Hello, I'm back. I've been on vacation and have been sick. Not a fun combination, but I'm back now. Thank you for your patience. All stories new and old will resume soon.

"Rise and shine!"

"Noooooooooooo!", Stiles groaned, because his life was so unfair, his dad sounded way too perky for anyone's good, and he was so damn comfortable at the moment. And not even just merely comfortable, more like 'oh my god, I don't care that the house is on fire. Leave me the fuck alone. I'm going to let it all burn.' kind of comfortable. Having a warm body pillow of furry wolf goodness wasn't helping matters in waking, especially if that pillow had no intention of getting up any time soon either.

For whatever reason, Derek had taken to sleeping in his bed lately even while Stiles was in it which wasn't as sexy as it sounded, unless one had a kink for listening to the bed rumbling sounds of powerful wolf snores and being covered in itchy long wiry hair that got in places Stiles didn't know he had.

Despite those minor discomforts, it was surprisingly not awkward so Stiles took what he could get, which was usually less than half of the mattress. In human form, Derek was a source of sexual frustration, chiseled muscle, and threatening frowny face of unshaven grumpiness. Derek in lupine form was all snuggly and covered in soft fur that smelled like cold night air, damp earth, and spiced wood. It was like having a giant teddy bear that shamelessly hogged the bed and growled at you if you snored (the fucking hypocrite cause seriously, Derek's snores could set the base line for bad techno music) or wiggled around too much.

Because of the space issue and Derek's silent refusal to sleep elsewhere, Stiles more often than not found himself sleeping on top of or wrapped around the Alpha like a baby monkey koala thingy, all angles of his body buried in fluffy mounds softness and warmth.

As it was with his father still looming over him, Stiles roused himself enough awake to realize two very important things. One, it was Saturday and two, it was well before noon. "Why?", Stiles flopped back down to groan into dark fur, the complaint coming out slightly muffled. Derek echoed this sentiment with a deep rumbling sound that was more pained whining in agreement than actual growl.

It had been a shock to Stiles to find out that Derek seemed to live for sleeping in. He had always kinda thought that the werewolf would be up at dawn, communing with nature and becoming one with the land. Stiles had voiced this absurd notion once in a rant until Derek pointed out that werewolves were nocturnal so why the hell would he be up at dawn like a crazy person when noon was a perfectly acceptable time to check if the sun rose or not.

"We're going to the preserve today for some of that heart healthy exercise you're always nagging me about. I need my sponsor for motivation so shake a leg and grab your gear.", John persisted with a wide grin, the expression of one who enjoyed torturing their offspring with unreasonable demands and their own words used against them.

"This is child abuse. I'll report you to the authorities.", Stiles grumbled who somehow managed to sit up enough to start stretching, his back and joints popping loudly enough to make John wince at the wet sounding chorus of crunching cartilage.

"I'll be sure to file and shred that report for you. Some fresh air won't kill you.", John said, not letting up an inch.

"Caffeine withdrawal might.", Stiles yawned before slumping back over the wolf, like all strength had been sapped from his extremities due to the absence of a hot beverage. He glared down at Derek who smugly took up more of the bed, his bulk practically shoving Stiles off of it and onto the floor. In retaliation, Stiles attempted to kick the wolf out the bed but only succeeded at flailing about in self defense to avoid Derek rolling over on top of him. John winced for his son as Stiles belly flopped onto hardwood face first to eat floor.

"I would have but someone got rid of all the coffee in the house because it wasn't heart healthy.", John grinned, relishing his victory as one of Stiles's health kicks finally bit him in the ass, the teenager groaning a wounded sound into the floorboards.

"Touché. Well played, father. Well played.", Stiles sighed, picking himself up off of the floor. "I'm willing to make an exception in this matter.". He glared at the bed hog in wolf's clothing as Derek stretching out fully, letting out a content and completely smug sigh as he luxuriated over his victory.

"Don't forget to put the collar on Dark.", John said, making both boy and wolf wake up fully to stare at him wide eyed. "I'll go start breakfast.".

"Why?", Stiles asked, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer. If Derek's intent expression was anything to go by, he wasn't either.

"Because it's the most important meal of the day.", John whipped. Stiles didn't bat at an eye at the joke but it did make Derek wince, making his pointed ears flick and go back. Apparently, the Stilinski's brand and level of wit was hereditary.

"Obviously we're taking him with us. C'mon son, get with the program.", John said in parting before descending the stairs, leaving a pair of miffed beings in his wake.

"Oh, crap.", Stiles sighed because Derek was all with the glares and low growling now. Stiles didn't think it was possible for canines to have eyebrows but Derek was proving him wrong. There was some definite eyebrow dance of doom being emoted through all the fur right now.

Whether as a joke or not, cause who could really tell with Deaton, the vet had made up a collar of braided bright blue leather complete with a set of tags for Derek. Stiles had thrown it in a drawer after showing it to his dad and completely forgotten about it until now. He grimaced as he found it easily enough, wondering if he should just lie and tell his dad that he had lost it. It would not be the first time Stiles had misplaced something and in the mess of lies and half truths that was his life and relationship with his father now, this one was minor, a mere drop in an ocean of deceit.

It was Stiles's sudden stillness that got Derek's full attention. A quiet Stiles was a very disconcerting thing to be in the presence of. That and the scent of misery that was starting to waft off of the teenager's skin was distressing enough to make Derek want to shift and whine. He watched as Stiles began to worry his bottom lip between his teeth, his agile mind probably already thinking up some sort of excuse or flat out lie to feed to his father about why their 'dog' couldn't wear the collar. In the grand scheme of disastrous occurrences that was their abnormal lives, this was a truly minor thing. For some strange reason though, it bothered Derek as he watched Stiles's long, deceptively graceful fingers play with the braided leather in hand.

Derek couldn't explain what he was feeling or admit it to himself even if he did. All he knew was that he didn't like that scent of distress coming off of Stiles first thing in the morning or that slightly sad look on his face, his guilt already wounding him for the new deceits sitting unborn on his tongue.

As much as he hated to admit it and would never do so outside his own head, Derek thought Deaton had done an excellent job selecting the collar. It looked like it would fit perfectly, riding comfortably around his neck without feeling like it was going to choke him. The color was a little off-putting though, the blue of the leather almost the same light shade of his wolf eyes, and would stick out blatantly against his dark fur which Derek was sure was Deaton's intention all along.

Growling at himself for delaying, Derek loped off of the bed with a new resolve. He could do this, give this small reprieve to Stiles. It would cost him nothing but some pride on his part. Since the demise of his family and pack though, when had that been of any real merit or worth? He noticed that Stiles was so deep in thought he didn't even take note of the werewolf's approach, and damn it, Derek felt guilty even about that.

Stiles realized he must have been staring down at the collar in hand for while, the teenager startling back to current reality when Derek pressed his overly large head into his limp hands, bumping the collar. Swallowing hard and in complete disbelief of his luck, Stiles took that as consent or that least he hoped it was, slipping the collar carefully over the wolf's head, being mindful of his ears.

"It looks good.", Stiles grinned, smoothing the fur around the collar down a bit. Derek shot him a 'don't press your luck' look of briefly bared fangs before stalking off, the smell of bacon wafting up into the room.

"That better not be the real stuff.", Stiles yelled down to his father as he scrambled for some clothing. He fully planned on feeding Derek all the bacon if it was, especially when he knew there was heart healthy turkey substitute in the fridge. Stiles couldn't help but smile as he heard Derek's tags jiggle down the stairs or the laugh that came when he heard his dad yelp in surprise as Derek helped himself to all the bacon.

Werewolves didn't worry about cholesterol and someone had to be punished for the collar.

oOo

John's plan for the day had been to go out to the preserve for some long overdue father/son/pet bonding but like everything else that been going on in Beacon Hill of late, things went pretty much off the rails as soon as the Stilinskis and wolf stepped out their own front door.

"Oh crap.", John muttered to his shoes before looking up with a fake smile of tolerating politeness. Ignoring the rules of polite social conduct completely, Stiles groaned inwardly and outwardly as the Stilinski's elderly neighbor, Mrs. McCormick, approached them. As per usual, she had her tiny yappy dog, Mr. Boobers, trailing behind her and peeing on anything he could get his tiny back hind leg up and over on. The Maltese dressed in ugly checkered doggie sweater was the bane of the Sheriff's existence and unlikely nemesis. Proving that evil came in all shapes and forms, Mr. Boobers had the knack for deciding to play overzealous guard dog whenever the Sheriff worked the night shifts and needed to sleep during the day. Every leaf that had the audacity to settle itself on Mrs. McCormick's lawn or within a three square mile of it was thoroughly and very noisily interrogated by Mr. Boobers just when John was about to go to sleep. It was the Sheriff's running theory that Mr. McCormick had either died from sleep deprivation or in desperate self defense to get a nap.

"Be nice.", John heard Stiles mutter at him out of the corner of him mouth. "She's a dying little old lady not meant for this world that much longer.".

If he had human vocal cords, Derek would beg to differ. From her scent alone, Mrs. McCormick was almost disturbingly healthy despite her advanced years. It wouldn't surprise Derek in the least if she easily held on for another twenty years. As it was, the werewolf plopped his ass down and tried to appear non-threatening, cause frightened little old ladies were usually annoying, surprisingly noisy, and hard on his sensitive hearing. That and Derek had a bad feeling that this was going to take a while so he might as well be comfortable.

"She's been dying for the better part of a decade.", John pointed out, wishing like hell that he wasn't the Sheriff sometimes. Especially one that had to deal with Mrs. McCormick who assumed because they were neighbors and had been so since before Stiles's birth that she had the right to tell the Sheriff in person of every misdoing that went on in their neighborhood. John felt he could have lived the entire rest of his life without knowing that most mornings Mr. Hendrix, who lived two houses over, liked to dress in lingerie and apparently did a little dance while he drank his coffee or that Mrs. White, who lived across from them, liked to paint her toenails in the nude while she did her business on the toilet. John tried not to think about all the time he wasted explaining to Mrs. McCormick that most of the things she complained about, while distasteful or mentally scarring, were not really illegal.

"So she doesn't have much time left.", Stiles shrugged while strategically placing himself behind his father and making a great show of adjusting and readjusting Derek's collar, which made the werewolf grumble and nip at Stiles's fingers. Fully aware that he had just been made a living shield, John had to give credit where credit was due. Stiles had some sort of self preservation.

The teenager ignored the werewolf's glare while he dodged the playful bites but did answer Derek's following look of confusion when the wolf began scenting stress and annoyance coming off both Stilinskis. "Just wait for it.", Stiles sighed in the wolf's ear.

"She could be less of a pain in my ass about it…", John grumbled down at his offspring before plastering a wide fake smile on his face. "Hello Mrs. McCormick. Lovely weather we're having today.".

"It's too bright in my opinion. We'll all get cancer from it, mark my words, Sheriff. Hello Toby.", was Mrs. McCormick's way of greeting.

"Stiles, ma'am.", John corrected, something that Stiles didn't even bother with anymore. Despite popular opinion, he recognized a lost cause when he saw one. Though she knew him practically from birth. Mrs. McCormick had never bothered to properly learn Stiles's name. Toby was newest title though so Stiles added it to the ever growing list of 'names that were not his'. It was close to triple digits by now, and Stiles figured by the time he went to college that it would be well over in hundreds. He was counting on it, considering that the Sitlinskis had an ongoing bet about it. Mrs. McCormick had the strange inclination for never reusing the same name and Stiles was positive that he could get her up to a solid 150 before he left for college. His dad was sure that she was going to mess up one day and reuse a name or finally refer to his son by the correct one. There was a week's worth of junk food freedom on the line here and as painful as it was, it almost made any interaction with Mrs. McCormick worth the effort.

"Eh? What's a Stiles?", Mrs. McCormick's face clouded over with confusion. "Is that gang speak? I saw something about that on my shows.".

"Never mind. Nice talking to you as always but we were just about to….", John started to say in a daring verbal attempt of escape. For a dying little old lady, Mrs. McCormick and her minuscule dog somehow managed to take up the entirety of the doorstop landing and the sidewalk that lay beyond it. For their survival, John reasoned that they were just going to have to cut around her and risk being known by the entire town that they were the rudest human beings who ever existed. Besides being a snoop and a bit of a tattletale, Mrs. McCormick also held the title of 'biggest gossip ever in the history of bored busybodies with fugly little dogs'. John was willing to risk the negative social stigma and he was sure Stiles would survive it as well.

"Sheriff, I have a concern.", Mrs. McCormick said in a shrill voice of doomed extended social interaction.

"Of course you do.", John sighed, feeling another tiny piece of his soul curl up and die. Sensing Stiles start to shift away and ease back into the safety of the house, the sheriff managed to grab the back of his son's shirt just in time. Misery loved company and John wasn't about to suffer through this alone.

"What was that?", Mrs. McCormick's beady little eyes narrowed, alighting on Stiles who was trying to fight his father's hand of fate and failing miserably at it. The teenager had all the subtlety and stealth of a dying goose. He also had an audience of a very amused werewolf he was muttered colorful threats at. Stiles had forgotten though that just like the Tyrannosaurus Mrs. McCormick hunted her prey by movement, her squinty focus zooming in on him. "Why are you fidgeting like that? Are you on the drugs? You should have him tested. They're all on the drugs theses days, making it in the bathroom.".

"Yes. Yes, I am. On the drugs, but prescribed ones, not weird toilet water meth. Is that a thing? Yes? No? Anyway, it's called Adderall and I really should go take some. Like right now cause I'm all with the fidget. Watch me do just that. Fidget. I'm a danger to myself and others.". At this point, Stiles was willing to use any excuse to leave. He was considering blinking Morse code at Derek to go get help or shift or do something besides sit there and look stoic. Stiles was willing to bet a wolf turning into a naked man would make even Mrs. McCormick shut up long enough for him to run away but Derek looked like he was trying to fall asleep while sitting up, the big useless faker.

"He's fine. What's on your mind?", John prompted, wanting to get this over as soon as possible. The gods of time conservation were not on his side though today. Mrs. McCormick squinted at the giant animal beside them, like she had somehow missed the pony sized canine and was just now noticing the wolf's presence.

"Is that a dog?", Mrs. McCormick pursed her wrinkled lips in open distaste. Derek opened his eyes to stare blandly back at her, equally unimpressed.

"Is that your concern?", John kinda really hoped it was so that they could move this along.

"It should be on a leash like Mr. Boobers.", Mrs. McCormick sniffed, unnecessarily showing the Stilinskis and Derek the ugly bejeweled leash she had in hand, like anyone with functioning eyeballs wouldn't be able to miss its gaudy bedazzled length of hot pinkness and rhinestones.

One didn't need to be a werewolf to perceive the disapproval coming off her in waves as she glared at Derek and his lack of a leash. For having such an owner, Derek might have felt bad for the dressed up little dog if it didn't keep sniffing around him and huffing little growls at him, the Maltese obviously having the brains bred out of him for daring such a thing in the first place. If he wanted to or got bored enough to do so, Derek could literally crush Mr. Boobers with one paw and brush his flattened corpse off of to the side with his tail. Deeming Mr. Boobers not worth the effort of intimidating, Derek ignored the tiny canine, turning his attention back to the humans.

"Dark is very well trained. I'm not worried about it.", John said with a patience that was quickly dwindling. She had a valid point but he would rather chew glass at this point than admit it.

"It's the law. You should know better than that, Sheriff.", Mrs. McCormick lectured, waggling a crooked finger in John's face who was busy reminding himself about all the paperwork that came with police brutality and manslaughter, no matter how justified as it was.

"Well thank you for bringing that to my attention.", John said through gritted teeth that could pass for a smile if the other person involved was as inattentive as a box of rocks or say, Mrs. McCormick. "Now, if you'll excuse us…."

"About my concern.", Mrs. McCormick reminded shrilly, making both Stilinskis and even Derek wince, confirming Stiles's suspicion that she could hit a pitch that only dogs could hear. As fate and fortune would have it though, Mrs. McCormick never got to make her complaint of the day known because Mr. Boober decided at that very moment it was an opportune time for him to lift his leg and pee on Derek.

There was moment of quiet shock of 'that damn dog did not just do that' from the Stilinskis on varying levels of disbelief, filled in with the background noises of tsking from Mrs. McCormick about how Mr. Boobers was being a naughty dog and naughty dogs didn't get to wear their favorite sweaters. There was also a strained stillness coming from the now slightly soggy werewolf due to the swirling maelstrom going on in Derek's head as various instincts of both human and wolf tried to decide how to react to this sort of situation.

"DER…DARK! NO! NO! NO! STAY!", Stiles yelled as Derek lunged forward, fangs bared and jaw wide to swallow the Maltese whole, sweater and all. For apparently not having any notable survival instincts left, Mr. Boobers won out in the speed and agility categories for his breed as the tiny dog skittered behind his owner, somehow managing to escape being mauled by a slightly moist and extremely pissed off werewolf.

Throwing caution to the wind and not wanting to witness a small animal basically being thrown into a blender of teeth, Stiles leapt on Derek's back. It didn't slow the wolf down or burden it in the least. It did, however, manage to knock all the air out of his lungs though, but Stiles was proud of the small victory that he somehow hadn't gotten thrown off as he clung to Derek's fur like an oversized tick.

Instead of running for his life, Mr. Boobers succeeded in further epic fail by wrapping his leash around Mrs. McCormick's brittle looking ankles before sitting down next to her because if he was going to be eaten, Mr. Boobers seemed determined to take his owner with him.

"Please don't eat Mr. Boobers! He'll get stuck in your teeth and give you indigestion! His sweater will give you the runs!", Stiles tried to reason with the werewolf he was bodily hanging off of, his arms wrapped tightly around Derek's neck as he wrapped his legs around the wolf's middle. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon thanks to lacrosse and all the suicide runs their insane coach had made them do.

In a case of 'like dog, like owner', Mrs. McCormick didn't even flinch, the little old lady glaring at the growling wolf that was practically eye level with her. "I told you he needed to be on a leash. I'm going to report that beast.", she snapped haughtily, unwrapping the leash around her bony ankles with a dignity that monarchs strove for yet rarely achieved before stalking away with her head held high and her petulant little dog trailing behind her.

"Good luck with that.", John muttered, rolling his eyes, not knowing whether to laugh or sigh with relief. He looked on in bemusement as Stiles seemed to be carrying on a one sided conversation with Dark. Ignoring the teenager that still clung to his back, the wolf appeared to be pouting, making low grumbling noises of complaint as he sniffed the moist spot on his backside near the base of his tail.

"I'm very disappointed in you.", John told Derek who tilted his head up inquisitively in answer. Stiles barely refrained from face palming, the werewolf apparently forgetting that he was supposed to be unable to understand English. "You could have done us all a favor and eaten that tinker toy dog from hell.".

"Dad, think about the paperwork alone on that. Innocent trees don't have to die a senseless death. Don't you care at all about the environment?", Stiles shook his head. Derek was glaring at him again in the 'you are not amusing and I am so not amused' kinda way but Stiles was used to it by now.

"Oh well, this is a good chance to try out that new shampoo I got from Deaton. It smells like sweetpea.", John grinned, ruffling up Derek's fur. Stiles dry swallowed gravel and glass, refusing to look over at Derek whose eyes were probably red by now.

As nice as a bath sounded considering that he smelled like dog piss, Derek still made plans to eliminate the good doctor for making his smell like little girl's perfume. His ideas for vengeance were interrupted though by the Sheriff. "You're lucky you got us. You would die out in the wild.", John told the werewolf who tried not to stare too incredulously back at him and had to think lupine thoughts to keep in the proper mind set and form.

The Sheriff couldn't understand why his son started to laugh hard enough he fell off of the wolf or why Dark stalked off stiff legged like he had been insulted. His life was a strange thing.