Chapter Text
After nearly being sacrificed and Stiles no longer possessed by the Nogitsune, Sheriff John Stilinski knew that it was time to begin to reveal his true nature to his son. He wasn't one of the Four, but he was strong in his own right. Knowing that his friend was in the United States, John decided to give him a call and convince him to not come to Beacon Hills once things were explained.
"Hello, Dimmock speaking."
"Hey Ry, this is John."
There was a chuckle on the other end. "And what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice, John? The last time I saw you was a few years ago when Mieczyslaw was what... twelve? How is the rascal doing?"
"That's the reason I'm calling... Raz. Stiles is not doing well... he had been running with werewolves."
"What the hell?!? How did Mieczyslaw get into that werewolf mess? I thought that the Hales were killed in that fire."
"No, four did survive. Peter Hale was in a coma, Laura and Derek fled to New York City, and the youngest, Cora, had been in South America. However, Laura is dead now..."
"John... Mih... Get to the point. Is Mieczyslaw in trouble?"
"Yes. I have reason to believe that Stiles, he prefers that name, has been kicked out of the Pack, especially after he was possessed by the Nogitsune."
"Bloody hell, John! He is in no state to be left by himself now! So this is the situation Ofaniel had told me about... Bugger... this is worse than I thought. I'm coming down to see things for myself."
"Ry... no. You don't have to come across the country to help. I just need some advice on how to help my son."
"John... you know what Mischief... what Stiles truly is. The fox knew what it was doing when it possessed him. I will be in Beacon Hills within a week."
Once John had hung up, he groaned and rubbed his temples. Ryan Dimmock, a former Detective Inspector from New Scotland Yard, was coming and no one better get in the man's way or there would be hell to pay... Literally...
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One Week Later
Chris Argent had returned to Beacon Hills, leaving Isaac Lahey in France under the care of his most trusted friends. He felt that he needed to be around to make sure that the Pack was doing well and to keep other hunters away. Just as he was walking out of a coffee shop, his eyes spied a dark green 1971 Ford Torino enter the parking lot of the diner nearby. Once it parked, a man got out of the car, sunglasses on and wearing a trenchcoat and a fine suit. Chris held his breath as he recognized the man... it was the Guardian of London. What the hell was the Guardian doing in Beacon Hills?