Author's Note: This will be a (probably ridiculously short) multichaptered fic. It's post s03 au, wherein Erica and Boyd lived, but everything else stays pretty much the same.

Disclaimer: I don't own shit, bro.

It was Erica's idea, though Stiles was more than happy to take the resulting blame. A week after Derek disappeared, sister in tow, leaving behind the barely alive remains of what was once his pack to Scott (psychotic uncle included) Erica dropped into the seat next to Stiles in chemistry and sighed. Stiles rolled his head in her direction and made yes, what is it eyebrow motions that he would absolutely never admit to learning from Derek. Their sub in chemistry couldn't give two shits what the class did, as long as she wasn't bothered while she played on her phone, so Erica flopped her arms down on the desk, pillowing her head on her elbows as she faced him. She didn't speak, even when prodded with an elbow.

"What's wrong, Catwoman?"

"You mean besides the fact that I almost died, Boyd almost died, Isaac probably could have died, your father was almost sacrificed, Scott's now our big alpha daddy, the wonder twins are still around breathing our air and the sound of Lydia's voice almost literally brings around death? Nothing at all."

Stiles grinned a little despite himself, the dark humor making the thought of the past weeks almost bearable. He hadn't really slept in a week, but if the hunch of Erica's shoulders said anything clearly, she hadn't either.

"You know," he said, completely ignoring the sub as she explained that they would be watching (yet another) movie, this one about Einstein. "Sarcasm is a very flattering look for you. It really brings out your eyes."

Erica laughed at that, loud and rough around the edges, just the wrong side of hysterical. The sub gave her the evil eye before pointedly shutting off the lights. "God," she said quietly, almost too quietly for Stiles' human ears, "I just want to watch comic book movies and be a teenager for a while, you know? I'm so tired of scrambling to play academic catch-up because of a psycho group of killers kidnapped me to get at the worst alpha in history."

And that, really, was all it took; a throw away comment, muttered wistfully in a dark classroom before she fell asleep and suddenly Stiles couldn't leave the thought alone. When was the last time any of us have just been kids, Stiles thought to himself, staring at Erica while she dozed off (for what was probably a much needed nap, he was jealous). Why couldn't they just sprawl out for a weekend, ignore their homework and their crazy ass town, and watch comic book movies?

"Dad," Stile said, scooting into his office that afternoon. He had two salads stacked in his hands and his backpack was still slung mostly on one shoulder. He was exhausted, from head to toe, but he was pretty sure that his dad hadn't eaten anything, like, all day, since he was still clearing up the mess from the week before. He was however, mistaken, because when he barged into his father's office he found the man draped over his chair, a greasy hamburger clutched in his hands.

The two stared at each other for a minute while the door swung shut behind Stiles. "This better be something other than what it looks like," he said, with a pointed look to the bag from McDonald's.

"Son, I am still cleaning up the mess from last week, when I was kidnapped and held hostage? Do you remember that? Because I do, and according to me that earns me a burger. A juicy, greasy, meat burger. If you've got any objections, Stiles, you can take them elsewhere, got it?"

There were two ways this could go. They could finally have that fight that was building or Stiles could give in. Or…

"One condition," Stiles said quickly. He tried to pretend his shoulders weren't tense and he could tell his father was doing the same. They hadn't really talked since getting out of that stupid hole in the ground, except to rehash the details that Stiles had tried to tell the Sheriff back in his bedroom with Cora. (Melissa had told the Sheriff almost everything while held captive, but his dad had said he wanted to hear it from his son's mouth and he had. Neither had been home a lot since then, Stiles' hanging at Scott's when he couldn't sleep and the Sheriff working to clean up his trashed town and deal with Scott's nosy FBI dad.)

The Sheriff looked skeptical, but after a long terrifying moment he sighed and nodded at the chair in front of his desk. "Go ahead, kid," he said. He was almost smiling.

So Stiles detailed his plan, starting, as all wheedling teenagers did, with a sympathetic cry for how hard their lives were and how much they deserved a break. He figured his argument was a little bit more solid than other teenagers, since he had literally sacrificed himself for his father but hey, it wasn't like he was known to play fair all that much. When he finished his spiel, winding down with an arm gesture that nearly knocked his father's empty coffee cup from his desk, the Sheriff was definitely smiling a little bit at the corner of his mouth. He looked less tired for a moment and for the first time in a week (a week of nightmares, of waking up sweating and screaming, sick to his stomach as he dreamed of a dark that dragged at his ankles and kept him from saving those he loved, a week of hell that he didn't see stopping anytime soon) Stiles thought that they might just come out of the whole werewolf mess okay.

"Sure thing, kid," the Sheriff said. "Just… One condition?"

His shoulders went from almost relaxed to tense in half a second. His heart leap and his stomach plummeted. "Yeah, dad?"

"If any of you find another body, make me your first call."

Stiles laughed so hard at his father's condition that he cried, shoulders heaving and hands shaking. He spilled both salads over his father's office floor and laughed until his voice was just as hoarse as if he'd been screaming. He figured later that his slight breakdown was what really convinced the Sheriff that Stiles was right; he and his friends needed some time to just be kids again.

The only thing left for him to do, after he cleaned up the spilled salad, was to convince his friends of this.