Authors Note:
The usual disclaimers apply, I'm not Jeff Davis living a secret life on here, I don't own Teen Wolf or any of the characters.

Rated M for language, drug and alcohol use, and eventual smut.

Totally AU, everyone you know and love is here, they're just a little different. I've changed the dates around a little so they're all a little older, and were thus born earlier.

Let me know what you think!

Part I

Stiles

Beacon Hills, California

May 14th 2012

The blaring of the alarm clock brought Stiles Stilinski out of his slumber with many groans, moans, and swats of his hand at the annoying little black box. Little cogs and bits of plastic shattered on the floor as it fell from the bedside table; he made a mental note to get another one, the fifth this month.

It was getting harder and harder to keep track of things, he reflected as he stood under the hot spray of the shower, slipping a few times on all the old bits of soap that someone had left all over the bottom of the tub; no doubt his son was the culprit. With the food shopping; the parent teacher meetings which he seemed to be in weekly; the time taken to look after his father; the training it took before he would trust a babysitter; the constant slew of new toys and games that he was commanded to buy; and his feeble little job, he hardly ever got a minute to himself. The ten minutes of peace under the shower were often the only parts of his day when he wasn't doing something, he had no idea how single parents with multiple children did it.

Max was already sat at the kitchen table when he descended and started making himself cereal, his little hand scooping cheerios from the bowl and into his open mouth with almost as much enthusiasm as Stiles had. They both loved food. His bright green eyes never looked away from the television, where some cartoon dogs were running around a green expanse of lawn, not even acknowledging that his father was there.

Stiles looked at Max from the corner of his eye as he ate, watching his sons impassive face, "Why are you awake?" He finally asked, knowing that he would never win this battle of silence. Max was as stubborn and implacable as a rock.

He turned, long, dirty blonde hair swaying a little as he regarded his father, "Because it's morning." He replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Stiles couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head and pressing his fingers to his forehead.

"You're never up this early," Stiles pointed out with his eyebrows raised. Max rarely left his big blue bed before he absolutely had too, but there was a nagging feeling in his gut that told him today was different. Max's change in routine only strengthened his assumption.

Max gave him a look. A look that he had come to dread. It meant he knew something that Stiles didn't, and that terrified him half to death. "Why don't you tell me?" Milk sloshed onto the table as he let the spoon drop into the bowl with a clang, staring up at his father.

"You're the one who we're talking about, so why don't you -" He gave his chest a little jab, "- tell me." A similar jab hit his own chest.

"Forget it." Max grumbled, returning to his cereal and forgetting he was even angry at his father as he slipped back into the brainwashing world of cartoons. Stiles absently wondered if he should ban cartoons, he had always loved them, still did in fact, and look how far they had gotten him.

Guilt rolled around with the cereal and coffee in his stomach at that thought. With a glance at Max he realised, a pang of pride shooting through him, that he wouldn't change anything. Not if it meant having to give up his wonderful little boy. Max had been born just a few days after Stiles' seventeenth birthday, much to the shock and disgrace of the Beacon Hills residents who judged him from the safety of their porches, protected behind their white picket fences.

He and Sophie, Max's mother, had left school to take care of little Max, ignoring his fathers protests and moving into the tiny guest room above the garage. Sophie had left after three years, but Stiles didn't want to think about that. He never liked to think about Sophie. It had been eight quick years since Max was born, and it seemed like he had done nothing but parent. Max was his only achievement when he really thought about it, and what an achievement he was. Sweet, caring, funny, active, and always smiling, he was a little ball of sunshine who never failed to brighten his fathers day. That was why it was so strange for him to be quiet and unresponsive; he was usually a little mini version of Stiles, bouncing off the walls and chattering away about anything and everything.

With a sigh, Stiles finished his cereal, slung a protesting Max over his shoulder in a firemans lift, and headed upstairs past the family photographs that dominated the walls.

The sheriff, as Stiles and everyone else still called him, even though he wasn't any more, was already sat at the foot of Max's bed by the time they reached his room, his usually sad eyes lighting up when he saw his family in the doorway.

"Put me down or I'm calling child services!" Max was yelling, giggling simultaneously as Stiles gave his ribs little jabs, tickling him till his face was red and he was panting for breath.

"Oh, really, well there won't be any need to because I'll call an adoption agency if you don't get dressed in the next ten minutes." Stiles grinned, putting down Max and giving him a push towards the chest of drawers. He felt so sick and dizzy from being hung upside down and tickled that he fell onto the floor after his fourth step, legs splayed out awkwardly underneath him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay..." He insisted, swatting away his grandfathers calloused hands and making his way to the wooden drawers where he picked out the first things he could find.

The sheriff looked across to his son, resting against the doorway with his arms folded, a smile playing on his lips, and coughed. "What are you doing today?" He asked, wishing he hadn't as soon as the words had came out. He hadn't left the house in three months, the last time being to go to Max's school play. The walk to the car had almost killed him, but he hadn't complained. He never complained; just let the sadness dwell inside him, only manifesting in his droopy eyes and his hunched frame.

"Drop Max off at school, probably go for a run, go to work, pick him up. I dunno, the usual." Stiles replied with a shrug, wondering what his dad would do all day. He just seemed to sit in the living room and read spy novels or watch reruns of Oprah; he had been devastated when her show was cancelled.

"Ah. Excited for school, Max?" The sheriff asked, leaning forward to ruffle Max's blonde curls.

"We have to do about triangles today. I like triangles." Max informed him. Stiles and the sheriff shot an amused glance at each other, proceeding to talk absently between themselves as Max changed into his clothes and waddled off to brush his teeth.

"He's a good kid." The sheriff grinned, getting up from the bed awkwardly and stumbling across the room on his cane to his son, resting a hand on his shoulder in what both of them pretended was a loving father-son moment, but was actually just a need to hold onto someone and catch his breath. "Aren't you going to Scott's party?" He asked, violent coughs racking his body.

"I can't get a sitter, so no. The last one they sent gave Max a bowl of nuts and he almost choked to death." Stiles shook his head, remembering the stupid girl that had caused his son to break out in a huge red rash and let his throat close up by feeding him nuts. He had left explicit instructions of what Max could and could not eat, but of course she had just glanced at it, thinking it wasn't anything too important.

"Nonsense, I can watch him." His dad protested, taking Stiles' arm and walking down the hallway. He needed the support.

"I can't ask you to do that – you know what happened before..." Stiles trailed off, looking down at his feet awkwardly. He had left Max with his father a few months back, returning home to find his dad had passed out from accidentally taking the wrong medication, and Max snorkelling in the ice cold paddling pool, his body completely blue, a huge smile on his face as he fished out stones and weeds from the bottom.

"I promise nothing will go wrong. I'll even get that woman from over the street to come help out, she flirts with me every time I go out into the garden." His dad told him with a theatrical shudder, chuckling at the memory of the blonde firecracker darting across the lawn to help him whenever he was doddering slowly about in the garden.

"Mrs. Finstock?" Stiles laughed, thinking of his old lacrosse coaches wife. Her husband had told her to help Stiles and his family in any way possible and she took it to heart, always peering out of her blinds to see if they needed any help, leaving whatever dish she was cooking to burn and running across the street with her arms in the air when she saw any of their family.

"That's the one. You deserve a little fun, kid." Stiles noticed the sadness in his fathers eyes for just a second before it was replaced with the mask he wore when around his family. He had always been supportive of Stiles and Max, but Stiles could tell there was something else he wasn't saying, some unrealised dreams for his son. Stiles was only twenty five, but he might as well have been forty; he was a parent through and through, hardly ever giving himself some free time, always putting Max's needs before his own.

"I'll think about it." Stiles replied in a tone that brokered no argument. If he could speak to Mrs. Finstock he might consider it, but there was no way his ailing father was looking after Max alone. The kid was mature enough, but he needed to be watched, he was always getting into trouble.

"Max!" As he descended the last step he looked up and noticed Max pressing his face up against the little fish bowl he had gotten last week, two little orange fishes swimming around inside. Stiles could tell it was going to fall, Max was so engrossed in the bobbing mouths, bulging eyes, and orange scales that hadn't realised the bowl was almost falling off the edge of the table.

Max cried out in panic as the bowl fell to the floor, Stiles' arms reaching out a second too late and missing the bowl. Glass flew in all directions, the two orange fish bobbing furiously, suffocating on oxygen.

"Emergency!" He screamed, looking rather delighted at the scene before him as he jumped down from the arm of the chair he had been balancing on and running over to the mess on the floor.

"Your feet!" Stiles shouted, sighing and shooting Max a glare when he saw he already had his shoes on ready for school.

"Rescue Mr and Mrs Fish! Somebody call an ambulance!" He joked, taking Mr. Fish in his palm while Stiles took Mrs. Fish, both of them running with a spring in their step to save the two family members. "Doctor, what do we do?!" Max giggled in a panic, jumping onto a kitchen chair so he could see what his dad was doing in the sink.

"We have to make them a new home for the day, and hope no one washes any pots." Stiles turned to grin at his son, putting in the plug and filling the sink with lukewarm water. He deposited Mrs. Fish into her makeshift home and lifted Max from the chair by his waist so her husband could join her.

"Pretty big compared to their last home." Max commented with a happy nod, putting a wine glass in the sink for the lovers to frolic in, his face lighting up when Mrs. Fish – or maybe it was Mr. Fish, they both looked the same – swum inside the glass and looked around with what Max was convinced was a happy expression.

"Your teacher won't be happy. We're gonna be late now." Stiles said, throwing Max over his shoulder again and marching him out to the car, grabbing his son's green backpack on the way.

"Miss Argent's always happy, don't be stupid." Max laughed, buckling himself into the passenger seat and flicking through the radio. Stiles swatted away his hand as he pulled out of the drive, turning the dial till he reached the news; he needed to hear the traffic reports and if anything bad had happened in town that could threaten Max. Not for the first time, he reflected on what a dad he had become, deciding he was relaxing for the day and letting Max flick through the stations till a song that caught his attention came on.

Both of them were bobbing along, laughing at the glances from strangers who looked up at the old blue jeep with music blasting dully through the closed windows with a glare that quickly turned to a smile when they noticed it was Stiles and Max. Everyone knew Stiles, most of the town coming to accept him for a good, responsible parent after the ordeal he went through with her.

Everyone usually referred to Sophie, Max's mother, as 'her' or 'that-money-grabbing-fame-whore'. No one had seen her in years, stiffly commenting that she was living out in Los Angeles before going about their business if anyone ever asked. Only the teenagers lit up when they heard about Sophie, all wanting to get close to Stiles to find out why such a famous and wonderful woman would have picked this normal looking guy to be the father of her child.

"Have a good day, hey -" Stiles gently grabbed onto a quickly retreating Max's backpack to pull him back, turning him around and forcing a hug out of him. "- I'll pick you up at three. Bye!" He stood and waved to his sons running figure, smiling when he embraced Allison at the school doors. He was about to head for his favourite track which he ran most mornings when he saw Allison, or Mrs. Argent as she was to Max, coming towards him.

"Stiles, hey. Are you coming tonight?" She grinned, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.

"I dunno, I need a babysitter." Stiles replied with a half-hearted shrug. He couldn't help the fact that every babysitter in Beacon Hills was as dumb as shit.

"Please come, it's Scott's birthday. Erica will hurt you if you don't show up, you missed their anniversary last month because Max had a cold!" Erica, Scott's wife and mother of his seven year old daughter, scared Stiles half to death, always painting with rock music blaring and working on her motorcycles covered in grease and oil. She had punched Stiles in a jesting way once and he had a bruise for a month.

"It was a bad cold!" Stiles protested with a grin, "I guess the threat of her fists might make me reconsider. But Max needs to be watched..." Stiles looked to the doors, seeing his sons smiling face chatting with a few friends. He was holding court, everyone looking to him for the answers to whatever they were talking about. It made Stiles proud.

"He's eight, Stiles. He's not going to break if you leave him alone for a night. Text Scott and see whose taking care of Isabelle, you can send Max over there too, you know he likes her." Stiles grudgingly nodded at the idea; it had been a while since he saw Scott properly after all.

"Whose coming?" Scott asked absently, walking the few feet back to his car with Allison by his side.

"Everyone. Scott and Erica, obviously, Isaac, Boyd, Derek, I think Lydia might even be in town for the weekend, oh, hold on." She picked her vibrating phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen, "My brother-in-law. I better take it, I'll see you tonight." A fleeting kiss left sticky gloss on his cheek as she headed back towards the school. "Jackson! Long time no see!" He heard her say as she passed the gates, her voice fading.

After slipping back into the warmth of the car he grabbed his phone from the dashboard, typing out a text to Scott and sending it with a groan. He really didn't want to leave Max, he never did. But it was his best friend, and it had been a long time since he saw anyone; he just hated having to answer all the questions about why he never came out, why he never went to parties or went to the clubs with them. No one but Scott and Erica could relate to him, having a child themselves, but they had a different parenting experience than Stiles did. They had Scott's mom to help out, as well as his step-father and all their family and friends that they just let Isabelle spend time with. Stiles supposed he was pretty overprotective, he'd probably only let Scott, or his other best friend Isaac, look after Max. Even then he'd be a nervous wreck all day, Max always in the forefront of his mind.

With a mixture of excitement and dread rolling in his stomach, he set off for the track, wondering if Max was okay all the way there.