Title: My Head is an Animal - Side A
Author: ANTchan
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Rating/Genre: Romance/T
Pairings: Derek Hale/Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Summary: There's a lot of things John Stilinski wants. He wants his family safe, he wants people to stop dropping violently dead in his town, and most importantly, he wants his son to stop. Lying. To him. But John can't have everything he wants. So he's forced to chase after his son and his almost-son and do his best to keep them safe, even if that means running into the town's sweetheart-turned-delinquent, Derek Hale, more times than he's comfortable with.

OR the s2 AU where Sheriff Stilinski accidentally adopts a werewolf pack, and has no idea how he gets there.

Welcome to my self-indulgent McHaleinski fic! Outsider POV is one of my favorite tropes, so I had to write one myself. The full story comes in two parts, Side A (Sheriff Stilinski's POV) and Side B (Derek/Scott/Stiles' POV). The story is canon compliant until about the latter half of s2, past that it's anybody's guess really.

Side A - The wolf and I, we share the same cold meal

Chapter 1

John finally tracks him down on the far end of town, and whatever relief he feels in knowing Derek Hale isn't haunting the old Hale House with the rest of the ghosts withers upon seeing where he ended up. It's less a rail depot and more a junkyard now, the town's industry having dried up in the recession years ago. The sprawling complex of rails and warehouses is now a graveyard of twisted metal and crumbling concrete.

What is it with this kid and hiding out in wrecks?

He doesn't have to search for long. Derek comes prowling out from between two of the train cars just as John ducks down the alley between the tracks. He doesn't even appear surprised to see him, his face as stony as it was the night John had arrested him. Frankly, John is a little taken aback that Derek chose to reveal himself at all. The last time the young man had come in contact with one of the Department, he'd been on the run for murder. His short time as a fugitive doesn't seem to have done him any good either. He's paler than the last time John had seen him, expression more withdrawn, and a hunch to his shoulders that only speaks of pain and exhaustion. But for all of it, the look on his face is still just as steely and fierce.

"Derek," he greets calmly, inclining his head.

"Sheriff." There's nothing in his tone other than stiff politeness, just the same as the last time John had spoken to him in the interrogation room. John has never met a suspect who could be so perfectly polite and so threatening at the same time. Derek Hale had never raised his voice. Never cursed at John or any of his deputies or refused to answer their questions. And yet there wasn't a single one of his deputies that felt they had the upper hand.

"I've never met a man who could make me feel respected and like I was in the room with a wild predator at the same time," Tara had commented to him after releasing Hale the first time. And John… had to agree with her. There's almost something feral behind Hale's eyes, stronger now than it ever was.

"I came to tell you that you've been exonerated of all charges and the manhunt's been called off. And…" Here John sighs, scratching a nail along the line of his brow. "And to extend apologies on behalf of the department, myself, and... my boys for any undue distress this may have caused." He grinds the words out with as much professionalism as he can muster - because the department needs to regain some dignity after this fiasco.

"They're stupid teenagers," Derek responds dismissively. "It happens."

"It... happens," John parrots. "It happens - tell me you don't get accused of murder every other week, son. Because otherwise this shouldn't just happen."

"I don't get accused of murder, no. But it wouldn't be the first time someone made an assumption about the kind of person I am." There's a weight to his words - a resigned spite, even an accusation. John does his best not to react to the subtle barb.

"Well, now that this matter's cleared up, there won't be any reckless teenagers hanging around to accuse you of murder. So rest easy."

He suspects Derek lets out a derisive huff, something that's almost a cold laugh. Or tries to. The instant his body moves, he tenses, the sound getting stuck in his throat. His shoulders hunch in what's clearly pain.

"Derek? You alright, son?"

Derek shrinks away from his attempt to approach. There's something wild in his eyes for the briefest instant; something that has John freezing mid-motion. In the next moment, it's gone, replaced with an expression so guarded that John fears he's going to bolt. There's something more animal than human in the curve of his body, like something trapped and pained and ready to lash out.

"You need to see a doctor, Derek?" he asks slowly. And isn't surprised at all when all he gets from the young man is jerky shake of his head. There's a feverish, manic sheen to his eyes. One that John recognizes in conjunction with the jittery shifting and the strung out tension in his shoulders. And it's not something John ever wanted to see. "Oh, hell, son," he sighs. "There something you should be taking?" He waits a beat to gaze pointedly at him. "Or taken something you shouldn't?"

Derek's brows furrow, and he just looks confused. "What?"

"I'm not going to judge, son. You've had a difficult month, and it's easy to do something reckless in grief."

"I-"

"I can't prove you've used anything illegal, so I'm not going to take you in. But you need to go to wherever you're staying and let whatever it is pass through your system. Drink some water. Lie down. Do not drive home, you hear me? Call a taxi- you know, here." John plucks his phone from his jacket, dialing as Derek looks even more disconcerted with every passing moment. After briskly giving an address and a name, John nods as he returns the phone to his pocket. "It's on me this time, alright? I'll wait with you."

"But I'm not-"

"Come on, son." John's learned better than to try touching him, but he holds his hands out in an approximation of herding Derek along. And, after a perturbed frown, Derek follows. John leads him out of the trainyard, to an area where a taxi might actually dare to go on the Sheriff's word. He finds a safe stoop for them both to sit on while they wait. "You can come with one of us to pick up your car tomorrow."

Derek only watches him, the look in his eyes unreadable, lost. Young. He's only twenty-two, John recalls suddenly. He's twenty-two and he's just lost the only remaining family he had left.

The silence is… awkward, to say the least. Derek averts his eyes and refuses to so much as glance at him for several minutes.

It's John that breaks it, eventually. "Is there someone you can talk to?"

Hale shrugs with what has to be practiced apathy.

That settles it, then. John goes digging around in his coat pockets, muttering mutinously until he finds the small slip of card stock that he so rarely has to use. "Here," he says, offering it to Derek. The man stares at it for a long moment, as if it's going to leap from John's hand and attack. John waves it at him until he takes it. "If you ever need to talk, my office is open. And my phone is always on."

Derek holds the business card in his hands, staring intently at it until the taxi rounds the corner.

John's surprised the innocent card doesn't burst into flames.

"Why?" It's the first word Derek's said in nearly twenty minutes. John has ushered him towards the taxi, but he turns before getting in.

"I…" John flounders, crossing his arms over his chest, and admits: "I failed you and your sister in a lot of ways these past few years, son. This is the least I can do."

Something cracks open, and Derek's expression goes unbearably vulnerable. And then he climbs quickly into the taxi.

John watches it roll away, feeling every bit of his age in that moment. He knows, deep down, that Derek isn't going to call. He's probably going to throw the card in the bin the moment he's through the door.

But John desperately wishes otherwise. "Be safe, kid," he murmurs to the empty street.

Next:
Side A, Ch2

His son looks dead on his feet. That's the first thing John notices after coming through the door.

End Chapter 1. Walk on, Traveler of Worlds.