Disclaimer: If I owned these characters do you think I'd be writing this right now? I own nothing except for what my fingers have derived from my brain, and typed out here for you.

Light streamed into the darkness through slatted blinds, casting odd shadows and strips of light over the contents of the room. Stiles groaned, throwing an arm over his face,, shielding his eyes. He let his sleep deprived mind wander, not wanting to face the day ahead just yet. He hadn't been sleeping much lately. Not after what had happened, not after everything. He would wake during the night, drenched in sweat, heart racing, traces of a nightmare lingering in his consciousness. His best friend, Scott, wolfing out every full moon, he could handle. He couldn't handle the Argents trying to kill Scott. Or Jackson turning into a scaled creature by night, killing at the will of another. Him having to keep a man twice the size of him, paralyzed from the neck down, afloat for hours just hoping that help would turn up soon. Then being trapped in the sheriff's department with Scott, Scott's mom and his father, by a revenge-lusting teenager. Seeing the bloody, mauled body of the police officer at the front desk. Feeling helpless as his dad was savagely hit over the head, knocking him unconscious. The breaking point was when he was kidnapped. Brought to the Argent's basement to find Erica and Boyd restrained by electrified wires. When he was beaten senseless by Gerard Argent. Lying to his father about the bruises and split lip. Having Lydia, the girl of his dreams, come to him for comfort. Only to later confess her feelings for Jackson haven't changed. The one thing that always haunted him, was his mother's death. It may have happened years ago, but it still felt like yesterday. The empty feeling he'd get every morning, galloping down the stairs. There wasn't the mouth-watering scent of breakfast being made, or the soft humming of his mother's favorite melody floating through the morning's gloom. Everyone told him it wasn't his fault, he knew it wasn't his fault. He wished he believed it.

Stiles kicked the covers off of himself, glancing towards the faint red glow of his alarm clock. 6:50 a.m. He stared at the numbers, trying to estimate how much sleep he had actually gotten. He was up until about 3 a.m. the previous night, looking into a few strange disappearances and attacks in a town a few hours from Beacon Hills. They had been brought to his attention through his father. The county had contacted Beacon Hills Sheriff Department in hopes of getting some assistance. His father, of course, had put the inquiry at the bottom of his "important Sheriff-y things" to-do list. He recalled the last time he remembered glancing at his alarm clock, about 3:45 a.m. He estimated he got around three hours of sleep. Satisfied, he sat up on his bed and stretched his arms above his head, his spine cracking a few times. He stood up and went to his dresser, fumbling around for a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt, not caring what he picked.

"Might as well try and be a decent human being today," he mumbled as he ambled out into the hallway and into the bathroom.

Stiles leapt down the stairs fully dressed in faded gray jeans and a red plaid button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Yeah, it was summer. No, he didn't care. He took a sharp turn at the bottom and skidded to a halt in his kitchen, where his dad sat staring up at him with a half eaten apple in his hand.

"Is there a fire somewhere?" He asked raising an eyebrow. "Or are you really excited about waking up early on a Saturday?"

Stiles scratched his head and shuffled his feet beneath him, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. "Well," he started moving towards the refrigerator, yanking it open. He scanned the contents quickly, nothing immediately appealing to him. He swung the door shut and spun on his heel to face his dad. "Scott and I were thinking about going camping or something for a few days." His dad took another bite of his apple and chewed it contemplatively.

"Around here?" He scoffed. "You think that's a good idea?"

"No! No of course not. Uh-" Stiles hesitated, wracking his brain for plausible information. "A few hours up North. Yeah, Lydia's parents own a cabin and we thought we would go there, you know?" Stiles walked behind his dad and grabbed a banana off the counter, peeling it quickly. He took a bite, slowly chewed and swallowed, waiting for his father's reply so he could make a quick getaway.

"Lydia?" His father questioned. "You guys are friends? I thought there wasn't anything there."

Stiles took another bite of banana and sat in the chair next to his dad. "Well you know, she's friends with Allison and Scott is all over her." He paused, looking at his dad quizzically. "Does it matter?"

His father sighed and looked down at the table. "No, no. It doesn't. Who else is going? And how long are you planning on staying?" He took another bite of his apple, and threw the core in the trash behind him.

"Uh- well- Isaac," Stiles paused, thinking of people his father approved of. "Lydia probably asked Allison, and Scott asked Danny and a few other lacrosse players. We're only staying for a day or two."

"Alright," he replied, getting to his feet and heading out of the room. "I have to get to work. Be careful, leave your cell on and bring your charger." He disappeared around the corner and Stiles slumped in his chair, relieved his father believed it all.

His father's head peeked back around the corner, Stiles sat up and quirked an eyebrow. "No alcohol or drugs, either. I'll kick your ass personally," he threatened. He smiled and waved, heading out of the house. Stiles heard the engine of his cruiser turn over, and him speeding away.

It wasn't a complete lie. He was doing something this weekend. Maybe not with lacrosse players, or Isaac, or Lydia, or at her parent's cabin. Maybe not even up North, or with Scott... but those were just minor details, right?

A/N: I have a basic idea of what I want to happen. When I first wrote this chapter, I had about -2 ideas. I wanted to write a SPN fic, the it turned into a Derek drabble and now we are here with Stiles? LOGIC. This is also my first fic. What in the world could Stiles be doing with his weekend? *winkwink*