It was a Sunday morning and Sheriff Stilinski was up before 5AM as per usual, readying himself slowly and mundanely for work.
Today was no different in regards to the fact that he woke up distraught after suffering from nightmares about his wife, knowing he wouldn't be able to wake up next to her again; and knowing that his son would have to live without his mother for the rest of life.
Once he had showered and donned himself in that rusty green Sheriffs' uniform, including his radio and badge, he begun to make his way downstairs to the kitchen. As he was walking down the hallway, he reached Stiles' room. Unusually, he stopped.
The nightmares last night were worse than usual. They don't usually include Stiles. The boy has always told his dad that he's doing well, that he loves him, and that they're a good team. But sometimes it's just too hard, and the Sheriff tries hard to force thoughts about how much better things would be if Stiles' mum was still here, out of his mind.
As any father would after experiencing the night the Sheriff just did, he stopped to quietly and discreetly open the door to check on his son. Trying hard to make sure the door didn't creek, he only opened it enough so that he could peer in to see the half the room.
As per usual, he was greeted with an image of organised chaos. Papers and books (that he's sure Stiles has never read) and clothes and blankets lay sprawled almost artistically across nearly every inch of the room. But there, under the milky coloured blankets which were pulled all the way up over his face lay the silhouette of his son, Stiles. The blankets rose and fell with every steady breath he made, obviously still fast asleep.
Just as the Sheriff went to close the door he heard some odd sound come from the side of the room he couldn't see, only describable by comparison to a whinny. He stopped and thought for a moment before pushing the door wide open to 'investigate'. That's when he saw two legs sticking up in the air.
His brow furrowed into a combination of confusion and concern as there's obviously more than just one person in his son's room, and neither of them looks like Scott (or Lydia for that matter).
"Stiles!" The Sheriff blurted out in a hoarse whisper. As if the word was a missile that struck its target, the legs that were hovering in the air beside the bed began flailing in a confused state before toppling over head and crashing into the nearby desk.
The contorted body let out a groan followed by a convincing and signature sniff. That was definitely Stiles, but who was the body in the bed?
As Stiles quickly recuperated from his heels-over-head adventure, he propped himself up against the side of the bed, eyes struggling to stay open; hair in a disarrayed state.
The body that was in the bed began to stir, obviously from the tsunami of noise that just occurred because of the Sheriff's spontaneous announcement of presence.
Two large, strong-looking hands latched on to the top of the blanket before pulling it down just enough so that the head that was previously hidden from sight became apparent. A tanned man with dark, duck-tailed hair and similarly coloured stubble appeared. The man obviously was still waking from the throws of a deep sleep; he was blinking, trying to adjust to the bright contrast of the newly revealed room, and letting out short, soft sighs as if not appreciative of being woken up.
He was the one person who the Sheriff hadn't expected to see in his son's bed. Derek Hale.
"STILES?" The Sheriff let out.
"DAD?" Stiles responded abruptly while making an exaggerated shrug notion.
The Sheriff's attention switched from his son (who was now staring back at him with a look on his face that screamed "SO WHAT?") to the man in his son's bed.
"Derek." The Sheriff said softly with a nod.
Derek was now reasonably lucid and responded with a nod and a husky, "Sheriff."
The Sheriff was never really good with (pardon the pun) 'getting people off his scent', so when he tried to force a supportive, reassuring smile, it was no surprise that it looked more like he had just consumed an entire lemon.
"Well..." He started out, struggling to find which direction was appropriate to move in.
The room felt like silence had been pervading the lack of conversations for minutes, when the Sheriff realised that perhaps Derek wasn't the worst choice for his son to be 'in-bed' (or not so much) with.
"Well," he began, redirecting his attention back to Stiles, "there's stuff for breakfast in the fridge. Why don't you cook Derek something? Just try not to burn down the house. A'ight?"
Stiles let out a sarcastic laugh.
"You watch him, Derek, he burned two-minute-noodles once."
Derek, now sitting up in the bed shirtless, began chuckling.
"Sure thing, Sheriff."