening so his voice didn’t come out muffled. “Oh! Pitbull, it’s great to hear from you, kid! Where are you? What have you been up to? When did you come back?” It startled Jordan to hear his nickname from his army days, almost having forgotten they used to call him that.

Jordan choked on his chuckle, sagging into Noah’s arms, and rubbed his eyes as he answered the questions the Sergeant threw at him. The Sheriff was relieved to see the tension ease from Jordan the more he talked, eyes bright and laughter on his lips, the both of them throwing questions at each other, neither of them able to get full sentences out with their excitement.

The Sergeant was the one to end the call, something calling him away but not before he took Jordan’s phone number and email to stay in contact before ending the call. Noah watched the Hellhound put the phone down and just close his eyes for a moment, a smile on his lips before turning to the Sheriff with eyes wet and a laugh bubbling in his throat. Noah chuckled with him and bumped their forehead together.

“I’m going to start on dinner,” the Sheriff informed. “Want to keep me company? You can call the others in the kitchen,” He suggested, Jordan nodded and followed him out of the room and downstairs.

The Sheriff made spinach pasta while Jordan called another number, sitting at the kitchen counter, and kept Noah company, the man smiled to himself to hear the words come easier to Jordan now. The delight and surprise of his teammates were audible from across the room, and the conversation was filled with a lot of laughter and reminiscing, voices loud and exuberant. Jordan’s words were accompanied by sweeping arm gestures wide eyes and broad smiles. Noah resisted the urge to cup the man’s face into his hand and kiss him with how cute he was in his excitement.

Halfway through his third phone call, Jordan had gotten up and began to walk around the house with the phone held to his ear before he squeezed himself between the Sheriff and the counter, beaming wide at the man as he attempted to plate up the pasta but gave up when Jordan wrapped his free arm around his waist and pulled them flushed together. Noah chuckled behind his hand at the man’s endearing behavior and cupped his face into his hands to place kisses across his cheeks forehead eyelids and the tip of his nose. Jordan stifled his giggles at the ticklish sensation.

“Enough, let me plate dinner,” Noah whispered to the Hellhound, pulling away after another kiss to his cheek and made the man’s eyes crinkle in delight before sliding out from between him and the counter, but still stuck close to his side, giving him enough liberty to plate the food. The person on the phone must have said something because Jordan looked at Noah with stars in his eyes and hummed in confirmation.

“Yeah, that was my boyfriend, he was plating dinner,” Jordan grinned at the Sheriff who fumbled with the pan at the title, heat rising to his cheek and gawking at Jordan who chuckled at the surprised look, arching a brow at him. The person on the other line, Leo, must have said something because Jordan’s eyes widened and his cheeks heated before he let out a startled laugh, covering his mouth with his hands and stepping away from the Sheriff to brace himself against the counter, refusing to answer whatever Leo had said.

Noah arched a brow at the younger who shrugged innocently at him before he pointed to the plates in silence.

“Alright, Ghost, I got to go now,” Jordan wound up the call, Noah taking their dinner to the dining table before returning to the kitchen to pour them both a glass of white wine. “Yeah, save my number and stay in touch, okay? Bye,” He ended the call and put his phone away before just bracing the top of the dining chair and grinning at Noah who looked back at him with crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“What?” The Sheriff inquired when Jordan wouldn’t stop looking.

“I got to introduce you as my boyfriend,” He clarified in awe making Noah chuckle. “It’s a pretty novel thing,”

“Well, boyfriend,” Noah teased, liking the sound of the word on his tongue, and watched Jordan grin in response. “Should we have dinner?”

It was halfway through dinner that Jordan got the text that Stiles would spend the night with Scott, letting the Sheriff know. After dinner, Jordan washed the dishes and Noah put them away.

Jordan made one last phone call to Amir, while Noah went into the lounge and put on a random movie on the TV. Jordan joined him halfway through the film with damp hair and changed into his sleepwear, flopping down on the other end of the couch and shuffling around so that one of his legs was behind Noah’s back, while the other was placed in his lap. The Sheriff rolled his eyes at the younger but put his hand on Jordan’s ankle and asked if he wanted him to restart the movie for him. The Hellhound shook his head and turned on his side to watch the scenes playing.

Noah tried to focus on the movie, he did because he was the one who put it on. But the sensation of Jordan’s leg behind him and on his lap kept drawing his attention away. The Hellhound’s calf was fitted into the curve of his lower back, supporting his posture, while the other lay over his lap, the hem of his pajamas having ridden up enough to expose the knob of his ankle and the harsh lines of his Achilles tendon. Noah rubbed over the knob and looked traced up with his eyes.

One could see that Jordan worked out with the strength of his calves and thighs, his legs covered by the plaid pajamas he had on, but Noah had seen him in a towel to know that the man was all lithe muscles and knew how to fight. The fact that such a protective individual as Jordan was capable of incapacitating someone made him worry for anyone who tried to provoke Stiles or him, knowing that Jordan wouldn’t stand idly by and probably give them a concussion in the process. The thought made him smile to himself at the thought. Jordan, their knight in shining armor, mused and rubbed the knob of his ankle before his hand drifted up to his calf and then his knee.

Jordan didn’t react to the touch more than just glancing at Noah, who was messaging his knee, before returning to the movie.

Noah realized that he’d never actually gotten to touch Jordan like this: idly, softly, exploratory.

Jordan turned away from the movie when he felt Noah shift, taking the heat and pressure away from the leg at his back, and watched the Sheriff shift on the couch so that one of his knees was pressing into the cushion between Jordan’s ankles the other leg lowered down to the floor to maintain balance. One hand braced the back of the couch with the other resting on the cushion beside Jordan’s hip, the Hellhound tilting his head in inquiry, wondering what the Sheriff wanted.

“Can I touch you?” Noah asked, Jordan was startled at the question and flushed a deep pink, squirming on the couch at the prospect of the Sheriff’s hands on him, making his stomach tie itself into knots and his heart pound against his chest. “It’s okay to say no, you know,”

“I know,” Jordan managed to choke out, clearing his throat when his voice came out hoarse before nodding. “You can touch me,” He exhaled breathlessly and sagged into the cushions, propping his head up on the armrest so he could watch Noah.

The Sheriff looked more…curious than he did turned-on, Jordan noted. He assumed the question had come from a place of arousal but when he watched the Sheriff encircle his ankle and rub over the skin of his feet he realized he’d misinterpreted the question. Probably the difference of their size and ability might have incited the interest: the fact that despite being the same height, Jordan wasn’t as broad as the sheriff and was lithe in comparison to him, but his agility and strength gave him an upper hand in a confrontation. He figured it was probably such a thought that drove Noah to just feel the corded muscle for himself.

“Is it okay if I continue watching the movie?” Jordan murmured when Noah’s hand slid up to his calf, cradling the back of it in his palm.

“Hmm?” Noah looked up from his exploration, touching him over his clothes but feeling the power in the corded muscles. “Oh, sure,” He looked towards the screen to see if he could figure out what was going on but had long since lost the sequence of the plot and his interest in it. Jordan turned towards the screen, one hand on his stomach while the other dangled over the edge, trailing over the carpet under the sofa.

Jordan tried to focus on the movie, it was interesting from what he could figure of the story, but kept getting distracted by the gentle warmth and trailing pressure of Noah’s fingers tracing the tendons on the back of his leg. Noah’s fingers slowly made their way up to his knee, tracing the joint before shuffling closer. Jordan lowered his leg to the floor to give him more space, Noah’s hand sliding up from his knee to his hamstrings, the electric sensation making the muscles in his thigh jump and his heart thunder in his chest, Jordan squirming against the couch. The Sheriff looked at him with a question in his eyes, the Hellhound swallowing.

“Ticklish,” He lied, the look Noah gave him in response told him that he didn’t believe it, but accepted it for the moment and traced the outline of his thigh, pressing his palms flat against the side of his leg and sliding his hand up to his hips and over his waist. Jordan sucked his stomach in on instinct when his fingers tickled his sides over his t-shirt. Noah leaned over him, putting a finger to his naval, and drew it up to his sternum, splaying his hand over his chest.

Jordan could only lay under him, melting into the cushions at the sight of Noah over him, throat running dry and heat traveling up his neck, the urge to touch the Sheriff in return rearing its head.

“Can I touch you?” Jordan echoed the question, Noah looking away from where his hand was splayed over his chest, able to feel the hard beating of his heart, and smiled at the younger.

“Yeah, go ahead,”

Swallowing thickly, Jordan pressed his palm flat to the outside of Noah’s thigh, trailing his hand up over his hips and waist, sliding up his side and tickling his ribcage, feeling the expansion of the skin under his fingers and had to swallow the temptation of seeing the Sheriff without his shirt, put his hand to skin and felt the warmth he radiated. Jordan wanted to feel every inch of Noah’s skin under his lips, trailing his fingers over every inch available, the thought making his mouth water and swallow as he moved his hand up to Noah’s neck.

“I wanna kiss you,” Jordan confessed barely above a whisper, heart pounding and fingers trailing over Noah’s jaw. The Sheriff took his wandering fingers into his hand and kissed the tips.

“Think we’re ready for the next step in the relationship?” He inquired, kissing the inside of his palm and the scar on his wrist, nuzzling into his pulse like he’d seen the younger do. Something about the action must have been gratifying to the Hellhound because a subvocal rumble emanated from his chest, eyes flashing orange before settling back into his green.

“In terms of how long we’ve been dating, probably not,” Jordan murmured, voice low and intimate. “But-but in terms of how long we’ve been together, we’re probably overdue. You had so many opportunities to kiss me but never did,” He stated as he traced the shape of Noah’s lips.

“You could have kissed me,”

“I wasn’t going to do that. You were in denial,”

“I was not in denial,”

“Please,” Jordan snorted, hand lowering to the Sheriff’s sternum and feeling the racing of his heart he could hear. “You avoided me and lied to me when you realized you returned my feelings-”

“-Jesus, you will not let that go, will you? You’re like a dog with a bone,” Noah exclaimed, lowering himself on top of Jordan so they were aligned, his forearms bracing his weight over the Hellhound whose hands went into the Sheriff’s hair, pushing them back from his forehead. “I said I was sorry,”

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to forget it,”

“Would a kiss help?” The Sheriff inquired, fingers playing with the strands of hair near Jordan’s ear, lowering so that their noses brushed.

“Depends on the kiss,” Jordan swallowed, gaze fixed on Noah’s mouth, and subconsciously licked his own dry and chapped lips. Sudden insecurity flared at the fact that his lips were dry or the fact that Jordan didn’t know the practice of a kiss and floundered to think it would be bad, stilling under the sheriff when he tilted his head. His lips trailed from behind his ear to his cheekbone and then down to his jaw.

Jordan’s eyes fluttered closed, one hand gripping the shoulder of Noah’s t-shirt while the other was fisted into his side, and sagged under the sensation of the slow soft drag of his mouth over his jaw, under his chin and down the column of his neck before placing a peck to the at the hollow of his throat. Jordan wanted the Sheriff to mark him there, suck on the skin till was bruised so that everyone knew whom Jordan belonged to, the thought making shivers wrack through him just as Noah trailed his lips up the other side of his neck and his jaw. Repeating the path of behind the ear, cheek, and then up to his forehead. Jordan’s fingers clenched and released their hold on the Sheriff.

The sensation of his lips against his skin was like electric currents through his body, anticipation squeezing his chest tight as he felt him draw closer to his mouth till they were brushing together. Noah’s hands having gone from his hair to cup the side of his face, stroking his cheekbone and darted his gaze up to Jordan’s to make sure he was ready for this, that he wanted to take this next step.

When not in the Hellhound form, Jordan’s eyes were a beautiful olive green with flecks of gold near the iris. But right now, his pupils were blown wide in anticipation to the extent that there was only a thin film of green surrounding it. The realization that not only did Jordan want to take this next step, but was eager for it made the Sheriff groan before pressing their lips together.

It was a soft thing at first, a gentle touching of the lips that made Jordan let out a broken sound from his chest, fingers gripping at the hand resting on the side of his face when the Sheriff pulled back.

The feeling of Jordan’s lips against his own was intoxicating, heady like a drug, and made Noah repeat the gentle peck. Once, twice, three times before he tilted his head and took Jordan’s bottom lip between his own. The wet sensation made Jordan moan and squirm under him, Noah’s other hand traveled down to his waist, slotting his hand under his back to pull them closer together, the movement and feeling of them pressed close made Jordan gasp into his mouth. The Sheriff took the opportunity provided to him to deepen the kiss, a guttural sound coming from his chest when Jordan mirrored his actions, sending frissons of heat searing through his spine and down to his tailbone, spreading to the back of his thighs.

Jordan felt lightheaded and dazed at the reality that Noah was kissing him. He’d imagined different versions of this, but none of them could have prepared him for how all-consuming it would be. He barely felt the Sheriff’s hand gripping at his hair, or the hand at his lower back. He didn’t even realize he’d wrapped his arms around Noah’s neck to pull him down, chest to chest and pressed together from sternum to hips, needing him to get closer with an urgency he couldn’t remember feeling – like if he didn’t get him near, Jordan would jump out of his skin. He felt devoured, and consumed, and he wanted more of it.

It wasn’t until Noah pulled back that Jordan realized the lightheaded feeling was the lack of air, the Sheriff’s weight pinning him to the couch, encased in his arms and dazed in his hold. Blinking up at the man whose eyes were blown wide, face flushed and lips wet and swollen. The realization that his mouth looked so tender and abused because of the kiss made Jordan lean forward to press their lips together again. The dying sound Noah let out at the contact had the younger shiver, Jordan curving into him when he felt the Sheriff slot his hand into the curve of his waist, rubbing circles into the bare skin and sending electricity pulsing through the Hellhound, making him pull back with a gasp and drop his head into the cushions of the couch, eyes closed and just basking in the moment.

Noah pressed him into the couch, the Sheriff’s fingers in his hair and waist, while his own gripped the back of his head tight enough to probably hurt. Jordan released his hold and flexed his fingers, feeling Noah press his forehead to the Hellhound’s sternum, needing a moment to compose himself. Jordan’s lips felt tender and abused, no doubt in his mind they were spit-slick and swollen, knowing that Noah was no better. Both of them need a moment to recompose themselves.

“That was…”

“Wow,”

“Yeah,”

Both of them burst into giggles before Noah pulled himself off of Jordan, making the younger grunt at the sudden lack of pressure but kept touching the Sheriff from one place or another. The two looked at each other with sparkling eyes and laughter on their lips, Jordan pulling himself up to wrap his arms around the Sheriff in a hug and kissed his cheek before nuzzling into his throat, wanting to be close to him and relished in the way Noah wrapped his arms around his waist. Holding him tight.

*

Now that he’d re-established contact with his military friends, Jordan’s phone was constantly buzzing with a phone call or a text message. The Hellhound always delighted to see them send pictures of their homes and families, relieved to know that they were happy, after the family. He got to see pictures of Wyatt’s daughter who was younger than Stiles and his toddler son, he saw a picture of Leo’s girlfriend Allen’s twin nieces, and the Sergeant’s sister. Jordan huffed to himself when amidst the happy family pictures, Amir shared a picture of his dogs; a golden retriever and a German Shepherd. Jordan always showed the pictures to Noah when he’d received them.

The Sheriff was endeared by how excited the younger would get to hear from his friends, their phone calls running long and loud, but noticed that Stiles didn’t share Jordan’s happiness, the boy sulking in the corner and huffing.

“Hey,” Noah nudged Jordan’s shoulder, making the man turn away from his text to look up at the Sheriff. “I think someone is feeling neglected,” He co*cked his head in the direction of the dining room where Stiles was meant to be doing his homework but kept stealing glances towards Jordan and his dad instead, immediately turning away when he caught them looking.

Jordan chuckled to himself before locking his phone and making his way over to the boy.

“Hey, buddy,” Jordan ruffled the boy’s hair. “Whatcha working on?” He inquired and sat down beside the boy, who straightened to have the Hellhound’s attention on him and immediately shuffled closer.

“We’re supposed to write an essay on the Civil War,” Stiles informed, dragging his book closer to Jordan. “But I don’t understand why it happened,”

“Well, to put it simply, the Civil War happened because the Southern states were in support of owning slaves, while the Northern states were against it,”

“Yeah, but why would they want to keep slaves? That’s cruel,”

“That’s true,” Jordan nodded and looked around before his gaze landed on the chess board laid out on the coffee table, Noah and Jordan having played a round of chess after breakfast while Stiles had been in school. “Let’s see if we can make sense of things with this,” The Hellhound suggested and brought the chessboard to the dining table and set things up to explain the events of the Civil War to Stiles.

Noah smiled to himself at the sight of them, deciding that he might as well get some work done as well while Stiles was doing his homework. Walking past them, he squeezed Jordan’s side and ruffled his son’s hair on his way before going to retrieve his files and sat on the opposite end of the table.

Later that week, Jordan received his acceptance letters from all four institutions he’d applied to. The Hellhound had shortlisted the universities he wanted to go to and sent his applications in. Noah and Stiles had been as excited by the news as Jordan, the boy jumping up and down between the two before he stopped to ask what that meant. Jordan laughed and explained that it meant that Jordan was returning to school and that he’d be a student just like Stiles.

“Oh! You’re going to the school for big kids! Will you be Camden and Ajax?” Stiles inquired, making Noah and Jordan chuckle at the question.

“Who knows?” The Hellhound shrugged knowing that those would be beginning their university applications soon if they hadn’t started already. “Maybe they’d join me,” He wrinkled his nose at Stiles who giggled.

“You should tell the others,” Noah suggested, placing a hand on Jordan’s waist as the man straightened, both of them ignorant to Stiles’s flinch.

“You’re right, Artic will lose his mind,” Jordan chuckled and patted down his pockets to see if he had his phone before looking around for the device.

“I’m going to go tell Derek and ask if Ajax will be with you!” Stiles announced, Noah, telling him to be back for dinner, and watched the boy dash out of the house.

Jordan and Noah spent the entire evening searching for his phone, frowning when Noah called it and the automated message told them it was turned off. They retraced Jordan’s steps through the house, trying to figure out if he’d left it lying around somewhere, but couldn’t find it.

“Maybe I dropped it somewhere,” Jordan rubbed at his forehead, trying to figure out where it had gone. “I came to the kitchen, saw you two off, and then went to the station for lunch, but I had my phone because I checked it when I left to pick up Stiles. Then, maybe I left it in the car?” He suggested, Noah picked up Jordan’s car keys and made his way out of the house, using the phone’s flashlight to look under the seats and between the gearbox.

“Was there anything irreplaceable on the phone?” Noah inquired as he shone the flashlight under the seats.

“I don’t care about the contacts, I remember the numbers anyways,” Jordan helped him look by moving the mats and feeling around for the device. “But I have pictures of you and Stiles on it that I didn’t back up on cloud, I don’t want to lose those,”

Derek had been sitting on the top bunk of the room he shared with Ajax, Stiles sitting opposite him with Guess Who opened between them, and the elder Hale brother seated at his study table, overlooking the Stilinski house and working on his homework when he looked up to find both the Sheriff and Jordan looking through the car.

“Hey, Stiles,” Ajax called out to the young boy, making him look away from the game and towards him. “What happened to Jordan’s phone?” He inquired, gesturing to the window where they could see the cruiser doors open, the werewolf was able to hear their conversation from here.

Not only were the werewolf brothers able to hear the conversation taking place across the way, but they could also hear the sudden uptick in Stiles’s heartbeat. Both of them turned to look at the young Spark, his face impassive, but his heart beating in overdrive, Derek frowning at his mate.

“Stiles?”

“Do you know where he left it?” Ajax inquired, shifting in his chair to look toward the boy who rocked in his place, wringing his fingers together in his lap.

“He didn’t leave it anywhere,” Stiles muttered, scratching at his nape. “I took it when he wasn’t looking and powered it off,”

“Stiles!” Derek exclaimed in aghast, Ajax gawking at his brother’s mate with wide eyes and parted lips. “You have to tell Jordan, right now!”

“But he’s always on the phone, Der!” Stiles tried to defend, flailing in his place and looking between the brothers to try to get them to see why he did it. “He’s always talking or texting and-and-and what if-what if he’s talking to a boyfriend, huh? Or-or a girlfriend! He’s always smiling at the phone! He’s gonna leave me and Dad then! And-and-he-” the boy struggled to get his words across.

“-He’s not paying attention to you?” Ajax supplied, recalling how Jordan would constantly hover around the boy the first few times he’d met the Hellhound.

Stiles snapped his mouth shut at the question, neither of the Hales needing verbal confirmation to know they’d hit the nail on the head.

“Still! You shouldn’t take his phone like that, Stiles,” Derek shook his head in disappointment and began to clamber off the bed. “We’re going to go over there and give Jordan his phone back,”

“But Derek!” The boy whined but followed him down the ladder all the same.

“Plus, I’m pretty sure that if you just, you know, talked to Jordan, you two could come up with a compromise,” Ajax shrugged and turned back to his AP Calculus.

“But what if I ask and he says he’s talking to a girlfriend or boyfriend?” Stiles demanded petulantly. “Then Dad has no chance!”

Ajax looked toward the window again, seeing the Sheriff standing close to Jordan as if the concept of personal space didn’t exist in their dictionary. Mr. Stilinski’s hand on the Hellhound’s nape, head bowed and speaking to him while Jordan rubbed at his forehead before he led the way back into the house.

“Yeah, I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Ajax snorted and shook his head, hearing Derek and Stiles leave the room, the younger boy grousing the entire way. The eldest Hale shook his head at the melodrama, vaguely wondering how it would play out.

Derek led Stiles back to his house by his hand, the boy dragging his feet and grumbling the entire way, trying to coax Derek into not telling Jordan he’d taken his phone. In his mind, it was for a good cause! Jordan wouldn’t be so distracted and preoccupied anymore and he’d see how great his dad was, he was sick and tired of them dancing around each other with their moon eyes and secretive smiles. He wanted them to get together already! Plus – and he was never going to say this out loud – he was jealous of whoever had Jordan’s attention because then the Hellhound wasn’t paying attention to Stiles, and he hated it. He wanted Jordan’s attention as he had it before.

Making their way into the house, they found the Sheriff and Jordan removing the pillows off the couch and looking in the nooks and crannies, Stiles grimacing at how tense they both looked and dreaded telling them the truth.

“Uh…excuse me, Sheriff, sir,” Derek garnered their attention, both of them turning to the duo when the werewolf tugged Stiles to stand beside him. The Spark threw a glare at his mate who silently urged him to come clean. The boy groaned in resignation and pulled his bag from over his shoulder, rummaging through the pocket before pulling out Jordan’s phone and silently holding it out to the Hellhound who blinked at the boy in silence.

“Stiles,” The Sheriff’s voice was harsh and demanding, making the boy shrink into himself to know this was his disappointed tone. “Did you take Jordan’s phone and hide it?” He demanded, dropping the cushion unceremoniously on the couch and placing his hands on his hips.

Stiles pressed his lips into a thin line and glared at the floor knowing that he didn’t need to confirm the obvious and tensed when Jordan walked over to him to take the device. Stiles crossed his arms, waiting for the grounding of a lifetime and for Jordan to switch the device back on, but instead, the Hellhound pocketed the device and crouched down in front of the boy.

Stiles turned to him with eyes wide with hope, thinking Jordan wouldn’t let him get punished but shrunk into himself when he noticed the serious look the Hellhound was giving him.

“You’re a smart boy, Stiles, and I’ve always loved that about you,” Jordan began. “So do you think you can tell me why you took my phone and hid it?”

It was different to have Jordan be upset with him. Jordan was always nice, whenever Stiles did something he wasn’t supposed to, he would usually help him get out of trouble, or at the very least make the punishment not seem too big of a deal. Jordan always had a smile ready for him, but right now there wasn’t a smile on his face, instead, he looked at Stiles the way he had when Stiles had said all those horrible things to him at the hospital. It made him feel uneasy, it made tears prick at his eyes with the fear that he’d upset Jordan and he didn’t want to upset Jordan, he just-he just wanted him to get off the phone for a little while, that’s all.

“I…” Stiles choked, throat tight and fingers trembling as he shuffled on his feet, lowering his gaze to the floor just to try and get the words out without bursting into tears and begging for forgiveness. “You wanted you to just just wanted you to get off the phone for a while. You’re constantly on the phone,”

“That’s reasonable,” Jordan nodded. “But why did you feel the need to not only take my phone and hide it, but power it off as well? Why didn’t you just tell me that you feel I spend too much time on the phone?”

“Be-because-I-I-I just wanted-I got-I thought you were talking to a boyfriend or girlfriend, that you found someone and would leave and that-if I took your phone, they’d get upset and break up with you as they do in the films,” He tried to explain in a rush, watching from under his lashes as Jordan arched an eyebrow at the words before looking over his shoulder towards his dad.

“Told you he wouldn’t figure it out,” Jordan lilted to the Sheriff with mischief in his eyes, Stiles frowning at the Hellhound, not sure what he meant before he turned back to him with a sigh. “Stiles, I told you this before as well, but I’m talking to my friend from the army on the phone. And my boyfriend is not going to break up with me for not responding to a text or missing a phone call,”

“No, I’d probably send out a search party after the third missed call,” The Sheriff rubbed at his chin in thought. “Should it be three or two?”

“I think three phone calls, spaced at a thirty-minute interval,” Jordan recommended, Stile’s gaze jumping from Jordan to his dad, confusion making his scalp itch and not understanding what they meant. “Three missed phone calls and five unresponded texts?” The boy turned to Derek to see if he understood what they were talking about, but the werewolf looked just as lost.

“And if you want a moment of quiet, just text ‘snooze’ and I’ll stop bothering you till you’re ready to interact with people,”

“Aww, that’s so thoughtful of you,” Jordan smiled at the Sheriff. “You can do the same,”

“What-” Stiles interrupted their back-and-forth. “What’s going on?”

“Stiles, baby,” The Hellhound chuckled at the boy and got up from his crouch to brace his knees and look down at the boy. “I’ve been dating your dad since my birthday,”

Stiles gawked at them in silence, needing a moment to comprehend the words, and turned to his mate who looked at them with his eyebrows in his hairline, not having known that either.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles turned back to them and watched his dad shrug.

“I said we’d let you figure it out yourself,” The Sheriff tugged Jordan back towards him by the collar of his shirt, Jordan going readily and wrapping an arm around his dad’s waist. “But Jordan said there was a 50% chance you wouldn’t,”

“But that also means that there was a 50% chance he would,” Jordan clarified and turned to Noah with an arched brow. “Why are you trying to make the bad guy here? Your son stole my phone,”

“Thought you’d like a taste of your own medicine-” Noah crinkled his nose at Jordan who gawked at him.

“-But you two don’t act any different?” Stiles frowned and turned to Derek, the werewolf nodding in confirmation before he turned to the two adults who looked confused at the statement. “I mean, you two don’t act like a couple?”

Jordan huffed a laugh at the statement and bent at the waist.

“Well, what do couples act like?”

“I don’t know. Gross? Lovey dovey?” His dad burst into a fit of laughter at the words, shaking his head and shoulders trembling, Jordan smiling back at him with fondness in his eyes.

“Well, your dad has a picture of you and me as his phone wallpaper, and I have a picture of you and him on mine,” Jordan stated. “I know his routine as well as he knows mine. We both sit in the living room and just cuddle when you’ve gone to sleep. Your dad sleeps more often in my room than he does his own, I have his spare uniform in my closet,”

“Jordan probably makes me laugh the most,” The Sheriff supplied, Jordan beaming wide at him at the confession. “He’s an angel and devil in equal measures when he’s capable of calming you down, but also gets convinced into doing the dangerous stuff with you. I can talk to him about anything and so can he. Just because we don’t show a relationship like the ones on TV doesn’t mean we’re not happy together,”

“I-I guess…” Stiles murmured with his eyebrows furrowed together, not quite sure how any of that was related to being in a relationship. Jordan probably noticed his confusion and gave him a mischievous grin.

“But if you want, your dad and I can be gross,” Jordan teased, making Stiles and Derek jump.

“No! No! It’s okay! You’re dating!” Stiles shrieked and grabbed Derek by the hand before bolting out of the house, both of them able to hear Jordan and the Sheriff laughing at the way they escaped the situation.

“Looks like you were right,” Noah nuzzled into Jordan’s temple, the younger turning towards him so that the Sheriff could kiss his forehead. “He didn’t figure it out,”

“He’s insanely smart, but can be pretty oblivious sometimes,” Jordan turned so he could wrap his arms around the Sheriff’s shoulders and pulled them snugly together, winking at him. “Plus, I’m sure he must be confused because we don’t act any different than we did before,”

“Yes, the only difference now is that I can kiss you,” The Sheriff smirked and braced Jordan’s hips, rubbing their noses together, neither of them aware that Stiles and Derek had snuck back to peer through the windows. Noah leaned down to peck Jordan’s mouth, once, twice, before cupping his face into his hand and deepening the kiss, making the younger melt into him and flutter his eyes closed. “You still have to text the good news to your buddies.” Noah reminded me of between pecks.

“Hmm…” Jordan licked Noah’s bottom lip before pulling back an inch. “How would you feel about me inviting them to Beacon Hills for the winter break?”

“As long as they arrange their accommodations I’d be more than happy to meet them,”

His words made Jordan giggle before he tightened his hold on the Sheriff so he could hug him, kissing the pulse in his throat and nuzzling under his chin, feeling like he was right where he belonged.

Chapter 28: B.H.C

Chapter Text

“Okay, we’re heading out,” Noah stopped beside Jordan who was putting the breakfast dishes away, ducking his head for the Hellhound to nuzzle under his chin with a gratified rumble and kissed his jaw. “I might be back late tonight, so don’t wait up,” The Sheriff informed and cupped the back of Jordan’s head to kiss his forehead, Stiles scrunching his nose from where he stood in the archway of the dining room, shuffling from foot to foot, ready to leave already.

“Okay,” Jordan nodded and shook the water off his hands. “I’m going to meet Talia and Sarah at the Nematon before dropping by” He began to enlighten but faltered at the stricken look that suddenly came over the Sheriff. The Hellhound could hear the panic in the sharp uptake of his heartbeat, pulse erratic and jumpy, and he could smell it in the sharp acidic tang that had suddenly overpowered his usual rich fragrance.

Jordan had been delighted to know that all of his military friends could come to Beacon Hills in the winter break and made sure to introduce all of them to each other before they arrived.

Noah had watched from the doorway as Jordan reunited with all of them, laughter loud and smiles wide with tears in their eyes as they hugged each other, patting shoulders and jostling Jordan and teasing him about how long his hair had gotten. Allen had come with his sister, Sarah, and her twin daughters who immediately took a liking to Jordan much to Stiles’s chagrin. Not only were the twins endeared by Jordan and running around him, but so were Wyatt’s son and daughter and Amir’s two dogs.

Upon meeting Sarah, Jordan’s eyes flashed orange and startled the others when he announced she was a Spark, eyes alight with curiosity when he found out she was looking for a new place to settle after her divorce. Both Jordan and Noah talked to Talia Hale and recommended that Sarah and her talk and get to know each other, knowing that if Sarah joined the pack, she could take on the role of emissary which was vacant till now, as well as teach Stiles how to harness his powers.

Sarah Moore decided to stay when everyone was getting ready to head back after the New Year.

They helped obtain Deaton’s old building with all its wards and sigils, Sarah deciding she would open up a little tea shop there and set up her apartment upstairs, and now Jordan was about to meet her and Talia Hale at the Nematon.

“Noah?” Jordan called out and took a step forward, Noah letting out a shuddering breath as he reached towards the younger, grabbing him by the wrist. His hold was tight and unrelenting, making Jordan’s eyes squint at the pressure. “Too tight-”

“-You can’t go to the Nematon,” Noah choked and shook his head in denial, grip unbearably tight and worrying his bones. The Sheriff closed his eyes and tugged Jordan to him letting out a shuddering exhale. “Please. Please, don’t go to the Nematon. Not again,” The Sheriff shuddered as he pulled him into his arms, releasing his hold on Jordan’s wrist to wrap around his ribcage. Jordan looked at Stiles over Noah’s shoulder who looked just as confused at the Sheriff’s clammy complexion. The Hellhound was able to feel the cold sweat on his collarbone.

“Dad? Are you okay?” Stiles asked softly and made his way to them, tugging at the edge of his dad’s uniform as the man gripped tight at Jordan, trembling in his arms and letting out pained muffled sounds.

Jordan couldn’t remember much of his time at the Nematon but could associate a sense of desperate urgency with the tree that was now a stump, but he forgot. He forgot that Noah probably didn’t associate the tree with anything good, he’d found Jordan there, bled dry and dead. From what Peter had told him, the Sheriff had conducted CPR for a long time before Chris used his Taser as an AED. The way he was reacting right now, nervous and on edge, desperate to keep Jordan here, reinforced the fact that the thought of the tree alone was traumatizing.

The Nematon was Noah’s Afghanistan.

The realization made Jordan’s heart sink to his feet as he wrapped his arms around the Sheriff and gripped him tight in return, just so that he knew that Jordan was right here with him and not bleeding out at the base of the tree.

“Stiles, you think you could go to school with Derek today?” Jordan inquired of the boy at their feet, the young spark staring at them with wide concerned eyes.

“But-but I don’t want to leave dad like this,”

“That’s okay,” Jordan reached down and took Stiles’s hand in his own, squeezing his small palm. “We can go a little late to school today, yeah? Want to help me calm Dad down? He’s a little scared right now,” The Hellhound informed and managed to shuffle them towards the living room where the three of them could sit down on the couch.

Jordan shuffled them around so that he had his legs thrown over Noah’s lap with the man all but lying on top of him, Stiles sat with his back to Jordan’s arm and held his dad’s wrist in his thing fingers, able to feel the rapid pulse of his heart.

“Woah, his heart is beating fast,” Stiles whispered in awe and twisted around to try and see Jordan who was kissing any available space he found on his dad’s face.

“Yeah, I think when I said I was going to the Nematon he was reminded of the last time he was there,” Jordan grimaced and scratched through the Sheriff’s hair till he was ready to come back to them. “It must have been really difficult for you guys,”

“It was!” Stiles gasped in the realization of what day he was referring to and gnawed at his bottom lip as he scooted onto the couch and fit himself under Jordan’s arm, suddenly realizing why his dad got scared. “I-you said being scared meant you were about to be brave, but-but I didn’t want to be brave when Peter and Chris took you away, Jordan. I think Dad doesn’t want to be brave right now either,”

“I’m so sorry you two had to go through that,” Jordan murmured, wrapping his arm around the boy and pulling both father and son to him, knowing they both needed the reassurance. “But I’m here now,” He kissed Stiles’s hair and Noah’s temple, ready to stay for as long as they needed him to.

Jordan sat on the couch scenting both Stiles and Noah, his chest emanating a gentle rumble to soothe the both of them, trying to project a sense of calm and security even though both Jordan’s and the Sheriff’s phones were ringing and beeping with phone calls and text alerts. The Hellhound would not move till they were ready for it, knowing that he’d put them through a difficult impossible situation whose effects still lingered to this day. In Noah's case, the trauma manifests in negative associations and spikes in separation anxiety, or nightmares.

“Tell Talia Hale you won’t come to the Nematon,” Noah’s words were muffled against his neck, Jordan grimacing at the statement.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that, honey,” Jordan rubbed his cheek against the Sheriff’s cheek and felt his grip tightening on his t-shirt. “We’re going to see to the tree's health and stability and figure out how to strengthen it again. I only stabilized it and even though some of the supers gave some blood, it’s not enough, and besides we need to figure out how to heal it-”

“-You can’t go!”

“Okay, we’re going to have to talk about this,” Jordan sighed and sat them up, Stiles clinging to his side and looking imploringly up at him, clearly agreeing with his dad on this. The Hellhound stroked back his hair as he pulled back far enough from Noah so that he could look the man in the eye. “My not going is not an option on the table. I am the Guardian of the Supernatural community, okay? I’m needed there and that’s not going to change with how much you dislike it. I am tied to that tree,” He told the Sheriff who looked miserable with each statement, hair in disarray and complexion ashen, expression contorted in discontent.

“Can’t Talia handle it-?”

“-No, honey, she can’t do it alone,” Jordan cupped his face into his hand and smoothed down his hair. “I am tied to the tree, so Sarah wants me there to be able to feel if something ever goes wrong with the tree again-”

“-What-!” Stiles wheezed out, tensing against him while Noah's head bolted up, eyes wide and frozen.

“-It’s not going to affect me!” The Hellhound reassured at the sudden surge of panic in both Stiles and Noah’s scent. “It will be nothing more than a niggling sensation in the back of my head, okay? But Sarah is new, and she needs all the support she can get,”

“Haven’t you given enough?”

Jordan’s gaze softened at the statement, ducking down to press a sweet aching tender kiss to Noah’s lips and stroked his thumb over his cheekbone.

“What would make it easier for you to let me go to the Nematon, hmm? Tell me and I’ll do it,”

That’s how Jordan found himself being accompanied by Chris Argent and Peter Hale into the clearing. Argent with an M4 and Peter tensed and on edge on the other side, the werewolf flexing his fingers and gaze darting around as if he anticipated something jumping out at them. Jordan could only sigh and shake his head in resignation, knowing he was already late and the only reason Noah was okay with letting him go was that he promised to keep near Argent and Peter – even though he had taken both of them down at one point or another – and that he’d come straight to the station afterward.

“Jordan,” Sarah greeted when they stepped into the clearing with its patchy clearing, some areas having more green than others, with the tree stump standing in the center, buzzing and alive. “Good to see you again,”

“Hey, Sarah,” He returned her hug and only shrugged when she arched her eyebrow towards his entourage.

“A necessary compromise,” He explained and bowed to Alpha Hale who frowned at her younger brother.

“When I asked you if you wanted to come, you said you had better things to be doing than watching a dead tree,” She accused with narrowed eyes, her brother shrugging in response.

“I was just trying to get out of spending time with you,” Peter retorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, I’m here on babysitting duty. The Sheriff threatened to throw me in jail,”

“As if that’s ever stopped you,”

“The fact that you have a rap sheet that warrants imprisonment is impressive,” Argent muttered under his breath and adjusted his grip on the M4, looking over the clearing and staying near Jordan, just in case.

“Despite that, I have never seen the inside of a holding,” Peter snarled towards the hunter. “You, on the other hand, are quite intimately familiar with them, right?”

“Puppy,” Jordan chastised with an exhale, making Peter huff. “Are you sure it’s the best course of action to antagonize a man with a loaded M4?”

“He wouldn’t dare use it on me because of his precious treaty,”

“Then don’t tempt me to use it,” Jordan turned over his shoulder, making both hunter and werewolf freeze. “I want to get this over with quickly, don’t drag it out,” He stated and turned back to Sarah who watched the interaction with wide eyes, not sure if Talia Hale was the authority here to if Jordan Parrish was.

They watched Sarah acquaint herself with the tree, magic flowing through her fingertips and charging the air, making the hairs on their arms stand on the edge and Jordan’s eyes flash orange. She tested its health, amazed at the fact that it was still stable but warned them they had to find a way for it to regain power to make sure that it could sustain for longer.

“What did you guys do before?” She turned to the Alpha, Talia stepping up beside her and touching the flat of the trunk.

“For generations, we had the practice of offering a drop of blood to the tree every time a baby was born,”

“That’s very strong and long-lasting in comparison to anything else,” She nodded and turned towards Jordan, knowing the cliff notes of his involvement with the tree. “You provided blood to stabilize it and the handful of supernaturals provided some to strengthen it a bit more, right?”

“Yeah,”

“Why don’t we have everyone from Beacon Hills come and give a drop of blood to the tree to help it regain power? Unite the supers and normies together?” She asked of the Mayor who tilted her head in thought. “And we can ask the Fae people for their help in restoring the tree to its former strength with their magic. The witches and squibs can also help,”

“The supers wouldn’t mind, they’d be more than happy to help, but I think the normies would be concerned about something like the poison happening again and this time affecting everyone,”

“Oh, there is no need to worry about that,” The Spark waved dismissively. “I’m going to put upwards that you, me, and the Mayor can feel if anyone tampers with based on their intention alone,”

“Explain it to me,” Jordan stepped towards her, standing on the other side of the Spark who traced the edges of the tree. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s a pretty sophisticated ward that is capable of detecting the intention of the individuals who pass through it,” Sarah began to explain. “These wards will be able to look inside a person and tell what their purpose of coming to the tree is. If it’s the Fae, the wards would be able to tell that they’re here for nourishment, in that case, none of us would feel anything. If it’s a hunter – no offense – the wards would be able to look into them and tell if they plan to harm the tree and the supernatural community. In that case, we’d be alerted of it,”

“And how long would that take you?” Talia inquired, she and Jordan looked at their watches, knowing they had other things to do. Talia was the Mayor and had to return to her duties, while Jordan had promised he’d come to the station the moment he was done to reassure Noah that he was okay. Able to feel the rising anxiety in Noah as the minutes passed.

“Probably an hour, but I need you two to sit with me so I can link the ward to you as well,” Sarah grimaced at them in apology. Talia and Jordan shared a look before sighing in resignation and did as the new Hale Emissary instructed them: sitting on top of the cut tree, hands linked and eyes closed.

The setting up phase was an uncomfortable one. It made sweat break out on their hairlines, nerves sizzling with an overload of sensations and grips flexing as if trying to relieve the pressure that had suddenly engulfed them. Even though Sarah was having a hard time, Jordan could smell the pain in the air, almost taste it as he struggled to remain anchored and not move so that he didn’t disrupt the ritual. He could not afford for them to do this a second time and waste another hour, so he promised Noah he’d come as soon as possible. Sarah had told them to focus on their breathing at the start of the ritual, so that is what Jordan did. He focused on breathing until he choked when the pain suddenly intensified.

Screwing his eyes shut, he struggled to maintain his composure and not squirm, resisting the urge to shift into his Hellhound form just to try and ease the pain.

The strain suddenly disappeared with the sensation of a snap that had all three of them jump and their eyes flying open. Both Talia and Sarah looked worse for wear with their hair in disarray and complexion clammy and sweat-soaked, Jordan having no doubt he looked just as bad, if not worse.

“Is it done?” Jordan winced at the release of pressure around his body, turning the Spark with the question.

“Almost,” Sarah reassured. “Peter, can I ask you to walk into the clearing with no intention of harm?” She turned towards the werewolf who stood on the edge of the clearing with Argent watching it all play out in silent awe.

They wall-watched Peter step into the clearing with eyebrows furrowed and hesitant footsteps as if he expected to be zapped on the spot and released a breath when nothing happened.

“Good, Argent, you do the same,” Sarah asked of the hunter who crossed the threshold with his breath held and released it when nothing happened. “Now, I need you both to step out of the clearing and step through the wards again, but this time thinking of harming the tree,”

Both Peter and Argent stepped out of the clearing, Argent stepping through the wards first and making something tug at Jordan’s mind like an urgent need to act. The Hellhound looked towards the other to see if they felt it too. Sarah’s wide-eyed delight told him all he needed to know when Peter entered the clearing and intensified the sensation.

“It works,” Sarah giggled in delight, the tugging sensation dissipating. “Great! I think we’re done here!” She clapped her hands together and got off the tree, Talia and Jordan following.

“I’m heading back first,” Jordan informed with a wave and looked towards the time, knowing that lunch hour was almost over and he would have to pick up Stiles soon as well. He waved to Chris and Peter on his way before rushing towards the parking lot where he’d left his cruiser, vaguely noting that it seemed like Peter and Chris had come together when he saw Chris’s SUV but not Peter’s sedan. His eyebrow arched at the little detail but didn’t think too much about it as he headed back into town and towards the station.

“Hey, Parrish!” The Deputy at the front desk was greeted when he entered. “You’re late today,”

“Had some business to deal with,” Jordan laughed and made his way into the bullpen, greeting the deputies before heading towards the Sheriff’s office. He had barely raised his hand to knock on the closed door when it swung open, Noah grabbing the front of his jacket and dragging him inside. The door slammed shut behind him, all the deputies frozen and gawking at the closed structure. “I’m fine. I’m okay. I promise I’m okay,” Jordan soothed when the Sheriff’s hands fluttered all over him as if searching for an injury, his eyes wide and hands trembling.

“Noah, honey,” Jordan soothed and took both of his hands into his own, making the Sheriff stop and look at him. “I’m okay. Chris and Peter were with me all the time, nothing bad happened,” He reassured, watching the Sheriff nearly buckle in his relief to see Jordan unharmed and alright. Clutching onto the front of his clothes and pressed his forehead into her sternum to keep standing.

“God, I hate that f*cking tree,” The Sheriff confessed on a shuddering exhale, fingers still trembling but went willingly when Jordan laughed and gathered him into his arms. Holding him close.

“Careful, babe, don’t want people hearing you say that,” Jordan warned.

“Let them,” Noah challenged and straightened, hands still gripping at Jordan’s side but turned his face towards the closed window blinds and opened his mouth to announce it to the bullpen beyond. But before he could even get the first syllable out, the Hellhound was clamping both hands over his lips, shaking with his peals of laughter and looking over his shoulder towards the door just in case.

The sight of Jordan’s flushed cheeks, lips pulled wide in delight, and eyes sparkling made Noah’s chest ache and settle with the knowledge that he was right here, that this visit to the Nematon had not ended in disaster. Jordan had returned to him, and Noah would pay homage to all deities out there for this. Just his presence alone made breathing easier for the Sheriff, he could feel his blood pressure lower when he heard Jordan’s tinkling laughter, in a chaotic world with a werewolf mayor and a magic tree and the inevitable speciesism and prejudices, Jordan was the one thing that made sense in the mess of it all even though as the Guardian of the Supernaturals, he was in the thick of it all himself.

“Stop it,” Jordan chided, struggling to get his laugh under control. God, Noah would never grow tired of making him laugh like this. “I would like my time with you to be undisrupted by your deputies, thank you very much,” He announced and lowered his hands from Noah’s mouth, ignorant to the warmth with which he tracked every movement.

“Have you had lunch? If you haven’t let’s have it now, I have to leave to get Stiles in a bit, and by God, I’m starving,” The Hellhound groaned and pulled himself out of the Sheriff’s hold only to drag him towards the desk.

Jordan had anticipated his hunger and packed twice of everything in the Sheriff’s lunch tote, grinning at his proactivity when he pulled out the two matching Tupperware boxes and handed one to Noah before digging into his while seated on the top of the Sheriff’s table.

He had barely finished the last of his food, licking the pads of his fingers before he was jumping off the table to note the time.

“I’m off,” Jordan placed a wet smacking kiss on Noah’s cheek. “See you at home, text me if you’ll be late,” He waved over his shoulder and rushed out of the office and then out of the station. Noah smiled behind his palm sighed in fondness at the man and packed up the empty Tupperware boxes and thermoses.

When they got home from school, Jordan gave Stiles the incentive that if he finished his homework then he would turn into his Hound form and they could play and cuddle for as long as the boy wanted. The young Spark had been delighted at the prospect and Jordan was taken aback by how effective that incentive was when Stiles continued to chatter in excitement and rushed to finish his homework with a dedication he only saw when the boy was hyper-fixated on something.

Stiles finished his work within two hours and expectantly looked at Jordan, waiting for him to turn into the hound, nearly vibrating out of his seat.

Sighing in fondness, Jordan left for his room to strip out of his clothes and turned into the hound with cracking bones and sprouting fur before walking through the shadows in the room and materializing behind the boy. He jumped his head against his shoulder, startling Stiles who whirled around and squealed, immediately rubbing through his fur and snuggling into his chest.

Jordan was more than happy to chase the boy around in the backyard, listening to the squeals of his laughter when he’d tackle him down to the floor and gently lay his weight on him to lick at his chin and face. They wrestled until Stiles got tired and just opted to lay on top of Jordan in his hound form, fingers tangled in his thick fur, and talked about random things.

“Oh, they asked us what sports clubs we’d like to join in middle school,” Stiles informed out of nowhere. “You know, cuz we’re graduating elementary school and going to middle school, so the teachers wanted to know. Scott said he might join the lacrosse team because it seems fun and Beacon Hills is supposed to be good at it and all that. I thought I might take basketball like Derek. But then I thought that I couldn’t jump that high and then thought, hey, why not baseball? We have a good team and you love it and if I ever have trouble you’d teach I think if you taught me I’d be better than the other kids and continue playing when I’m in high school They say that sports look good on college applications. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds cool, right?” Stiles tilted his head back so he could look at Jordan who looked back with inferno in his eyes, happily panting.

Had he been in his human form, Jordan would have squeezed the boy to his chest and rolled them around in the grass in happiness, suddenly feeling like a parent watching their child grow up and settling on licking Stiles’s cheek instead to show his adoration. Stiles squealed at the wetness, writhing and trying to push him off but laughing instead. Jordan delighted in his mirth and continued to snuff and lick at the boy to get him to keep laughing.

Jordan got the text that Noah would have to stay back to deal with some administrative issue, so they made butter chicken and rice for dinner. Afterward, they washed the dishes and settled down in front of the TV before they went to Jordan’s room where Jordan read them the first book in the Artemis Fowl chronicles, a book Stiles had borrowed from his school library.

Stiles had fallen asleep long ago. Jordan was awake with his laptop in his lap and the bedside lamp on as he went through the course outline for his classes that were meant to start next week; familiarizing himself with the content they were going to cover, when the bedroom door opened and Noah stepped into the room. His hair was damp from his shower and changed out of his uniform into a t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Hey,” Jordan smiled in greeting and shuffled to the center of the bed to give Noah space. “Have you eaten dinner?” He inquired, tilting his head up when Noah placed his knee on top of the mattress and leaned down to peck his lips in greeting.

“Mhm,” Noah hummed against his lips before getting under the covers, lying down with his face buried into the side of Jordan’s hips and an arm draped over his lap. “Will you be long?”

“Uh…no, just a few more minutes and we can turn off the lights,” Jordan reassured and went back to clicking on the keys, starting up an easy stream of chatter between them, Noah content to listen to him speak from his place. “I’ve found the perfect incentive to get Stiles to do his homework,”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“I told him that I’ll turn into my Hound form and we can play if he finishes it,” Jordan chuckled. “Worked like magic, I tell you,”

“Think that same incentive will work to keep him out of trouble?”

“Little Mischief? And staying out of trouble? Now that would require divine intervention, babe,”

“Or maybe unholy intervention,” Noah teased, stroking up and down the side of Jordan’s thigh with his thumb, chuckling into his hip when the Hellhound swatted at his arm in the halfhearted offense before turning back to the laptop. God, it was so easy being with him. “Hey, Jordan,”

“Hmm?”

“I love you,” Noah nuzzled into his hip, eyes fluttering closed and heart settling into his chest to finally voice the sensation that had overcome him these past few months. Who would have thought Noah would hold out his heart to the young war-torn veteran who moved in next door all those months ago? Hell, he hadn’t anticipated that young man to become his best friend, much less his lover. But by God, Noah would do everything in his power to keep the man happy and by his side.

He could feel Jordan still at the confession, Noah’s eyes closed and breathing stable as he heard Jordan close the laptop and put it on the bedside table. His lashes fluttered when Jordan’s fingers carded through his hair and Jordan arched over him to kiss at his temple, his forehead, one eyelid, and the tip of his nose till Noah turned his head to face him. Jordan cradled his cheek tenderly into his hand, stroking his thumb over his cheekbone, and pressed his lips to his in a soft, tender, aching kiss that had the Sheriff sag and melt into the bed. Lips moving in sync, slow and sweet like molasses. Perfect.

“I love you, Noah Stilinski,” Jordan nuzzled against his cheek. “You and Stiles have given my life new meaning,” He confessed, following when Noah cupped his cheek and guided him back into another kiss.

“I love you, Jordan Parrish,” Noah exhaled against his lips. “You’ve made us a family again,” He confessed and pressed his lips to Jordan’s, both melting into the contact and basking in each other’s presence.

*

Noah wasn’t sure if he should laugh or tug out his hair, because instead of starting on breakfast and getting Stiles ready for school, he found himself sitting at the foot of Jordan’s bed, watching the Hellhound tug off and pull on different combinations of clothing just to figure out what he should wear to his first day of college. His answer of “This looks good” was not satisfactory enough for the young man who tugged off the sweater he had on and rummaged through his closet for something else.

“Sweetheart,” Noah sighed in fondness and checked his watch. “I love you, I do, but we’ve gone through thirteen different outfit options and I’m starting to get the impression that you plan on seducing the student body with how much effort you’re putting into this. Did you forget you’re in a relationship?”

“I didn’t forget, I could never forget you, honey,” Jordan stated dismissively and tugged off the sweatshirt. “But I want to make a good first impression. I’m going back to school, Noah!”

“The best way to make a good impression is to wear something that makes you feel good,” Noah told him and got up, taking the hoodie from his hand and peering into the closet. The Sheriff pulled out a pair of black jeans, a cream sweatshirt, and an olive green bomber jacket, depositing them in Jordan’s arms as the Hellhound looked over them. “Wear this. I’m going to wake Stiles and start on breakfast. Just because your day starts at 9 doesn’t mean that ours does too,” He kissed Jordan behind the ear and left him to get changed as he went about their morning routine.

Noah made them breakfast burritos, plating them up and putting their coffees and juice on the table as he called out to both Jordan and Stiles. His son arrived first, bounding down the steps and rubbing his hands together as he deposited his bag by his chair and immediately bit into the burrito. The Sheriff was about to call out to Jordan once more but faltered when his boyfriend stepped through the kitchen into the dining room, dressed in the clothes Noah had picked out for him.

He looked good, there was no doubt about it, like a proper college student and it made Noah smile.

“Bad?” Jordan inquired and gestured to the attire, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Very handsome,” Noah reassured and tugged him forward so he could kiss his cheek. “Although, let’s do something about your hair,” He recommended, noting that Jordan had parted it to the side, so he combed his fingers through the tresses and spiked them up.

“Careful, Dad,” Stiles intoned from his place on the table with a mischievous grin. “We don’t want him looking too good in case people try to hit on him,” He tittered, making Jordan snort in laughter and the Sheriff shake his head at them.

“You look like a proper college student,” Noah tugged him forward by the belt loops and placed a chaste kiss against his lips. “Now shut up and eat your breakfast,”

“Yes, sir,” Jordan laughed at him before making his way to the table and sat down.

With their day starting earlier, Jordan bid farewell to Noah with a kiss and to Stiles with a hair ruffle and a quick quiz for his test today before waving to them when they pulled out of the driveway. Once they’d gone, Jordan made sure he had everything he needed in his messenger bag before grabbing his car keys and heading out.

Jordan would use the word “nice” to describe the campus of Beacon Hills College with its clean lines, soft color tones, and open courtyards. It looked like a proper institution of higher learning with those aspects, comprising five buildings connected by a courtyard with a small fountain in the center. Jordan noticed the modern art installations and decorations that were created by the students, it noted. Heading towards the administration, Jordan got a map of the campus and was directed to where the orientation was starting in the gymnasium which was a building that sat apart from the rest of the campus. Jordan figured he would find it easier if he followed the young fresh faces heading in the same direction.

The gymnasium was pretty spacious with basketball courts and bleachers against two walls with students – both new and old – milling around in the center space. Jordan made his way towards the bleachers, taking a seat at random, and wondered what he would experience from this orientation. Not soon had he sat down next to a trio of girls, did the one closest to him whirl in his direction and greet him with a bubbly “hi,”

“Hello,” Jordan smiled in return.

“I’m Jessica, and these are my friends, Amy and Maya,” She introduced the three of them in turn, Jordan taking note that they looked very young, probably fresh out of high school. “Amy and I are normies, but Maya comes from a family of witches, what about you?” Jessica chatted animatedly as if she were just excited to be here.

“I’m Jordan,” He introduced. “And I’m a Hellhound,”

“Hey! Two normies and Two supers, we’re even,” Maya exclaimed, Jordan smiled at the proclamation and blinked when Maya shifted so she could sit between him and Jessica, wrapping an arm around his and looking up at him with dark onyx eyes. She smelt like coconut butter and orange blossoms, it was soft. “What’s your major?”

“Uh…” Jordan looked at where she had wrapped around him before looking back toward the three girls who all looked eager to learn more. “Electrical Engineering, what about you three?”

Maya was taking Divinity while Amy was in Journalism and Jessica was taking architecture. The four of them sat and got to know each other, Jordan learning where they’d gone to high school and the fact that two of them were actually from out of Beacon Hills, while only Maya was a Beacon High graduate, but had taken a gap year before applying to the local college. They would have told him more had the orientation leader not called everyone to attention, the freshmen taking seats on the bleachers while the seniors hosting the orientation were demarcated by purple shirts.

They started the orientation off by introducing themselves to all the new students and informed them that they would all be divided up into seven groups and that they would have everyone count to 7 from the first person seated on the left side of the bench.

Jordan was in Group 4, with Maya, Jessica, and Amy in 5, 6, and 7 respectively.

Once they all had their numbers they were divided into groups and taken on a tour around the campus and bombarded with information. They went around the premise with their senior guide who was an excitable bespectacled young man who gave them a rundown on the history of the college as he led them through different places like the recreational center, the student lounge, and the cafeteria. They continued to tour the rest of the campus before they were led to the central courtyard for a picnic and icebreakers.

The freshmen went around the premises with a slip with a question on it and asked each other questions to get to know each other.

The icebreakers ran well into the evening before they played some games and then sat around a bonfire to sing together. Jordan made several friends, mostly people gravitating towards him for one reason or another, Jordan quickly realized he was probably the oldest in the batch, but thanked his genes that people assumed he was far younger than he was.

Along with Jessica, Maya, and Amy, Jordan made three guy friends who walked up to him with the proclamation that he looked like a real ‘guy’s guy’ not that Jordan understood what that meant in the slightest. But now he had a group of six young adults fluttering around him and getting to know each other.

The first day of orientation was fun, but it was dragging on longer than Jordan wanted to hang around; knowing that Stiles and Noah probably had dinner by now and were probably getting ready for bed. On top of that, he’d been given a rundown of the Welcome Week, knowing that they would start all of this again tomorrow.

“Hey, we’re all going to go for drinks before heading home,” Eric told Jordan, jabbing his thumb behind him where Jessica, Amy, Maya, Dylan, and Logan stood expectantly looking at him. “You should definitely come with us, we’re going to get so drunk!” He chuckled to himself, Jordan blinking at the proclamation.

“You do know I can’t get drunk, right?” Jordan inquired, looking down at his watch and wondering if it was even worth going to a bar with six young adults when he didn’t even have alcohol to tide him over. But then if he were to leave them, he was a little concerned that if he left them alone they’d get in trouble as most young people away from home won’t do.

“Yeah, well, neither can Dylan because he’s a werecoyote,” Eric rationalized as if that made sense.

“Yes he can, ask the bartender for a wolf-infused drink and Dylan will be drunker faster than any of you,” Jordan snorted, remembering the time Peter had gotten drunk out of his mind on a Christmas dinner. “By the way, are you guys even old enough to drink?” The way the six of them gave each other looks was all the answer Jordan needed.

“Good God, I am not endorsing underage drinking, they ask for your ID,” Jordan rubbed a hand over his face.

“Aww come on, Jordy! Live a little,”

“Trust me, I’ve lived quite a bit,” He scoffed at Dylan’s proclamation. “Come on, I’ll take you guys home, your apartments are on my way,” He shook his head and made his way towards his land cruiser, sending a text to Noah to let him know he was on his way home.

Logan let out a low whistle. “Nice car, J,”

He got into the back with Dylan while the three girls sat in front and Eric took the passenger seat, making him the DJ. They sang to some pop song while Jordan followed the GPS to their apartments, relieved to know that they all lived within a few minutes of each other.

Once all of them had been dropped off, Jordan waved to the last duo to get off and head home, returning to a house that was dark and probably asleep. Unlocking the front door, he took his shoes off in the entryway before making his way towards his room. He had expected Noah to have gone to sleep by now, but instead was a little surprised to find the Sheriff awake and sat at the desk in the corner, looking up at his entrance and smiling at him.

“Well, there’s my boy,” He crooned and put the folder away to reach out to him. Jordan dropped his bag on the bed and rushed over to Noah, climbing into his lap and nuzzling into his throat, making the Sheriff laugh at his eagerness. “Tell me, how was it?”

“Everyone is so young!” Jordan straightened and laughed. “I made a few friends and they wanted to go out drinking but when I asked if they were even legal you can bet your badge that they weren’t,”

“Oh, underage drinking? Did you pull the ‘my boyfriend is the Sheriff’ card on them?”

“No!” Jordan chuckled and nuzzled into Noah’s hand when he cupped his cheek. “I just took them home to make sure they didn’t end up going to a bar or something. There was so much activity going on, Noah, and apparently, it's going to be a full week of stuff like this! Movie nights and games and whatnot,”

“Yeah, it’s called Welcome Week,” The Sheriff chuckled and pepper kissed Jordan’s face, knowing the man enjoyed it despite how exhausting it got. “They do a full week of activities before the start of classes,”

“I didn’t know that!”

“Well, now you do!”

“Of course now I do!” Jordan rolled his eyes in halfhearted exasperation. “But to be honest, I’m kind of looking forward to learning stuff there, it looks pretty promising,”

“Yeah?” Noah’s gaze softened at the words, kissing along the column of his throat, having missed Jordan just as much as the Hellhound had missed them.

“Yeah,” Jordan tilted his head back to give him more space to work with, closing his eyes to relish in the sensation of the Sheriff’s mouth against his throat. “But, good God, I’m tired,” He huffed a weak laugh, making Noah chuckle against the back of his ear and sending vibrations through the skin.

“Go take a shower and then come to bed, I wanted to hear about your first day before I went to sleep,” Noah hoisted Jordan up, lightly swatting at his back and making the man turn to him at the wards.

“You waited up for me?”

“Of course I did, sweetheart,” Noah laughed like it wasn’t even an option not to. “Of course, I waited for you,” His eyes crinkled at the side when Jordan cupped his face in his hands and placed a searing kiss on his lips that made the Sheriff nearly get out of his chair and groan against his mouth.

It took them some time to figure out a proper routine that worked for the three of them but were eventually able to settle into one.

They’d leave together in the mornings, now that Jordan had set his schedule after the Welcome Week. Noah would drop Stiles to school on his way to the station while Jordan drove the other way and towards the college.

When Jordan’s classes were done, he’d leave to pick up Stiles, making his young friends grumble that he doesn’t spend time with them outside of classes, making the Hellhound laugh at them; keeping quiet about his private life. Once he’d picked up Stiles, they’d head home – either just the two of them or one or two of Stiles’s friends accompanying them back – and make lunch before they all sat down at the dining table to finish homework. The incentive of Jordan’s hound form was a temptation to not only Stiles but his friends too who would rush to finish their homework so they could play and cuddle with Jordan until the Sheriff would get back which is when Jordan and Noah would cook dinner together while the kids helped.

On one memorable occasion, Noah had returned from work to find Jordan obediently sitting in the middle of the living room while Allison, Malia, Cora, Lydia, and Kira braided his fur and put sparkling pins and bows into his fur. The Sheriff had snorted behind his hand at the sight of this behemoth of a dog obediently accepting this treatment and ruffled his fur – making the girls shriek in discontent – before he walked away to get changed and unwind for the day.

After Stiles had gone to sleep, Noah would find Jordan sitting under the kitchen light and doing his more practical-based homework, working with wires and machines and soldering circuits. When he’d asked why Jordan hadn’t done it earlier, Jordan told him he didn’t want Stiles or the kids getting hurt by the equipment. Noah’s heart melted at the words and would kissed the top of Jordan’s head and left him to finish up his work.

Jordan would train with the Hales and Chris Argent over the weekends, and Noah took that time to upgrade the garage.

He cleared out all the obsolete boxes and moved the important stuff to the attic, unable to explain to Jordan why his back would act up and flare up without giving the surprise away, but readily sagged under the Hellhound’s fingers kneading into the muscles around his spine and lower back.

Noah cleaned out the entire garage so he could install two slabs against two walls to create desks and shelves on top of it to store all of Jordan’s books and more sensitive equipment. On the table against the wall with the door were two monitors and a mount for his laptop, the space equipped for any coding he had to do while the other wall housed a plethora of small containers housing all the equipment he could need and an open space for him to work, a complete toolbox sitting under the desk and knew if Jordan needed more specific things, he would be able to get them and add them to his collection.

He had revealed it to Jordan on one Friday afternoon when Noah had been off from work and Jordan had just returned from picking Stiles up on the way.

“Come here,” Noah covered Jordan’s eyes and led him towards the garage door. “Watch your step,” The Sheriff warned when they came across the short steps leading down into the garage, Stiles ambling behind them in curiosity.

“Where are we going?” Jordan inquired with humor in his voice, trusting Noah to lead him to this destination without any incident. “Did you break something?”

“Har-har, very funny,” Noah huffed at the question and rolled his eyes at Stiles who giggled in response before he stopped them facing the workstation. “Okay, before you get too excited, this is a work in progress and I had a lot of help from others so it’s pretty generic stuff but I thought better have the basics than nothing-”

“-Noah, honey, you’re rambling,”

“Right, sorry,” The Sheriff took a bracing breath before he removed his hands from Jordan’s eyes and watched him blink for a moment before taking in the workstation set up for him. “Uh…you work with a few sensitive components you don’t want the kids around so I thought you might like your little workspace. It’s not a lot, and there is an old car here, but-”

“-It’s perfect,” Jordan exhaled and turned towards Noah with tears in his eyes and a wide grin on his face. “Oh, Noah, this is perfect,” The Hellhound exclaimed and threw his arms around the Sheriff’s shoulder, nuzzling under his chin and rumbling like a lawnmower in his delight and gratitude.

There was something in the way those rumbles would reverberate through his chest that could shake loose the stuck pieces and make Noah so much more relaxed than an hour-long message would. The vibrations were heady, especially since the Sheriff knew Jordan would let them out subconsciously in moments of complete contentment and happiness, and he had yet to hear him release that sound with anyone other than him and Stiles.

“I love you, Noah Stilinski,” Jordan murmured against his jugular, the confession always getting his heart racing despite having heard it a few times now.

“I love you, Jordan Parrish,” Noah spoke against his forehead.

“And I love both of you!” Stiles exclaimed, arms outstretched before he came running at his Dad and Jordan, hugging them around their waists and giggling when his Dad’s hand made its way into his hair while Jordan placed a grounding hand to his nape, the rumbling from his chest growing more intense and louder with his elation.

“And we love you the most,” Jordan confessed to the young boy, feeling like he had everything he’d ever wanted in life, not wanting anything but this little family of his. “Should we go see what Dad’s made for lunch? Friday’s are his turn,” The Hellhound reminded the young boy who gasped in delight and nodded eagerly.

“That just means dinner is yours, sweetheart,” Noah nuzzled into Jordan’s temple and kissed him there before they pulled apart. Stiles ran ahead to the kitchen while the Hellhound wrapped his arms around the Sheriff’s waist, slipping his hand into the man’s back pocket when he wrapped his arm around his shoulders in turn. “And we usually have guests come on Friday, so you end up cooking for more than just the three of us,”

“Well, how’d that saying go?” Jordan inquired with a grin on his lips. “The more the merrier, right?” He winked and pecked Noah’s lips before leading the way inside.

Chapter 29: Study Group

Chapter Text

It didn't come as a surprise to anyone when Jordan not only did well in his degree, but excelled to the extent that he had garner the respect of his professors, the awe of the students, and scored the highest grades in their midterms. When Noah had asked him if he found the material too easy for him, Jordan had laughed and told him that the material was actually quite challenging, but that whenever he found something difficult he’d go to the bare basics to understand the concept, and that usually helped him.

With Jordan doing his work and revisions right after he’d get home instilled the habit in Stiles as well, the boy studying with Jordan and often times brought his friends over to have a group study session. All of them focused and dedicated on their work when they’d see Jordan working so hard.

They had settled well into their routine, Jordan clambering down the steps as he looked at his watch, knowing that he was getting late to pick up stiles from school, the professor had asked him to stay back for a moment to discuss one of his assignments. The man had wanted nothing more than to praise his work, but that had dragged on for a while and now he was running behind schedule.

Stepping out into the courtyard he fished out his keys from his pocket and began heading towards the parking lot when he caught sight of his friends gathered around a bench in the courtyard. He knew he was running late but when he noticed that they had all gathered around Amy who seemed to be crying, Jordan was forced to a stop, changing course and heading towards them.

“What’s the matter?” He asked as he drew nearer, Dylan lunging forward and dragging him into their circle.

“Jordan, tell Amy that she’ll ace the finals and has nothing to worry about,” He urged the elder who looked between all them and sighed, thinking something catastrophic had happened.

“Amy, what’s wrong?” Jordan asked the young girl who was hiccupping between Maya and Jessica, both of the girls trying to soothe her with the boys fluttering around.

“I didn’t do well on my midterms and I can’t understand what they’re talking about in class, and now I’m scared I’ll fail the final,”

“I’m sure that’s not going to be the case-”

“-Hey, J? Didn’t you ace the midterms?” Logan inquired. “Why don’t we do a study group at your place and you can give us a crash course in the compulsory classes we share?” He suggested, Jordan watching all six of them perk up at the suggestion while he looked down at his watch to know he was getting really late now and Stiles would be waiting for him.

“Uh…sure, but why not here in the library or one of your apartments?’

“We don’t have space in our apartments,” Eric stated.

“And we can’t discuss in the library,” Jessica added.

“You can tutor us, right?” Amy sniffles and wipes at her tears, staring imploringly at Jordan. “Please?”

Jordan grimaced at their pleading, knowing he had been pretty tight lipped about his personal life, but they all knew that he didn’t live in an apartment like the rest of them.

“I’ll have to get back to you guys on that,” He told them and flinched at their outcries, all of them grabbing him to get him to agree. “Okay! Okay! Fine,” He relented knowing that he was really late now, his agreement followed by cheering.

“Thank you!” Maya squealed and jumped up to hug him.

“Okay, okay, I really need to get going, I’ll text you guys the details later,” Jordan pulled away from her and rushed towards his car.

He was a few minutes late to pick up Stiles, but the boy didn’t mind too much when say anymore more than jump up and down in greeting with Derek and Cora in tow. Jordan had gotten out of the car to greet the boy, hoisting him up and peppering him with kisses that had him giggling. Ushering the two werewolves into the car, he settled Stiles in as well, buckling him in before walking around the car to get behind the wheel.

They went about their routine, the Hales sticking around to be part of the reward of getting to cuddle with Jordan as the Hound, Jordan chasing them around the backyard before they all got tired and decided to lie on top of him in the living room floor. Jordan flopped onto his side with Derek and Stiles lying on his stomach while Cora was sprawled over his back, playing with his swishing tail.

All three children falling asleep, Jordan deciding to take a nap as well.

He woke to fingers carding through his fur and Noah’s scent surrounding him, seeking the fragrance out with his eyes still closed, Jordan snuffled against the Sheriff’s stomach and buries his nose into the fabric of his uniform to better smell him. The sound of Noah chuckling had him melting into his touch, head laid on top of his lap.

“You’re heavy,”

Jordan whined in response to that statement, feeling the weight of the children on him and blinked his eyes open to find dusk setting in behind the windows, letting him know that they had slept for a while. Yawning, he shifted so he could lift his head and looked at the three children sleeping on him, Stiles’s arms thrown over his side with Derek curled into his fur and Cora sleeping with a fist clenched into the black pelt. Snuffling at the three of them, he turned towards Noah who sat with his legs outstretched and his back to the couch, watching Jordan with fond amusem*nt until Jordan nosed at his cheek and stuck out his tongue to lick at the side of his face, making the Sheriff groan and wipe the slobber away.

“One day, I swear I’m taking you to a groomer,” He grunted and rubbed his cheek on the shoulder of his uniform while Jordan laughing at him and nuzzled against his side. “Or I’m getting you a dog collar, pick you poison,” The Sheriff shrugged and rubbed between Jordan’s ears, making them crooked and Jordan grumble in delight, panting happily under Noah’s hands.

They stayed like that till Noah told him he was going to shower and start on dinner while Jordan should wake the kids. Jordan achieving that by licking them and making them groan and roll away.

“Eww!” Cora whined and tried to get away but didn’t account for the fact that the Hellhound was bigger than her mother’s wolf form and therefore could still reach her, grooming her like a little puppy. “Stop! Stop! I’m awake! Do it to Derek and Stiles!” She exclaimed, Jordan turning towards the other werewolf who was awake and jumped to the other side of the room to get as far away from his slobbering tongue as possible, eyes wide and hair in disarray from where Jordan had snuffled at him.

Laughing at their reaction, Jordan shuffled so he could curl around his little pup and woke him by nosing at his neck, making the boy scrunch up and groan trying to push his snout away but only got his palm licked in return. The young boy used to these antics and just rubbed the slobber off on Jordan’s fur before curling into his side, Jordan throwing in the towel and rested his head on Stiles’s back, curled secure around him till Noah decided to wake him. Derek and Cora heading upstairs to wash the slobber off themselves.

He could hear Noah sigh somewhere above him when he returned from his shower to find Jordan cuddling with Stiles.

“You spoil him too much,” Noah shook his head and crouched down beside them, reaching out towards Stiles to wake him, simply raising an eyebrow when Jordan put the Sheriff’s forearm between his jaws without applying any pressure, grumbling at him. “Oh? What? You’re offended that I said you’re spoiling him?” He demanded in exasperation, Jordan grumbling at the question, agreeing with it.

“Don’t act like you don’t,” Noah scoffed at him and shook Stiles awake. “Stiles, buddy, come on get up,”

It took a few minutes for Stiles to return to the land of the living, the boy burying his face into Jordan’s side and rolling against him before sitting up with blearily unseeing eyes and ruffled hair. The boy screwing his face when Jordan licked at his cheeks with tail wagging behind him, Stiles having grown accustomed to the puppy treatment with how often Jordan would turn for him – he would never tell people, but that was one of his favorites things about Jordan as a Hound, that he’d treat Stiles like his puppy.

Once Stiles was up and had stretched before heading upstairs, Jordan got up and shook out his limbs, stretching himself before pattering over to his room to shift back and get dressed before he joined the Sheriff in the kitchen.

“I don’t want to do anything complicated for dinner,” Noah confessed when Jordan came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing the space between his shoulder blades over his t-shirt. Resting his chin on his shoulder. “Any ideas for something that’s easy to make and can fill two werewolf children?”

“Mac and cheese,” Jordan threw out, chuckling when Noah pulled a face at the suggestion. “Hot dog? Sloppy joe? Let’s have sloppy joes,” Jordan gasped, mouthwatering at the thought of the beef.

“Okay, let’s make sloppy joes,” Noah kissed his temple. “Seven?”

“Seven,” Jordan nodded and went to the fridge to pull out the ingredients.

Jordan gathered the ingredients and handed them to Noah who sautéed the beef while Jordan made French Fries to go with the burger. Both of them plating up for five, before Noah called the children to come downstairs. All of them eating at the dining table with light chatter and updated Noah on what they’d done, Stiles telling them all about the graduation practices they were doing, Jordan’s heart melting to think that Stiles was growing up and would be going to middle school after the summer break. The Hellhound unable to let the opportunity to fluster Stiles and Derek pass him by, Noah chuckling at Jordan’s mischief while Cora laughed at Derek and Stiles’s discomposure.

The three children did the dishes while Noah and Jordan cleaned up the rest of the house. Cora brought the dishes to the sink, where Derek washed them, and Stiles dried them before neatly piling them on the counter to be put away. Once they had cleaned the table and set the lounge right, Jordan put the dishes in their rightful places while Noah saw Derek and Cora to their house. It gave the Hellhound time to usher the younger boy upstairs to wash up and get ready for bed, sitting on his double bed with the book ready and waiting for Stiles to join him. He was able to hear Noah return and informed him that he would be heading to the study for a bit.

Stiles was gone by the second chapter, sound asleep and snoring into his pillow. Jordan tucked him in and stroked back his hair, kissing his forehead before leaving the room and heading downstairs.

“Uff…I’m beat,” Jordan entered the room downstairs and flopped onto the mattress. “That nap made me more tired,” He rubbed at his face, Noah chuckling at him from where he was doing something on the computer.

“Hectic day?”

“Ah. Not really,” He rubbed at his eyes until he saw stars, blinking the film away before turning his head to face Noah. “I got late in picking up Stiles today, Professor Hill asked me to stay back because he wanted to praise my last assignment-”

“-The automata theory one?”

“Yeah, that one. Said he loved the quality of my work,”

“Teacher’s pet,”

“Delinquent,”

“I was not-”

“-Oh, you so were!” Jordan gasped and sat up on the bed, turning so he could face the Sheriff. “Just because you’re a straight-laced Sheriff now, doesn’t mean that you didn’t wear leather jackets and blast rock music through your speakers. I’ve seen the pictures! Admit it, you were a bad boy in college. I am 98% sure you even vandalized places and made out in shady alleys,”

“That 2% deduction is because you didn’t witness it?” Noah arched an eyebrow at the familiar phrase.

“Of course,”

“Why? Do you want me to make out with you in shady alleys? Is that a kink or something?”

“Coming from the man talking about collaring me,” Jordan quipped. “Now that’s a kink,” He scoffed and folded his legs under him, knowing he was teasing the elder but the way the man looked back at him made heat gather in the pit of his stomach. Noah sat reclined in his office chair, elbow braced on the arm with a thumb hooked under his jaw, index lined against the side of his face and middle finger resting over his upper lip. His gaze sure and assessing as if he was seeing through Jordan’s seated figure.

“Maybe a collar would get you to stop acting like a brat every once in a while,” Noah purred, flirtation coating his words like honey and sliding down Jordan’s spine in a caress. “You certainly have the neck length for it,”

Jordan wanted to retort, but got this inkling that his words would tremble or crack and that would be embarrassing. He could feel his face flush and had to dig his fingers into his calves to keep the trembling from being shown. Now that the suggestion was out there, it made Jordan realize that it had been some time since they slept together, knowing that they both were busy with their own responsibilities and often tuckered out at the end of the day. But then Jordan wondered if Noah would make a move this time and initiate something, licking his lips at the thought knowing that Noah was close an addiction for him.

The pinging of one of their phones ruined the moment. Jordan unsure if he wanted to scream or breathe a sigh of relief when the tension dissipated from the air and patted down his pockets in search for his phone.

“I picked up your phone from the dining table,” Noah held up the device. “It’s been pinging with messages from a bunch of people,”

“Oh, sh*t!” Jordan cursed to remember that just before leaving college he’d been pressured into hosting a study group at his house and promised to share the details. Stumbling off the bed he walked over to the desk and took the device from Noah, swiping at the screen and groaned when he saw messages from the six people who had corralled him into this.

“Bad news?”

“No, God, I got peer pressured into hosting a study group,”

“Peer pressured?” Noah snorted, the thought of someone like Jordan – a Hellhound – falling victim to something so benign as peer pressure was almost too hilarious.

“Hey, my mind was elsewhere,” Jordan defended and leaned against the edge of the table. “Professor Hill wanted to talk to me and that threw off my timing and I was running late to pick up Stiles when I noticed that Amy was crying and all the others were trying to calm her down,” He groaned and buried his face into his hand.

“Let me guess, she didn’t do too well on her midterm and was worried about finals,”

“Yeah! And then that traitor Eric pointed out that I aced the midterms and – I’m an EE major, Noah! They’re all from different majors!”

“But you guys have common compulsory courses as freshmen,”

“Unfortunately!” Jordan rolled his eyes. “And then they all started begging me to host a crash course on those subjects so they didn’t fail in the first semester and I agreed because I didn’t want Stiles to worry or have to wait. I was 10 minutes late, most of the students had already gone home by then,”

“Ouch,” Noah sympathized, bracing Jordan’s hip and rubbed soothing circles over his side. “What’s the plan now?”

“They talked me into conducting it here because they all live in apartments with roommates and somehow know I don’t live in a student apartment,” Jordan groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “I wanted to run this by you first before I told them anything,”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to ask me for permission if you want to have your friends over,” Noah tugged him forward, making Jordan stand between his legs and braced his hips, trying to soothe him and noticed how hard he was rubbing his eyes. He was probably tired from the day, shifting into the Hound often drained him, the Sheriff noticed, but Jordan kept reassuring him that it would get better the more he did it. “I just want to make sure you’re ready to have them over. I remember you telling me that you didn’t want people knowing about your personal life too much, and inviting someone into your home is as personal as it gets,”

“It’s…” Jordan lowered his head and hunched down to press his forehead to the top of Noah’s head. The Sheriff hand sliding up his sides and curled his fingers around Jordan’s nape, messaging the muscles there and felt the tension leave his body. “I don’t want them to fail, but there is so much other stuff to think about before I tell them anything,”

“You can invite them over a weekday, Stiles can come home with the Hales, and we can order pizza for them if they stay around for dinner,” Noah tugged out the hem of Jordan’s t-shirt from his slacks, sliding a hand under the cotton of his shirt and stroke up and down his spine. “How does that sound, sweetheart?”

“Next Tuesday?” Jordan arched into his touch, eyes fluttering closed and sinking into Noah, fingers twitching with the desire to put his hands to bare skin as well.

“Sounds good,” Noah kissed his temple and continued to stroke up and down his back for a moment longer before he started to untangle himself from Jordan, fondness flooding his chest when the younger grunted in displeasure to be moved from his place. “Go change, sweetheart and get some sleep, you look like you’re about to keel over,”

“When will you be coming to bed?” Jordan straightened with some struggle, a little unsteady on his feet making Noah stabilize him.

“Probably another half hour,” The Sheriff reached up to rub his thumb over Jordan’s cheekbone, watching his eyelashes flutter and eyes close with exhaustion. “You head off to bed first, I’ll join you when I’m done,”

“Okay,” Jordan yawned behind his hand and stumbled towards the washroom to change out of his clothes before he walked over to the bed and got under the covers, falling asleep even before head hit the pillow. Noah’s heart swelling with the love he had for this man and forced himself to focus back on his work so he could finish and then go to bed.

*

When Jordan gave them a date, Maya had taken it upon herself to create a group chat for them to coordinate everything. Jordan told them all the things they would need which was their notebooks and pens and any questions they would have for them to go over. He told them that they would head back with him and didn’t tell them anything more than necessary regardless of how much they asked him about where he lived, if he lived alone or had roommates, and all Jordan could do was stare at the question and wonder if he could classify Noah and Stiles as housemates. That sounded too weird given their relationship.

Throughout the drive to the house, the six young ones were chatting animatedly to each other, trying to cajole details out of Jordan about his personal life, Jordan unwilling to offer much detail knowing that it wasn’t just his personal details he would be giving, but Noah and Stiles as well.

“Okay,” Jordan parked in front of the house, the six staring out their windows and gawking at the duplex structure. “We’re home,”

“You live here?” Dylan shrieked and turned to stare at Jordan in awe. “What the hell do your parents do that you have a land cruiser and a house in Beacon Hills?”

Jordan just chuckled at them and shook his head, not offering an answer and stepped out of the war, the others joining him and just taking in the structure while Jordan watched Alex Hale come drive down the road, Stiles pressed to the window and waving energetically at him.

The Hellhound huffed a laugh at the sight of the boy, something easing inside him when Stiles jumped out the car, waving in farewell to Derek and Cora and thanking Alex before he came bounding over to Jordan. Both of them ignorant to the crowd of young undergrads watching Jordan focused on the boy, each of them sharing looks of confusion when Stiles threw himself into Jordan’s arm who caught him and held him tight.

“So?” Jordan grinned at him. “How’d you do on the social studies test?”

“I got an A-!” Stiles exclaimed in delight and held up his worksheet for Jordan to see.

“That’s awesome!” The Hellhound laughed and pressed a wet kiss to Stiles’s cheek, making the boy squirm in delight. “Who got higher marks this time? You or Lydia?”

“Lydia did,” The boy pouted when Jordan put him onto the ground. “But I’m still ahead because of that Civil War essay,”

“That’s my boy,” Jordan held out his hand for Stiles to high five before he turned towards the freshmen who were staring in silence, not sure what was going on. “Right, so introduction!” He sighed and gestures to each person as he introduced them to Stiles before the boy introduced himself with a simple statement.

“Hi! I’m Stiles,” He waved before looking up at the Hellhound. “Jordan, did you make those cold sandwiches today?”

“I did, but I can make you something else if you want?”

“No, I like the cold sandwiches, they taste really nice with apple juice,” Stiles stated and bounded over to the door, waiting for Jordan to unlock the door. “Lets go in?”

“Sure thing, buddy,” Jordan smiled and beckoned the others to him as he unlocked the door and directed them to the dining room while he got Stiles lunch first before putting a platter of cold sandwiches in the middle of the dining table with a pitcher of lemonade. The sight of refreshment making them forget all questions they had as the taste hit their tongue.

“I’m taking this upstairs,” Stiles whispered to Jordan, having been already told that Jordan would be hosting a few people for a couple of hours. “Then I’ll do my homework. Will you shapeshift once I’m done?”

“Probably not once you’re done, but we can cuddle before bed instead,”

“But then you won’t be able to read to me,”

“We can always ask dad to read,” Jordan suggested, making the boy gasp in delight and nod eagerly.

“Yes, please!”

“Okay, now go on upstairs, call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Kay!” Stiles exclaimed and rushed towards the stairs, thundering up to his room.

Returning to the dining room, Jordan ignored the inquisitive glances the others were throwing him, no doubt wanting to know more about Stiles and his relation to Jordan, but he didn’t offer an explanation when he told them that they’d begin studying once they’d finish with their food.

Stiles didn’t have too much homework to do in the first place, so he was done earlier than he would have thought. He couldn’t go to Jordan because he was teaching his friends and Stiles had promised he wouldn’t disturb unless he really needed something. He wondered if Derek was done with studying and decided to go check, and bounded down the stairs, heading towards the dining table to let Jordan know he was going over next door.

But the sight before him had him falter.

They were all studying, books and notebooks spread out over the table while Jordan was situated at the head of the table and the three people on either side. But what made Stiles falter was that one of the girls, the pretty dark skinned one with the long black braids – Maya, Stiles think is what Jordan introduced her as – leaning too close to Jordan to see the notebook as if he hadn’t moved it so she could see. It made something unpleasant squirm in his stomach when she put her hand on Jordan’s back and smiled and giggled at him, Jordan completely oblivious to it.

Oh, there was no way he was going to Derek’s if this woman was trying to flirt with Jordan. Maybe he should call Derek here for them to try and figure something out, but then he looked at the others and he could see all of them making heart eyes at Jordan. Oh, no way was he leaving them alone with his dad’s boyfriend he decided there and then before marching over to them and squeezed himself between Maya and Jordan. The girl looked startled and mildly annoyed while Jordan turned to him with a curious head tilt.

“I’m done with my homework,” Stiles turned to Jordan. “So can I sit here and watch what you’re doing?” He inquired innocently.

“Do you promise to behave?” Jordan inquired with an arched brow, Stiles scoffing at him and shuffled himself onto his lap, delighted that Jordan would let him do this.

“I’m always behaved,” Stiles retorted with an innocent eye flutter up at Jordan who huffed a laugh at the statement.

“Sure, Mischief,” Jordan huffed a laugh at his words, ignorant to how Stiles’s lips parted at the nickname before the Hellhound turned towards the others at the table who all had their attention on him. “You guys okay if he sits with us for a bit?”

“Um…” One of the boys began, looking at everyone in turn. “I guess, but I think the kid would get bored with how complex this stuff is,”

“Albert Einstein said that if you can’t explain a concept to a six-year-old then you don’t understand it yourself,” Stiles quoted. “I’m 10, so if you can’t explain it me, then you really don’t understand it,” He said with an innocent smile, Jordan biting back his laugh at the retort and combed his fingers through his hair and pulled his head back to rest on his shoulder, Stiles going willingly enough as Jordan began his explanation again.

Stiles tried being a good kid and not cause any disruptions for them, knowing that Jordan was used to his shuffling and fidgeting, but he knew the others probably wouldn’t like it and if Jordan asked Stiles to do something else, then Maya could cling to Jordan all over again and he would not like it. Jordan was his dad’s boyfriend, only his dad got to touch Jordan like that.

He didn’t want this woman clinging to him, she didn’t know anything about Jordan.

She didn’t know what Jordan had been like when he’d moved to Beacon Hills or how accommodating he was of Stiles’s antics. She didn’t know about his nightmares or the things he’d lived through. These people only know Jordan now, that he was doing better and walked through fire to feel better again, they didn’t know how it had been like for him before all of this. How he’d had a panic attack that one time because he was that scared for Stiles, or how he’d searched the entire night in a forest, he joined the Sheriff’s department so Stiles could spend time with his dad even though his dad had upset Jordan. Jordan was a kindhearted and good man, and they didn’t know anything about him.

“Baby, you okay?” Jordan asked Stiles in the middle of the explanation, looking down at him and making the boy jump in his lap before looking at him in confusion at the question. “You suddenly started smelling upset, what’s the matter?”

“Oh?” Stiles blinked at the question. “Oh, nothing. I smell upset? You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jordan arched an eyebrow at him, having known Stiles long enough to know he was deflecting and tried to figure out what was going on in that head of his to make him sad. “Are you missing Derek? He usually comes after school to hang out,”

“I…” Stiles floundered, knowing he couldn’t give away the real reason and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m missing Derek,”

“Why don’t you go over to him, hmm? I’m sure he’s missing you too,”

Well, Stiles thought, that backfired. He couldn’t tell Jordan he was upset because these people were taking too much interest in him and he didn’t like it, and he couldn’t say he didn’t have to go to Derek’s because then he wouldn’t have an explanation for why he was upset. So now it looked like he was going over to Derek’s and could only hope that his dad got home sooner so he could take care of this.

Or! A thought came to Stiles, the boy perking up and clambering off Jordan’s lap before rushing out the door and towards the Hales. He could use their phone and call his dad and tell him it was an emergency, he realized with a grin as he jumped onto the porch just as Derek opened the front door, Stiles colliding into him with a broad grin, his mate narrowing his eyes knowing that he was up to no good.

“I need to use your phone,” Stiles smiled innocently up at him before he marched into the house and head towards the nearest phone, dialing his dad’s number.

“Hello?” His dad picked up after the fifth ring.

“They’re flirting with Jordan!” Stiles exclaimed the moment his dad picked up, watching Derek jerk back at the statement.

“What? Stiles? What?”

“Jordan’s friends,” Stiles groaned and clarified. “They’re flirting with Jordan,”

“Okay?” The Sheriff inquired. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Come home and make them stop,”

“Yeah? How?”

“I don’t know! Kiss him, maybe?” Stiles exclaimed in exasperation. Seriously! Was he the only one seeing a problem with this? “He’s your boyfriend,”

“Son,” The Sheriff sighed on the other end, Stiles could imagine him rubbing a hand over his face. “He’s my boyfriend, yes, but I trust him to know that: a) he’s not responding to the flirting, and b) he isn’t the one flirting back,”

“But Jordan doesn’t even realize they’re flirting with him!”

“Then how do you know?”

“This-Maya keeps touching him and she’s all giggly and its weird like when Scott goes all moon eyed at when he sees Allison,” Stiles explained before flailing in frustration, looking at Derek in exasperation who seemed to find this funny making Stiles try and swat at his mate who jumped out of reach. “Dad! I’m serious!” He whined when he could hear his father laugh on the other end.

“Buddy, why are you getting insecure, hmm? What’s this about?”

“Because-” Stiles flailed, struggling to get his words across. “Because they don’t really know Jordan! They think he’s an annoying 18 year old like them when he’s literally a decade older than all of them! And they don’t know what he’s been through and-and he’s a private person! He doesn’t like talking about himself to others, and he didn’t even tell them who I am!”

“His boyfriend’s son?” The Sheriff intoned. “You’re upset he didn’t introduce you to them?”

“No! No, I’m upset that they think they can flirt with your boyfriend and think they have a chance with him! You should see the way they’re looking at him, Dad!”

“Buddy,” His dad sighed. “I can’t stop people from flirting with him. They’re going to flirt even if they know he’s in a relationship-”

“-Fine!” Stiles grumbled, able to hear the audible sigh on the other line. “I’ll take care of it,” He decided and ended the call before his dad could talk him out of it.

“What are you going to do?” Derek inquired curiously, wondering what Stiles would come up with in this situation, the boy looking back at him with pursed lips.

“Well, I’m going to show them that Jordan is off limits,” Stiles beamed and bounded out of the house with a skip in his step and headed back to his house with Derek in tow. The young werewolf resigned to his mate’s antics.

Derek watched Stiles open the front door and just stand in the hallway for a moment.

“Hey, Papa?” Stiles called out into the house, Derek blinking at Stiles, lips parting at the moniker, knowing that even though Jordan had a paternal presence in Stiles’s life, he hadn’t actually called him anything other than his name. “Pops! Papa! Papi! Padre! Poppa!” He continued to call out, both of them watching Jordan appear in the living room archway, steps hesitant and looked at Stiles with furrowed brows.

“Stiles, you know Dad is still at the station right?” Jordan inquired, not entirely sure who Stiles was calling.

“I know that, silly,” Stiles rolled his eyes and bounded over to Jordan with a wide grin, the older watching him with narrowed eyes, knowing he was up to something. “Papa, can Derek and I have the brownies you’ve made? Please, Papa? Please? Derek is craving your brownies,” He bounced on his toes and turned to his mate who immediately nodded in agreement, trying to stifle his laughter to understand exactly how Stiles was staking his claim on Jordan.

The Hellhound looked a little like he’d been hit over the head when he realized that Stiles was calling him Papa. He had never actually anticipated hearing such a label from the boy. Logically, he knew he held some form of parental status to the boy, he knew he shouldn’t be surprised by it and should have expected it, but hearing Stiles actually verbally acknowledge him as a father had something melt inside Jordan. It made his chest ache and tight with his close it was to bursting, it made him feel warm and content as a rumbling started up from deep within his chest.

“Can we? With ice cream, papa?” Stiles continued like he didn’t realize the effect his words had.

“Sure,” Jordan exhaled breathlessly. “We’re-we’re taking a break anyways so I can serve it,” He stated in a daze before leading the two boys towards the kitchen, Stiles smirking at the six people gathered at the table who were gawking at the duo, clearly having heard him, Derek sticking close to Stiles at the smell of a foreign werecoyote and a witch.

Jordan served them brownie in a bowl topped with ice cream and chocolate syrup, Stiles immediately perking up at the confection and grinned at him.

“Thanks, papa! I love your brownies,” He wriggled in his seat in delight, Jordan taking on that dazed look again before he let out a shuddering exhale and began to plate up the brownie and ice cream for the others, putting them all in a trey before directing them towards the living room so they could unwind for a while.

Jordan sat in Noah’s armchair with Stiles cuddled into his side and Derek sitting on the arm of the chair, watching the six people who were all seemingly having a silent conversation. The dark skinned one looking rather despondent if Derek had to say so himself.

“Okay,” One of the girls seemed to have enough of the silence and sat up in her place. “Look, Jordan, we know you’re not very open and I mean no offence, but uh…what’s the deal with the kid?” She asked and gestured to Stiles who was happily eating his brownie and ice cream with relish.

“Well, this is Stiles Stilinski, he’s my boyfriend’s son,” Jordan explained, having expected a barrage of questions when Stiles called him papa. “I’ve been living with them for a quite some time now,”

“Wait, wait, wait,” The boy with the curly hair exclaimed and gawked at Stiles before turning to Jordan with color draining from his face and turned to the others to see if they understood what was going on. “You said he’s your boyfriend’s son. He’s Stilinski. Is-Jesus, by Stilinski does it have anything to do with Sheriff Stilinski?” He choked out, the others immediately stilling to realize it was the same name.

“Eric, Beacon Hills is a small community, not a lot of people are named Stilinski,” Jordan snorted. “Yes. My partner is the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, and this is his son, and you’re sitting in his house,”

Derek wanted to burst into laughter at how scared they all suddenly looked as if they were expecting the Sheriff to jump out from a corner and arrest them, or they looked like they were about to jump out of their seats.

“Why didn’t you tell us? We’re your friends,” The despondent dark skinned one asked with her arms crossed over her chest.

“What information I choose to share or not to share has nothing to do with if we’re friends. I didn’t want people butting into my personal life, so I never brought it up.” Jordan stated and put his bowl onto the trey, Maya pouting and turning away.

“Still, don’t you think he’s a little old for you?” Amy inquired, making Jordan choke down his laughter.

“I think there is a five year age gap between us,” Jordan enlightened and watched with a wink towards Stiles when they all spluttered and choked as they did the math.

“Yeah! We celebrated his 26th birthday last August!” Stiles enlightened and swung his legs and grinned at Jordan, delighted at he was more than happy to drop bombshell after bombshell onto his friends. Their stunned and startled looks making him giggle in delight.

“Oh, did you make brownies?” Noah’s voice exclaimed from the archway, the other six immediately turning towards the Sheriff who walked into the living room. “Tell me you saved some for me,” He asked Jordan as he ruffled Stiles hair and looked at his boyfriend with stars in his eyes.

“No! We didn’t save any for you,” Stiles huffed and tried to get his dad to release him, ignorant to how Jordan made a K behind him to indicate where he had kept it. “You’re not allowed any brownies!”

“Of course,” The Sheriff nodded to pacify his son and winked at Jordan who stifled his laughter before he turned towards their guests. “Ah, your ducklings,” He announced making Jordan roll his eyes in exasperation.

“Noah, this here is Maya, Amy, Jessica, Dylan, Logan, and Eric,” Jordan gestured to each of them in turn, all of them stilling to be addressed and waved shakily to be faced by the Sheriff of Beacon Hills. “Guys, meet Noah Stilinski,”

“So Amy was why you hosted this study group right?” Noah inquired and pointed at the girl, making her flush a deep red in embarrassment while Jordan rolled his eyes.

“Kind of,”

“No wait, Eric suggested it,” The Sheriff turned towards the boy in question who looked like he was about to pass out. “And Maya is the one with the crush on you, right? You’ve got good taste,” He winked at her while the girl squeaked.

“Noah,” Jordan chastised with a smile, the Sheriff chuckling and cupped the back of Jordan’s head to kiss his temple.

“Just teasing, sweetheart,” He reassured before turning to the others. “Nice meeting you all, I hope Jordan isn’t overloading you with information. He’s kind of a nerd,” Noah teased with a wink.

“Just because I study doesn’t mean I’m a nerd,”

“You have your own electronic workspace-” The Sheriff reminded when Jordan put Stiles on the couch and got up to stand beside Noah.

“-Which you made for me,” Jordan reminded with a laugh, the Sheriff wrapping his arm around his waist and wrinkled his nose at the younger. The Hellhound’s eyes crinkling at the edges with his smile. “Now shoo. We still have more stuff to go through,” Jordan shooed them out of the living room, their guests immediately rushing towards the dining room where all their books had been laid out, all of them unusually quiet.

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles put his bowl down on the trey and led Derek upstairs.

“Don’t overload them,” Noah rubbed his knuckles against Jordan’s jaw, making the man melt into his touch and let out a contented short rumble. “They’re kids,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jordan lightly pushed at his chest to get him to leave, but then grabbed him by the front of his uniform and tugged him close to press a kiss to his lips. “Hi, Handsome,” Jordan greeted, making Noah beam at him and cup his face into his hands to kiss him once more.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Noah chuckled before pulling away and taking the trey and empty bowls with him to the kitchen while Jordan head towards the dining room.

Jordan taught them until Noah came to them to ask for pizza flavors, telling him that Stiles was starting to get hungry now. Jordan turned to his friends and asked for their preferred flavors before they placed the other. They did some quick revision before the pizza arrived before finally putting everything away. All of them extremely well behaved as they put away their things and helped set the table while tentatively starting up a conversation with the Sheriff who was more than happy to engage them in conversation.

They brought the chairs from the dining room to the living room so they all had space to sit and eat together with chatter and laughter and some complaining that Jordan had been hiding things from them. Afterwards everyone helped clean up before they head out leaving with a wave and gratitude. Jordan saw them out the door before closing it and leaned against the structure with a spluttering breath making Noah laugh from his place in the archway.

“Want some iced tea?” Noah asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Jordan pushed himself off the door and ran a hand through his hair before following Noah into the kitchen. “Want to sit outside?” He suggested when Noah poured two tall glasses of iced tea for them.

“Sure,” He picked them up and head towards the backyard, both of them settling on the picnic table. Well, Noah took a seat on the bench while Jordan climbed up to sit on top of the table and leaned back on his hands as the wind blew through his hair. Both of them content to sit in silence and enjoy each other presence, Jordan’s knee pressed to Noah’s side as they sipped at their iced tea.

“Stiles called me papa today,” Jordan murmured up at the sky, Noah swallowing his sip and looked up at Jordan at the statement.

“Hmm…he told that if I ever gathered the courage to ask you out, he’d call you papa,” Noah enlightened and reached out for Jordan’s hand on the table, slotting their fingers together. “How’d that make you feel?’

“Initially, I didn’t realize he was calling me, because always just called me Jordan from the day we met,” Jordan confessed with a soft laugh. “But then when I realized he was calling me ‘papa’, I don’t know it…it made me so happy, Noah, it made it feel like-like it made me feel like my life was a puzzle and I’d been putting it all together for years. The good, the bad, the ugly. That I’d been putting in piece by piece to complete the picture, but that for the last few years, I’d been looking for that one center piece and then…when Stiles called me ‘papa’, I felt like I’d finally found that missing piece,” He laughed breathlessly and squeezed their fingers together, Noah watching him with eyes crinkling at the edges and a smile on his lips.

Letting out a slow shuddering exhale, Noah stood up so he could cup Jordan’s face into his palms and kiss him slow and tender, feeling a tear slide down the younger’s cheek at how overwhelmed he was with these emotions. The Sheriff dragged out the slow kiss, channeling all these aching tender emotions into it before pulling back.

“You deserve all the happiness this world has to offer,” Noah told him as he wiped away the tears, Jordan letting out a choked laugh at the statement.

“All the happiness the world would be meaningless to me without you and Stiles by my side,” He chuckled up at him, Noah’s heart aching with the words and chuckled under his breath at his conviction before leaning down to connect their lips together again.

In that moment, Jordan knew, he would give his family heirloom to Noah Stilinski, and ask him to marry him.

They stayed outside for a while longer to enjoy the pleasant weather, both of them sitting on top of the picnic table and soaking in the other’s warmth and presence. They didn’t need to fill in the silence with meaningless conversations, they just needed to know the other was right there to feel complete.

Noah was the first to suggest they head inside, noting that it was getting late and that they both had an early day tomorrow, the thought of work reminding him of something.

“Talia Hale called me today,” Noah informed as he sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off his shoes while Jordan stood in front of his closet, pulling out a t-shirt and pajamas to change into and grabbed a pair for Noah as well.

“Oh?” Jordan handed him the clothes, Noah taking the pajamas but opting to go without the t-shirt. “Everything alright?”

“She wanted to discuss the logistics behind hosting an event where we’d invite all the supers and normies to the Nematon clearing and do a blood sacrifice to strengthen the tree with the Faes aiding its growth,” The Sheriff enlightened as he stood up to change out of his jeans, Jordan having changed from his polo into his t-shirt. “She said she wanted the entire community to participate now that Sarah has made a connection with the tree and can better understand how to help it,”

“You make it sound like a cult sacrifice,” Jordan chuckled as he pushed down his pants from around his hips, stepping out of them to pull on his pajamas before turning to watch Noah snort a laugh at the statement and grab his shirt from the back to pull it off in one swift motion. It left him bare chested before he threw the clothes into the hamper by the washroom door. Jordan took a moment to appreciate the Sheriff with his sun kissed, freckled skin, a light dusting of gold hair on his chest and lean muscles from having to stay fit for duty. Even if he was stuck behind a desk most of the day, Noah made sure to get in some form of exercise.

“How…how are you going to go about…the…event and getting everyone to participate?” Jordan got distracted by the sight of Noah shirtless and watched the muscles in his back flex as he turned to gather the rest of the clothes and his shoes, putting them into a corner of Jordan’s closet, knowing that more and more of his things were finding their way in there with how much they used this room for convenience.

“Well, flyers most likely,” Noah thought as he scratched at the back of his head. “Talia and I were trying to figure it out, maybe do an announcement in the community center? Send someone from my office to take a round of the schools and tell the kids, too,”

“Prepare them for what to expect?” Jordan inquired absentmindedly as he drifted towards Noah who had his back to him, as he moved the covers around and moved the pillows to how he liked them. “We wouldn’t want them to be scared, you know. Should probably set up the Nematon clearing in a way that doesn’t make look so daunting and scary,” He suggested on an exhale as he put his hand to Noah’s warm back, palm sliding over the expanse of skin before stepping closer to wrap his arms around him and nuzzle into his nape.

“I’ll run this by Talia, seriously why is she coming to me and not to you about this? You seem to have better ideas,” Noah straightened and leaned into Jordan’s solid frame, covering the palms linked over his naval, bringing one hand up to kiss his knuckles. “Next time I have to meet with Hale on this, you’re coming with me,”

“Just make sure it’s scheduled for after I’ve picked up Stiles, please,” Jordan trailed his nose up the column of Noah’s throat, almost able to taste the man’s scent.

“Speaking of Stiles,” The Sheriff turned in Jordan’s arms so they were pressed chest to chest, his arms coming around to his waist and playing with the waistband of his pajamas. “He called me today at work,”

“He called you? When?”

“He called me from the Hales, and you want to take a guess what he was saying to me?”

“Knowing Stiles, he was probably reminding you to watch your cholesterol. It’s weird that he does that when he’s bored,”

“Sure, it’s weird,” Noah chuckled, eyes crinkling. “But no, he called me because he wanted to tattle that your friend was hitting on you,”

“Who? Maya?” Jordan gawked in shock, a laugh bubbling in his throat at the words. “He-what? What did he say?”

“He said something along the lines of telling me to come home and kiss you senseless so they know you’re off limits,”

“Oh, my God,” Jordan cackled at the words. “Who knew Stiles was possessive?”

“Who indeed,” Noah laughed in turn, pressing their forehead together and pressed his thumbs into the divots in Jordan’s lower back.

“Wait! Wait! Is that why he suddenly started calling me papa?” Jordan gawked in realization before bursting into a peal of laughter that had him burying himself into Noah’s neck to try and stifle the intensity of his fit. “Oh my God! He was jealous!” the sound of his mirth going off like a chain reaction that had Noah laughing in turn.

“Noah! Oh, Noah, he literally came into the house and started calling out all these variations of Papa and I couldn’t figure out what he was trying to achieve till I realized he was calling me!”

“I’m sure-I’m sure he had that smug little look on his face when he saw your friends after that stunt,”

“Do you think-do you think he’s going to call me papa whenever he sees someone paying a little too much attention for his liking?”

“I think he’s just going to call you Papa from now on, and say it extra loud and with extra emphasis whenever he sees someone looking at you for a second too long,” Noah laughed and cupped Jordan’s cheek into his hand, watching tears gather in his eyes with his humor and trail down his cheek with how hard he was shaking.

“Thank God, Derek is his mate, but can you imagine the possessiveness that boy is capable of if people looked at him?”

“He’d land himself in jail,” Noah shook his head as their laughter pattered out. “Imagine the headlines: POTUS imprisoned-” He began, unable to complete the thought before Jordan was bursting into another fit of laughter, recalling their inside joke and shaking with his mirth, clutching at the front of his stomach when it started cramping.

“God, I love that kid,” Jordan heaved between his laughter, Noah’s eyes crinkling and shoulders shaking.

“And that kid loves you,” Noah squished Jordan’s cheeks between his hands, making his lips pout out and made the younger grunt at the pressure, but not averse to the action when Noah shook his head lightly before releasing his hold. Both of them giggling at each other and remained close to each other. Jordan hands splaying out under his ribs as he bit his lip and lowered his head as if suddenly bashful, Noah’s hand snaking up to the back of his neck and kneading the muscles there to feel him melt into his touch, head rolling back and nape pressing into his hand.

Noah has had enough time to map out all of Jordan’s weak spots, his nape being one of his favorites.