#anyway....

When John pulls him over and brings him in, Derek Hale doesn’t even have the decency to seem worried or nervous or anything but mildly irritated. He’d been the same way when John had arrested him on suspicion of his sister’s murder.

He’s relaxed and easy while John marches him through the precinct, not reacting to the curious gazes and leaning back in the interrogation room as if he’s just wandered in on accident. “So, what’s this all about, Sheriff?” he asks, respectful enough on the surface but with something mocking underneath.

John’s never wanted to put a bullet in someone so badly before. He’d left his gun at his desk before going after Hale because he couldn’t trust himself. “You’ve been implicated in a crime.”

Hale is still unphased. After a moment’s silence, he asks, “Do I get to know which one?”

“Rape,” he snaps.

That gets a reaction. Hale sits up straight, eyes cold and furious, and there must be something going on with the lighting because for a split second John could have sworn they were red. “Excuse me?”

“Of a minor,” he continues.

Hale snarls in his face, slamming his hands on the table leaning towards him. John wonders if not taking his gun with him was a mistake. “How dare you-”

“How did it start?” he interrupts, heart beating fast in his chest. Let Hale lose his temper, let him throw a punch, please. Please give him a reason to bash this monster’s face in. “He’s curious, he likes attention, he,” John has to swallow. “How did it start?”

Fury has drained out of Hale, leaving wariness in its wake. He doesn’t say anything for a long time. His voice is even when he asks, “Exactly what crime am I being accused of?”

He knows. He fucking knows because he’s guilty as hell and John can’t believe this is happening to him. “I already told you that.”

“Exactly what crime, Sheriff?” Hale presses.

“He’s seventeen,” John says. “He’s seventeen years old, you’re twenty three, it’s against the fucking law, Hale. It’s sick.” He’s back to not saying anything and John can’t handle this. “I saw you both. I was reviewing the security tapes for the gas station on Dale Street after the robbery, and I saw you.”

Hale lifts his chin. Unrepentant, challenging, and it makes John’s stomach turn. “There’s nothing on those tapes I could be arrested for. I want my lawyer.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he hisses. “If you’re doing that in public, then,” he can’t continue, he can’t even say it.

“Kissing isn’t evidence of statutory rape,” Hale says coldly. “I want my lawyer.”

It’s evidence of something. It was enough to leave John shaking and out of his mind. He’d been looking for burglars, for someone scoping the place out in the days leading to the robbery. Instead he’d seen his son and Hale walking down the street and cutting through the alley behind the gas station. Stiles laughing, Hale scowling, and then Stiles had said something that had caused Hale to shove him into the brick wall. Except Stiles had grabbed Hale’s shirt and taken him with him as he’d stumbled back. Hale had crowded him against the wall and at first John hadn’t known what he was seeing, had thought he was whispering to him or something, but then they’d shifted and the camera had caught Hale kissing his son. They’d stayed there for a while, making out for several minutes until they’d both startled at some noise the camera hadn’t picked up. Then Stiles was grabbing Hale’s hand and tugging him down the alleyway, dragging him out of frame to do who knows what.

“He’s still a kid,” John says. He’s his little boy. “You’re older, you’ve got that loft and your ridiculous car and your pretty face. You can’t be that desperate for someone to fuck. What the hell are you doing running around with a teenager?” Hale crosses his arms. “It’s pathetic. He doesn’t know any better, but you do. Is that why you’re doing it? Because he’s easy to manipulate? To use? Are you that twisted?”

Hale’s face is pale and he’s digging his fingers hard enough into his arms that John wouldn’t be surprised to find bruises there later. “I have a right to an attorney. I want to call him. Now.”

John makes a sound of disgust, but gets him the damn phone.

Fifteen minutes later, David Whittimore comes walking in, demanding to see Hale. John feels like he’s the butt of some bad joke. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack,” David says grimly. “John, what the hell are you doing? This isn’t evidence of anything illegal and you know it. Unless Stiles has come forward saying something more has happened than what’s on this tape, you need to let my client go.”

“How do you know he hasn’t?” John throws out. “Why are you doing this? I know Jackson and Stiles haven’t always gotten on, but this is too far. You’re representing the man who – to my son. How would you feel if it was Jackson?”

Jackson’s restraining order against Stiles, David causing John to lose his job. It was bad. But the restraining order was dropped, he got his job back, and Stiles claims that he and Jackson get on fine now. He knows David can hold a grudge, but this is going too far.

David’s face in unreadable. “Do you have additional evidence or are you releasing my client, Sheriff?”

John’s boiling with rage when he lets Hale go. David claps him on the shoulder, shooting him a sympathetic glance that makes John want to strangle someone. They all walk out to the front, Hale refusing to look at him or say anything further. Peter Hale is there waiting, legs stretched out and his hands behind his head, which isn’t that much of a surprise.

But he’s not alone.

Stiles jumps up to his feet next to him even though he should be in school, even though John specifically did this while he was in school. John doesn’t have the chance to work through his shock and panic before Stiles is running.

“Wait, don’t,” Hale starts, but Stiles doesn’t listen. He leaps at Hale and Hale catches him easily, hands under Stiles’s thighs as he wraps his legs around Hale’s waist. Stiles cups Hale’s face and kisses him.

Hale is still for half a breath and then he’s kissing back.

John’s hand goes to his hip even though there’s nothing there. He feels numb and furious and some part of him is goddamn hysterical. Here, in front of him, in front of every officer in the goddamn office –

“Are you trying to get me arrested?” Hale asks, voice nothing like John’s heard it before. It’s exasperated but warm and he has no business looking like that, not at his son, not at his underage son.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Stiles says cheerfully, grinning down at Hale as he rubs his thumb against his cheek. “That’s practically foreplay for us at this point. Does being cuffed do something for you? Are you hard? Be honest.”

“Stiles!” Hale shouts, eyes darting around even as his cheeks flush. Peter is laughing, which makes John want to hit him too just on principle.

“Mr. Stilinksi, please,” David sighs.

“Spoilsport,” Stiles says, squeezing Hale’s shoulders and then jumping back onto his feet. He grabs Hale’s shirt and tugs him closer just like he had in the video, casual and practiced enough for it to be something he’s done more than once. He kisses Hale’s cheek and Hale’s eyes flutter closed, just for a second.

That’s what finally snaps him out of it. “Enough! What–”

“Bye, Derek,” Stiles says, nudging him away and looking towards Peter. “Take care of my boy for me.”

Peter gives a lazy salute, getting to his feet and throwing an arm around Hale’s shoulder. Hale attempts to shrug it off, but Peter keeps it up at least until they’re out the front door. David shakes his head, but follows them after a nod toward John that he ignores.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles says, rocking back on his heels. “Let’s talk.”

John is suddenly extremely aware of all the eyes on them. He silently turns and walks to his office, hearing Stiles behind him. He locks the door and stays standing while Stiles sprawls in one of the seats at his desk. John takes several deep breaths before starting, “I know it’s easy to get caught up in things at your age-”

“So what’s your excuse?” Stiles interrupts, his casual body language at odds with the bite in his voice. “Are you crazy? Why would you drag him down and say all that shit to him when you don’t have evidence of jack shit?”

“How do know what I said to him?” he asks.

“I saw his face when he came out, I can guess,” Stiles answers. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Dad.”

This isn’t Stiles’s fault. He’s the victim here. “I know it can seem like this is something you chose–”

Stiles wretches. “Spare me. I’ve read all the same pamphlets you have.”

“He had a lawyer waiting,” he snaps. “He barely had to say anything and David know exactly what this was all about. It’s wrong and he knows it otherwise he wouldn’t have a plan in place for when he got caught!”

He’s hoping that the information does something to Stiles, that it shocks him or snaps him out of it, or something. Instead John sees the barest hint of a flinch and Stiles not looking him in the eye, which isn’t shock or upset. It’s guilt.

Sometimes he doesn’t know his son at all and sometimes he feels like knows him a little too well. “Stiles.”

“Take it as a compliment?” he offers. “I figured we wouldn’t get away with it forever and you’d catch us eventually. Granted, I also figured you’d go nuclear, but considering I was right I don’t feel that bad about it.”

Hale had only called his lawyer, but Peter and Stiles had been there. Maybe David called Peter and Peter called Stiles, but it’s also possible that David called Stiles directly. Since having him on call in case something like this happened was apparently Stiles’s idea.

His son is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. “In the – earlier–”

He almost smiles before catching himself. “Derek needed the reassurance. But, yeah. No point in hiding the fact we’re together when you already have it on tape, so might as well make some things clear about our dynamic.”

If John manages to get enough evidence to get this in front of a judge, Hale is going to be able to call every deputy to the stand and ask them what they saw and heard. Which is going to be Stiles smiling and comfortable around Hale, it’s going to be him literally running towards Hale and him initiating the kiss and nothing coercive between them. Just like on the tape.

“You’re seventeen,” he says. “It doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t matter if you think you want it.”

“It works that way in forty out of fifty states, kissing isn’t illegal, and good luck proving anything else,” Stiles answers flippantly. “You’ve got three months.”

“Three months?” he asks instead of anything else Stiles has said because he doesn’t know what to do with it. He’d known Stiles wouldn’t agree with him on this. This is what he’d expected. It doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

“Until I’m eighteen,” he says.

“I’m not going to be okay with this just because you’ve turned eighteen!” he shouts, knowing ever as he does it that it’s the wrong move. He just doesn’t know what else to do. He’s the sheriff, he should be able to protect his son from things like this, and he’s failed.

“Didn’t think you would be,” Stiles says, something bitter there that John hates. “But there’s nothing you’ll be able to do about it then. So, get to brainstorming! You have three months to convince me to dump my boyfriend.”

John clenches his hands.