All the crack, all the time. As ever, zilch belongs to me.

"I'm courting your son, sir," Derek says.

"Courting?" The Sheriff replies, eyebrows raised, "Who says courting in this day and age?"

"Thank you!" Stiles calls from where he's trying to scrub blood from the sofa cushions. Of course he'd get this job. Of course Derek, despite superwolfy healing, would bleed like a bitch first. Stiles arms are aching. Then he winces and shoots a guilty glance at Derek because Derek does have a hole in his shoulder. Derek who is frowning back at him like he can read minds. God, Stiles hopes that isn't a werewolf power.

Stiles Dad is poking at that shoulder with a pair of tweezers and Stiles ignores the sort of squelchy noise because he is far too busy making sure their couch doesn't end up looking like an extra in a drive-by to spare time for throwing up right now.

"Gotcha," the Sheriff says triumphantly, holding up a rather mangled bullet like it's an amazing discovery, like he wasn't the one who put it there in the first place. Stiles watches his Dad's face as his Dad watched the wound on Derek's shoulder knit together like something out of those late night Sci-Fi's his Dad is always giving him judgy eyebrows over.

"Bet you're grateful I made you watch those films now, huh?" Stiles crows but the Sheriff is too busy gaping, open-mouthed, at Derek's now non-holey shoulder to pay attention to Stiles awesome rightness. Whatever.

"So," the Sheriff says when he's had his fill of gawking, "Werewolves then?"

"What?" Stiles squawks because something in his brain goes into damage control without his permission. "What are you talking about? Too much coffee? You know, bacon overdoses have been known to bring on hallucinations…wait, you haven't been eating bacon, have you?!"

Both Derek and his Dad are giving him the Mightily Unimpressed mouth-frown and Stiles just sags into the, let's face it, completely ruined couch. He takes a minute to just reflect because seriously, his life.

"You need to replace this," Stiles says petulantly, waving an arm at the blood-drenched cushions and Derek just nods, his non-emoting face throwing concern in Stiles direction. Fuck everything that Stiles even knows that.

The Sheriff is looking between the two of them wearing a sharp, calculating expression, and Stiles just accepts that he isn't getting out of the Talk he can see brewing, and that it is going to be horrific. His Dad would never do anything less.

Stiles throws a spare shirt in Derek's face, then tries hard (and mostly unsuccessfully) not to laugh when it creaks as he attempts to settle his bulk on the wooden stool beside Stiles. Actually creaks, like the stitching is protesting its lot in life. Quite frankly, it can get in damn line.

The Sheriff is standing across the table from them and now he's wearing his I-Am-Going-To-Get-Answers face. This does not bode well, not at all.

"This the guy I've been getting reports of you PDA'ing all over town with?" is not the start Stiles is expecting. He chokes violently on his mouthful of juice. Derek darts forward like he thinks Stiles is gonna try and throw himself off his stool and leave Derek alone against Interrogation Face, and it's inevitable that the shirt Derek is wearing takes that exact moment to decide it's too good for this ridiculousness, ripping right across the shoulders and down both arms. Derek gives a sort of yip and falls backwards off his stool, taking Stiles down with him in a messy pile.



"Werewolf?" Scott's face is a picture of confusion, which would be hilarious except Stiles is already bored of this conversation and also he has been scarred by his Dad and it's the kind of scarred that needs to be shared.

"Small part," Stiles assures and upends his backpack onto Scott's bed. Scott, still looking like the most baffled puppy of the bunch, bless his little crooked jaw, picks up the piece of paper closest to his knee, squints at it, then drops it like it has herpes.

"Oh my God," he moans, hands covering his eyes but Stiles is not having that because Scott is his best friend damnit, and he WILL go through this with him.

"There's this one." He picks out the one that's definitely giving him nightmares tonight and holds it out. When Scott refuses to uncover his eyes, or even acknowledge Stiles, Stiles takes a deep breath and starts to read.

"When an animal knots, it can take…"

"NO NO NO NO NO," Scott starts yelling over Stiles grim voice, snatching the paper out of his friend's hand and stuffing it behind his bed as if out of sight, it never happened. His eyes are huge and horrified.

"This is my life," Stiles says but it comes out more of a wail and Scott nods sympathetically, which turns into a flail and a pinwheeling tumble off his bed when Derek growls from his perch half-in, half-out Scott's window. Stiles isn't even surprised any more, he just leans down and pats Scott's head comfortingly.

"Not cool, man."

Derek shrugs before stepping over Scott and sliding behind Stiles, wrapping him up in an arm-burrito, snuffling his neck. Just…urgh.


"It's lovely to meet you," Laura smiles warmly at the Sheriff, who just nods back like he's reserving judgement. Wise man, his Dad. The rest of the pack, (seriously, pack), come in and start hugging the Sheriff like this is totally normal behaviour and not cultish at all. Stiles smacks him palm to his forehead … at least that's what he tries to do, except Peter is right there, fingers warm on Stiles pulse-point.

"Ah ah," he admonishes, winking, "Derek will be ever so upset if you do that pretty face damage."

Before Stiles can even deal with that particular fuckery, Lydia appears at his side, snarling and scrabbling his wrist out of Peter's grip, throwing it hard enough that it hits Stiles chest with a thump. Just, ow!

"Hands off," she snaps, eyes wild, "One hot werewolf is enough for you. This one is mine."

"Isn't she exquisite?" Peter asks over her head, face all soft like this is a perfectly reasonable way to react and not the sign of some sort of break with sanity. Lydia still looks pissed but Peter is stroking her hair and the murdery light in her eyes seems to be dimming. Stiles knows it's a clusterfuck of a day when he's contemplating thanking Lechy Uncle Peter.

"You touched my mate."

Stiles makes sure his sigh is audible to everyone, even his Dad who seems to be getting hug-smothered by a very enthusiastic Isaac. Man, Stiles needs to keep an eye on that. A very very damaged eye.

Derek's face is starting to look a bit feral and his voice is growly, and Peter is actually starting to look alarmed and that cannot be good for anyone. Stiles puts a hand on Derek's chest just as Peter yanks Lydia behind him.

"Down." Stiles voice is firm but he didn't expect a deadly hush to fall across the entire yard. Derek is eyeballing him and not in the good way.

"Was that a dog joke?" someone pipes up and just, really, fuck everything.


"You're serious about this…Werewolf thing?"

Stiles swallows his toast the wrong way and his Dad spends a few frantic minutes beating it back out of his oesophagus before Stiles can properly respond.

"It is not reasonable to ambush me at seven in the morning," Stiles snaps reproachfully but his voice sounds like someone took some sandpaper to his vocal chords. Ever since he got dubiously hugged by a werewolf, Stiles share of painstakingly stupid ailments had shot through the roof.

"He seems pretty serious about you." His Dad's words are clear but his face is dubious. "It's just, weren't you in love with the Martin girl until about a month ago?"

"It wasn't love," Stiles grouses, glaring at his orange juice, "It was one-sided pining. Besides after Peter dropped me for her, that boat sailed into the werewolfy sunset."

"Peter?" The Sheriff's voice has a dangerous note and Stiles wishes he could metaphorically punch himself in the face.

"Uh…there was maybe a thing?" he offers.

His Dad is on the phone to Derek in a shot.


When they pull up for the monthly pack meet - "you're pack now Stiles," Derek had rumbled at him like he was joining a biker gang and was coming to get his colours - Derek's there, opening his door before the jeep has fully stopped.


His hands are on Stiles body like he thinks bits of it might have gone missing between him climbing out of Stiles window an hour ago, and the very awkward drive Stiles just endured here with his Dad. His Dad is the Sheriff okay? And Derek is not as stealthy as he thinks. In fact Derek is a little come-stupid. But whatever.

Laura waves from the porch as Stiles is trying to unlatch Derek Of The Octopus Arms and his Dad is waving back, wilfully ignoring his son being molested three feet away.

Stiles sees Lydia and nods a greeting at her but she bares her teeth and grabs Peter's arm, hauling him away into the house. She's probably still sore about the whole shooting thing. Stiles did try to explain that his Dad had previous knowledge of Werewolf healing ability but she wasn't buying. Stiles just hopes Peter talks her out of whatever revenge plans he knows she's brewing.

"It's good to see you here," Laura says, and she's addressing both Stilinski's, which Stiles is super grateful for. Truth is, he would never go where his Dad wasn't welcome. Derek is still trying to climb him like a tree, like public decency isn't a thing that's real, so Stiles misses what Laura says next, but he sure hears what his Dad says in reply.

"Well, I sort of wanted Grandkids," the Sheriff says, looking a little wistfully at the cubs, goddamnit kids!, running about the lawn. Stiles winces.

"All of our cubs will be your grandchildren," Laura points out, voice warm and fond like Stiles Dad has said something he gets points for.

"Yeah," the Sheriff says but his tone is resigned and sort of regretful. It tugs as Stiles heart. Of course, Stiles might be having an epiphany of disappointment but he doesn't miss the 'shut-the-fuck-up' looks Laura is throwing at Derek. Derek who, yeah, is gonna ignore them and barrel right on in. Typical.

"I wouldn't worry about that, sir," he says, voice all sincere but Stiles isn't exactly paying full attention at this point. Of course his Dad would want grandkids, why hadn't he thought of that?

"Wolves have a certain…ability when it comes to mating."

Like, his Dad had always wanted more kids, Stiles knew this, but for obvious reasons, it ended up only being Stiles. It makes perfect sense that he was imagining a clutch of little Stilinski's to sugar up in his retirement.

"When Stiles and I are fully mated, he will be able to bear your grandchildren."

The Sheriff's face is a sort of puce colour and Laura seems to be choking and Derek's face is very serious, which Stiles thinks is a bit of an overreaction all round because there is still surrogation or adoption. Shit, can werewolves adopt? Would they have to declare that? Would it come under diseases or ailments? Family history maybe? Maybe they had their own adoption agencies?

Stiles turns to ask Derek but gets distracted by the way his Dad is staring at him, sort of horrified but also sort of hopeful. Oh Gods, he's gonna want Stiles to adopt so many children that he's gonna be elbow-deep in diapers til he's fifty.

Fuckity fu…

Wait, WHAT?


So this is the final part of this particular series. Hope you guys enjoyed the ride into my madness as much as I did. As ever, thank you for reading.