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John had meant to take down the cameras after Stiles was de-possessed.
Or rather, after Stiles had re-established his normal sleeping patterns and the danger of him sleepwalking anywhere - like oncoming traffic or to set booby traps out in the woods - had passed.
Since the point of the security system had been to monitor Stiles' sleepwalking, the system wasn't sophisticated enough to pick up on his sons' regular sleep movements - or anything else he might be doing under the covers that John didn't need or want to know about. Otherwise Stiles might have been a lot more vocal or pro-active about getting rid of the cameras and sensors.
As it was, dismantling or at least scaling down the security system was pushed down the list again and again, with more important and more immediate problems taking precedence. Every once in a while John would get a ping from the system, and he'd make a mental note to take care of it in the morning or whenever he got off shift. Then something else happened that caught his attention and it got pushed back down the list again.
The first time he got a ping after everything had calmed down sent his heart into a frenzy, beating against his ribcage at a fast pace. He opened the app with shaking hands, only to find Stiles sitting on the edge of his bed, wearily rubbing his eyes before pouring himself a glass of water. John watched for a few more minutes to make sure Stiles was okay, but Stiles turned on the bedside lamp and grabbed his laptop.
Just regular, I've-suffered-through-a-traumatic-experience insomnia and/or nightmares then. It's wasn't really a relief, but it was better than seeing his son slowly lose his mind.
The next time John got a ping, it was Scott climbing in through the window. At first glance he only saw too much hair and glowing eyes. He was already in his car when he checked again and saw that it was Scott, sitting cross-legged on the bed at Stiles' side. The boys were talking quietly. With a heavy sigh, John unbuckled his seat belt and trudged back into his office, once and for all resolving to at least turn off the motion detection system. Night shifts were stressful enough - there was no need to add to it by nearly having a heart attack every time his son so much as moved around too much in his room.
It happened a few more times. Stiles getting up to use the bathroom. Stiles getting up to sit at his desk for the rest of the night, blearily staring at the computer. Scott stopping by. Once or twice it was someone else coming for a late night visit. Derek, standing uncomfortably at the foot of the bed, talking to Stiles in a hushed voice even though no one else was in the house. Once it was Lydia, and the sheriff wasn't too proud of the way he kept checking the feed to make sure they were still sitting at the edge of Stiles' bed, talking intently rather than doing ...other things.
John wasn't sure what was going on with Stiles and Lydia Martin. Half the time Stiles' eyes still held that sparkle of teenage love and hero worship when he talked about her, but he wasn't blindly in love with her anymore. Stiles got a strange look in his eye whenever he talked about Lydia, but John hadn't been able to pin it down as any kind of recognizable emotion.
It got to the point where John just ignored any new ping after a cursory glance to make sure it wasn't anything that needed his attention. So when his phone pinged on a Saturday night, close to midnight, he figured it was Scott stopping by for a visit or to play video games. Technically, both boys had a curfew, but considering his and Melissa's jobs meant that more often than not, they weren't supervised at night. As long as they ended up at one of their houses, playing video games or watching DVDs, neither he nor Melissa really minded.
But it wasn't Scott. And it wasn't video games or DVDs. It wasn't even a quiet but intent conversation with Lydia he saw happening on the screen.
Werewolf, former murder suspect, twenty-four year old Derek Hale was standing in Stiles' room, his arms wrapped around Stiles. John couldn't see where Derek's hands had disappeared to, but he could guess. Stiles was equally wrapped around Derek, one of his hands in Derek's hair, the other around his shoulders. They were kissing frantically and deeply enough that John had to focus on something else for a moment.
It was obvious they'd just come home. His phone would have pinged earlier had Derek come in on his own and through the window. But Stiles had a key - the alarm didn't go off if you used a key. Only when they entered Stiles' room did the motion sensors go off and alert him.
Stiles, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, looked like he'd been out. Derek wore his customary black jeans and a dark blue shirt. The look was similar enough to Stiles' outfit that they made a striking pair.
John frowned. Stiles was as tall as Derek and while he wasn't a mountain of muscle like the werewolf, his shoulders had filled out over the last year. His little boy had gone and grown up while he wasn't looking.
Derek's hands made a reappearance, tugging on Stiles' t-shirt. Stiles lifted his arms and Derek pulled the shirt off in one smooth motion. Derek let his head drop down on Stiles' newly naked shoulder and mouthed along the top of it and up towards Stiles' neck.
John held his breath, but Derek only licked and kissed Stiles' skin. No hint of fangs anywhere. Both Scott and Derek had assured him - separately - that Derek couldn't turn anyone into a werewolf these days, but it wouldn't be the first time these kids had lied to him.
Stiles, who had put his hand back on Derek's head after taking off his shirt, used it to tug on Derek's hair, getting him to back off. Derek drew back, giving the camera - and John - a perfect view of the bright red hickey in the middle of a large patch of wet skin at the base of Stiles' neck.
John winced. Not only would he have to look at that tomorrow and know exactly how it got there, no, he'd also have a visual to go with it so he could see it in his mind's eye again and again. Screw imagination being worse than anything reality could throw out. Reality was bad enough already from where John was standing.
In his indignation, he missed Derek losing his shirt. But there he was, bare-chested and with his back to the camera. The sheriff blinked at the tattoo and made a mental note to check Derek's police file to see if it was listed as an identifying mark.
"Aw, crap," he muttered, watching as Derek cupped Stiles' face and they kissed, slowly and sweetly, like they really meant it. Like it was more than just a fling or two guys not wanting to rely on their own hands for a night.
Derek and Stiles rested their foreheads together after the kiss, wrapped in a tight embrace. Derek's hand was still on Stiles' cheek and his thumb lightly brushed over the dark shadows that were slowly fading form under Stiles' eyes as the weeks passed. Stiles' hands were around Derek's waist, gently stroking the skin at the small of Derek's back. It was the obligatory 'big feelings' scene from every clichéd romance movie ever made.
"Aw, crap," he repeated, his thumb hovering over the 'disconnect' button. He should go home and interrupt them. Call and threaten to throw the law book at Derek if he even so much as dreamed about touching Stiles - AKA his seventeen year old son - ever again.
But Stiles was smiling. He wasn't distressed or upset. Now that the boys had slowed their frantic pace, John could clearly see it wasn't just a way for Stiles and Derek to take Stiles' mind off the nightmares or to help him sleep. Stiles looked happy. Like they were - oh my God - in love.
Stiles said something and Derek's shoulders shook in response. John had to do a double take to make sure he wasn't imagining it. Derek Hale was laughing, genuinely laughing, at something Stiles had said.
"Oh my God," he whispered, "it's mutual."
"Everything okay, Sheriff?"
He jerked his head up, hand tightening around his phone. Deputy Parrish stood in the open door of his office, a clipboard in his hands.
"I'm fine, Parrish."
"All right," Parrish said, his tone the same as Stiles' when John insisted he'd definitely had salad for lunch so he could have pizza for dinner. Parrish gave him a polite smile and wandered off, throwing back a glance after a few steps. John met his eyes with a stony glare and Parrish hurried on.
John looked back down just in time to see Stiles duck down his head, looking up at Derek with a devilish smile on his face. He hooked a hand in the front of Derek's jeans and jerked him forwards. They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, Derek catching his weight on his arms before he crashed into Stiles.
John hit the 'disconnect' button and sat back in his chair. He couldn't stop Stiles from seeing Derek. Not unless he was prepared to lock Stiles up in a tower and throw away the key. And even then, he had a feeling that Derek would prove to be the prince that could scale even the highest tower. Not to mention the fact that Stiles was a sneaky, clever and vindictive little shit.
But there had to be ground rules. A curfew. Sleepovers only on the weekends. No more sneaking around. No more lying.
John nodded to himself. Ground rules. Taking down the motion sensors. Definitely taking down the cameras. Crying to Melissa about their babies growing up too fast.
Sounded like he had a plan for the day.