Stiles woke up at sunrise, realizing with distaste that his right hand was buried in the cool innards of a disemboweled stag.

"Eeeeew. Gross. Oh, sorry Prongs. I guess it's kind of insulting for me to eat you and then be grossed out, like your life didn't mean anything. If it's any consolation, I don't remember much about that, and it was nothing to do with you personally, I guess we just got caught up in the moment. I hope you are very happy in…deer heaven…and that there are no mean werewolves to chase you around anymore."

He got up and cast about for Derek…the thin golden thread of his mate's scent came to him from close by, along with the sound of running water. Finding himself terribly thirsty, he got up from the ground and brushed off some of the dirt and leaves that clung to him.

His shorts were missing, not that he cared. They made him feel more self-conscious than being naked. He followed his nose to the stream and found Derek standing up to his waist in the rushing water looking like a veritable river god as he cleaned off the dirt and blood that covered him. Stiles saw that both of their shorts had been washed and laid out to dry in the sun. Derek saw him and yelled "Jump in, the water's fine!"

Stiles immediately got a running start and leapt off a large rock that jutted out over the water. The river was icy cold, and he screamed aloud which made water rush down his throat. He got to his feet coughing and spluttering and glared at his mate with feral eyes and pointed ears.

Derek smirked at him. "Should have checked my heartbeat. Love it when you look at me that way, cub."

"That's good, because you'll be getting that look for the rest of the day." Stiles sharpened teeth were chattering, and he hoped he didn't sever his tongue.

"Cold? Let me warm you up." Derek grabbed Stiles, and amazingly, Derek's body was burning hot, steam actually seemed to be rising off of him.

"Wow, how are you doing that?" Stiles marveled, clinging to him.

"Easy. Just imagine your body temperature rising. When you're fully shifted, it's naturally about ten degrees higher than normal. You could also just make that part happen by itself."

Stiles concentrated, and soon the feeling of coldness faded away. He could even feel his toes again. His heart thundered powerfully in his chest, and he felt more alive than he ever had.

They kissed then, and neither of them seemed to have morning breath. The kiss tasted wild and gamey, and made him think of the forest. Stiles pulled back, smiled at Derek…and then gave him a powerful foot sweep that knocked the older teen under the water.

"Payback's a bitch." Stiles said, grinning. A second later, Stiles yelped as a clawed hand pulled him under as well.

After a good amount of activity that was at times alternately wrestling, sex, play fighting, slow dancing, sex, and back to wrestling again; they left the stream and recovered their shorts for the trip back to the house.

Stiles was noticing the new lean muscle that defined his previously thin frame.

"Hey, I'm hot now!" he exclaimed.

"You were always hot. Don't let it go to your head, because I'm the only one that's allowed to think that about you anymore."

"Jealousy doesn't become you. I need to share my beauty with the world. There's a nude beach three towns over that I plan on living at next summer…and you will be my personal suntan lotion slave."

"Never forget, Stilinski…you are mine."

"Never forget, my Dad's the Sheriff."

Derek looked away. Stiles smile faded when he saw that Derek wasn't laughing. He was biting his lip, and his fists were clenched.

"Der…I know I'm yours. And you're mine. I never want anyone else but you. You have to know that's true, we can't lie to each other."

"It's not you I'm worried about. I know what it means to be mated better than you do. It's just that if I saw anyone…wanting you..." he gave a growl that made Stiles' really nervous. "Since the fire…and Laura…I have this idea that I'm not meant to be happy…now that I have you, I worry that someone is going to try and take you away too. I'd go crazy, Stiles. I would rip however many people apart who stood in my way. You may as well know that now."

Stiles knew that most people would be uncomfortable hearing such an admission…but deep within him he felt a warm inner glow. He wanted more than anything… to be wanted more than anything…and that was Derek's defining quality. Whoever arranged this mating business really knew what they were doing.

"My biggest fear is that you'll like someone better and leave…or I'll piss you off and you'll leave…or 'CSI: Miami' will be cancelled and you'll leave…"

Derek grinned as he turned back around.

"So if I told you I'm never leaving you, that you're mine forever…you like that?"

"Nope. I love it. And you. We'll go to a private nude beach. But you're still my suntan lotion slave." Stiles yawned and looked over at the sunrise. "As much fun as this was, I need to get home. My Dad will kill me if I'm not there when he wakes up. I have to make breakfast."

They made good time back to the house, and Stiles put on the clothes he left in Derek's Camaro. When he was dressed again, Derek drove him (still in his shorts…God he looked hot) back to his house and dropped him off. Stiles nimbly climbed up to his window, his senses telling him that while his father was in his own bedroom the older man was already awake. Stiles changed into his favorite pair of Scooby-Doo boxers that he wore to sleep and snuggled under the covers grateful that it was Saturday. No doubt his Dad would peek in and see him looking so angelic in sleep, he would let him sleep in. Maybe even give him breakfast in bed. Stiles yawned and found the most comfortable position in the bed without even trying.

Not a second later, Sheriff Stilinsky poked his head in.

"Time to get up, son. Your turn to make breakfast!"

Stiles shut his eyes and moaned. The world was so unfair.

He got up, checking himself in the mirror. He was clean, the bite mark was gone along with all the other evidence of Derek's overeagerness. He searched his room for a clean t-shirt, and found none. He would check the basement to see if the laundry fairy (as he liked to call his Dad) had been at work recently.

The basket was located at the base of the stairs, his clothing clean and folded, ready to be put away. Stiles triumphantly pulled a Charlie Brown shirt off the top and was unfolding it when his father called out in shock.

"Stiles!"

"What?"

"What on earth happened to you?" Steven looked his son up and down.

"What do you mean? I don't have any marks on me!" Stiles bit his tongue.

"Marks? I'm talking about muscles! When the hell did you become a gym rat?"

"Oh, never…this just happened naturally!" Stiles hated lying to his father, and this was pretty close to the truth.

"Naturally, my ass. You flunked P.E. last year when you insisted that exercise was against your religion! Are you on anything? Into anything I should know about?"

"I'm not on anything, nor am I into anything you should know about." Stiles said, again half-truthfully. He put on the shirt, grabbed the mail off the floor and went into the kitchen where he dumped it on the table. One of the envelopes was large and made of firm cardboard, and had no return address. Stiles gave it no more than a passing glance. In half an hour, he had a lavish breakfast laid out for his father. His senses were now so finely tuned that he was able to detect exactly when the egg-white omelet needed to be flipped or the pancakes (the healthy Fiber One kind) needed to be turned, or the toast (wheat) popped and he successfully picked the one non-expired milk container (zero-fat) out of the five in the fridge without looking at the expiration date. Butter substitute and coffee laced with Splenda completed the meal. In light of his father's advancing age and rapidly increasing cholesterol and triglyceride levels (not to mention high blood pressure), Stiles made every effort to keep him as healthy as possible. It had been months since Stiles had let him have any curly fries…after what the doctor called a "warning heart attack". Steven Stilinsky read the newspaper while he ate the exceptional breakfast before finally turning to his mail. The cardboard envelope was the first one opened. Steven whistled as he pulled out a series of photographs and examined them. The whistling stopped.

"STILES!"

Stiles jumped about three feet in the air, the pancake he was flipping now stuck to the ceiling.

"Dad! What gives?"

His father held out a photo. It was from the night before, and was a clear image of a fanged Peter chomping Stiles' arm, with Derek restraining him.

Stiles turned ghost white, and felt his heart and stomach plummet.

The Sheriff grabbed Stiles' wrist and examined it closely. The skin was clean and unbroken. "What the hell are these pictures?"

"Er, gag pictures. We were re-enacting scenes from a horror movie."

"With wanted criminal Derek Hale deciding to be one of the actors?"

"Um, it was from before all that."

"These pictures are dated yesterday!"

"That's when they were made! It's obviously fake Dad, I'm not injured!"

"I didn't know Scott's mother liked to act too, Stiles." Another pic showing her sitting next to Peter on the Stonehenge like thrones.

"And look, Scott and Allison doing the same thing. Stiles, are you in some sort of cult?"

"Cult? Dad, I'm not really into any religion. That stuff's boring."

"So, if I were to phone Melissa McCall right now, she would tell me that she was off re-enacting a horror movie with you and Derek and Scott and Allison and whoever this nut is."

"Of course!" Stiles tried to make it sound like any other explanation was sheer lunacy.

"And you're not a werewolf?" the Sheriff asked.

"WHAT? What would make you say that?" Stiles voice was high and light. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

The Sheriff held up a piece of paper that had letters cut out from newspapers to make up the short sentence that adorned it.

"THESE PICTURES ARE OF YOUR SON GETTING TURNED INTO A WEREWOLF, FOR HIS WEREWOLF BOYFRIEND DEREK HALE"

"Okay, someone has a really sick sense of humor!" Stiles said, hands on his hips.

The Sheriff got to his feet. He seemed to tower over Stiles.

"Son, I am going to ask you three questions. You will tell me the complete and whole truth or I will never trust you again. I don't care what the answers are…but if I ever find out they were lies, I will ask you to leave my house when you turn eighteen and never come back. I want to hear the truth, no matter what it is, and I promise…I promise…well, I can't promise that I won't get mad. But I will support you and help you. You have my word."

Stiles sat down in a chair, and tears started to pour down his cheeks. The worst thing in the world was happening, and he had no one here to stand with him. No Derek, no Melissa, no Scott. He felt utterly trapped.

"Go ahead Dad." He said lifelessly.

"First question. Are you…oh God, seeing Derek Hale?"

Stiles looked at the floor. "Yes. Not for long, though. I was helping him out, he didn't DO any of that stuff everyone thinks-"

"Second question. Is there anything to this werewolf nonsense?"

Stiles shut his eyes, the tears flowing more strongly now. Then he looked up at his father. Steven Stilinsky took an involuntary step backward.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God." He breathed. Stiles' eyes were a bright golden yellow.

There was an enormous amount of information he wanted to tell his father, but he knew as soon as he tried to speak, his father would blow sky high. He was hyperventilating, and his face was red. Stiles sat there and waited. He wondered if Derek would let Stiles live with him in the burned out house. They could get some throw pillows and scatter rugs to make the place feel homey…

"Third question. Were you… son, were you forced into anything…in any way whatsoever?"

Stiles looked up at him. He wasn't expecting that. His face was red, and he sniffled loudly as he continued to speak… having no choice but to bare his soul to the one person he was terrified to show it to.

"No, Dad. I begged them to do it to me. It was the only way I could be with Derek and be…safe. Derek would rather kill himself than see me hurt. He would kill anyone who tried to hurt me. Just like you would. Only with teeth, instead of a gun. Derek asked me a thousand times if I were sure."

"It looks like Derek's restraining you here."

"That's just part of the ceremony. Does it look like I'm screaming, or upset? This is where I got the new muscles from, Dad. And I can't even tell you the other things I can do now. Derek is the best thing that ever happened to me besides getting to be your son."

The Sheriff looked startled at that statement.

"And you're the best thing that ever happened to me and your mother."

Stiles broke down then completely. His whole life had been afraid that his father would abandon him if he knew everything about Stiles…and now he saw that he had done his father a great disservice.

Steven Stilinsky came over and hugged his son tightly, and Stiles buried his face in his father's sweatshirt, getting it thoroughly wet with tears while the older man gently stroked the boy's head.

"I'll always love you son. I wish you hadn't shut me out like this. I could have helped you make some of these decisions, or given you advice, or…"

Stiles pulled back, his face still tear streaked. The pancake that was stuck to the ceiling fell, and almost landed on Stiles' head when he snatched it out of the air in a move so fast the Sheriff wondered if he hadn't imagined it. Stiles tossed it over his shoulder and into the garbage pail behind him with inhuman accuracy.

"I'm fully expecting your P.E. grade to go up this year, son."

Stiles laughed at that, and the Sheriff joined him.

"I have a lot to tell you if you really want to know everything."

"I do. Start. I won't interrupt until you're finished."

The breakfast food grew cold long before Stiles was done, but neither of them noticed.

"So, Derek is the one? No chance of grandkids?"

"Not unless male pregnancy is possible."

"God forbid. So, I have to get used to him being my son-in-law?"

"It was either him or Lydia Martin."

"I'm glad it's Derek then. That girl is a maneater…what am I saying? I guess you have a preference for that sort. Stiles…are you sure you're in, that it's…"

"With every fiber of my being."

"And there's no way…to stop being a werewolf?"

"Sure Dad. Getting shot with a silver bullet would do the trick."

Steven jumped. "That's not what I meant. Oh, God. Now I have to worry about people shooting you. Who sent these photos?" the Sheriff asked, picking them up again.

"Probably one of the Argents. Guess they were spying on our sacred werewolf rituals." Stiles joked.

"If it was the Argents, they know about Allison. You say they go gunning for werewolves? Just because? Or just the bad ones?"

"Kate would kill us all. She started the Hale fire, remember? Chris…I think he has some rules. Not that he'd be terribly distraught about making a mistake."

"Stiles? Do me a favor and grab my shotgun cleaning kit from the basement." The Sheriff got up and went to the living room where he unlocked his gun cabinet and removed the specially modified quadruple barreled weapon he only used for the most dangerous quarry.

The doorbell rang, and when the Sheriff answered it he was not surprised to see Melissa standing there. He hadn't seen her in quite a while, but as he took in the dramatic changes in her appearance he felt the same numb amazement he had with his son. She was literally perfect, and he felt an involuntary return of the old desire he once had for her. Neither of the children knew, but they shared a night of comfort that became more than that when they were both feeling particularly maudlin over their prematurely ended marriages. It never happened again, and they remained friends…but they were both smart enough to know that the friendship they had was too good to ruin with an ill-considered romance.

"Steven, it's been a long time. How are you?

"Hi, Melissa. I'm fine, but my son's a gay werewolf. Come in. Stiles told me everything."

She didn't look surprised. She followed him into the living room where they sat down. Stiles peeked in, but the Sheriff waved him off.

"Steven, I didn't know Stiles was going to be there until he was there. I did tell him he should have…I just keep thinking how I would have felt if it were you and Scott instead of the other way around. I would have been furious with you for not calling me that instant. I had no idea about him or Derek until midnight last night...I just don't know what to say. I do know that they are deeply in love with each other. When feelings are that strong, hasty decisions get made. I don't expect you to forgive me."

She looked down, and twisted her new diamond ring on her finger.

"I want him to be happy. You know that. But he is in danger between that nutcase Argent family and the guy who turns out to be your new boyfriend…the Beacon Hills Slasher."

Melissa looked up, her expression furious, crimson sparks dancing in her eyes. The Sheriff leaned backward, suddenly realizing how dangerous his old flame had become.

"They burned his family alive, Steven. People that had never done anything to anyone. He was paralyzed for six goddamned years! They had it coming. You can't tell me you would do less if they hurt Stiles. I know I would do it for Scott!"

"They may be coming for both our boys, Mel. Oh, sorry, you always hated that… I found out because someone sent photos of the whole thing to my house. There you all are, plain as day doing what looks like a cult initiation at best and a scene from a horror movie at worst. Stiles thought maybe Argent sent it, but I think that if Chris Argent sat there and watched his daughter get bitten, and didn't retaliate right then and there…he must be the coldest son of a bitch on the planet. I think that whoever sent it has a grudge against both groups and is trying to start a war. I'd bet Chris got this same envelope in the mail. The question is…has he opened it yet?"

Upstairs, Stiles panicked and grabbed his cell phone, launching himself out his window to land neatly on two feet halfway across the street. He was off and running, knowing he could make faster time than with his Jeep.

Melissa looked around, cocked an ear and sniffed loudly. "Stiles just left, jumped out his window. Steven, I'm sure he heard us talking from upstairs. It's one of the perks. He's probably going to warn the rest of the Pack."

"The Pack? Dear God, there's a Pack? Let him find Scott and Derek, I need to talk to Peter Hale. Can you take me to him?"

Melissa looked nervous. "Are you sure that's such a good idea? Steven, he's good, but you cannot provoke him. You two will wind up killing each other. He meant no harm to Stiles."

Steven got up and grabbed a nearby vase, throwing it against the wall. "He put my son in danger! There's no undoing that…but he will make it his top priority to help me keep him safe!"

"Of course he will! We're family, Steven! That's what that whole thing last night was all about! Stiles wasn't just turned, he was given an army of people who want to protect him and each other!"

"Good, if that's the case, there should be nothing for us to fight about. Let's go."

Melissa quickly texted Derek to expect Stiles and that they would be seeing Peter. She looked at the Sheriff.

"Steven, you're not taking that shotgun."

{}{}{}{}

Stiles called Scott first, and quickly explained about the photos.

"Holy freaking shit Stiles. How's your Dad taking it?" Scott sounded half-asleep.

"Who cares? You have got to get Allison to destroy that envelope. Where is she?" Stiles shouted.

"We're both here in her house. Her parents are gone for the weekend, and they took Kate with them." Scott put the phone down and Stiles heard him filling her in.

"Oh my God." came her voice, then rapid footsteps as she ran out of the room.

A minute later she returned.

"Stiles, she's got it. Oh man, we would have been so dead…"

"Scott, you burn those photos until they're nothing but ash. NOW. I don't need you forgetting while you and Allison have one more quickie just to have Kate stumble across them. Burn them, burn them, burn them!"

"You didn't have to tell me twice Stiles. Consider them burned. Later." Scott hung up, and Stiles breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe the crisis was averted.

Stiles soon arrived at the Hale house. Derek's Camaro was the only car there.

Derek himself emerged as Stiles ran up, a wide smile on his face.

"Hey cub, just got a text from Melissa…wait, what's wrong?" When Stiles told him, Derek slammed his fist into one of the remaining support beams for the porch, the damaged wood exploding from the force. Derek absently grabbed Stiles out of the way as the entire porch collapsed.

"When I find the one that did this…I am going to take off every inch of their skin…with a cheese grater."

Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Where do you come up with these threats? Is there a book? A website? Wait, what else did Melissa say?"

Derek showed him the text.

"Great. Melissa is taking my Dad to see Peter. I'm counting the ways that could go wrong."

"Stiles, relax. Peter is not who he was anymore. Even without Melissa around, that dead part of him is gone. This Peter cares about his Pack, and will do everything to keep us safe. Your Dad is important to you…and so, he's important to Peter now."

"I hope so! Can we go find them?"

"Stiles, I have no idea where Peter goes…and anyway there's going to be a lot of dominant personalities that your presence could set off. Melissa will keep the two of them from fighting. You have to trust in your Pack leaders, Stiles."

"What am I supposed to do until we hear from them?" Stiles half-yelled.

It turned out Derek had quite a few ideas.

{}{}{}{}

The Sheriff wanted to take his cruiser and head to their destination, lights and sirens blaring. Melissa led him (firmly) to the new Mustang that Peter gave her as a gift that morning. Her own beatup heap was about ten miles from total engine fusion, but Peter had to use every ounce of his persuasive abilities to get her to take it. The Sheriff tried not to reach for his ticket pad when she phoned Peter and told him the news.

They drove to the center of town, where a modest apartment building awaited them. They took the elevator to the seventh floor and went down the hall.

"If he's so loaded, why the unimpressive digs?" asked the Sheriff.

"When the Argent problem is…taken care of, he's going to rebuild the old house."

"Taken care of? You mean killed?" The Sheriff stopped and glared at her.

Melissa smiled…her teeth were very white. "Yes. Just Kate at this point. While they aren't the nicest people, I don't want anything to happen to Chris and Vivian…however our boys come first. Stiles was over my house almost as much as yours for years, Steven. Scott thinks of him as a brother, and I think of him as a son. I won't let that bitch hurt either of them."

Melissa turned and opened the last door in the hallway and they stepped into Peter Hale's apartment. Whatever the Sheriff was expecting, this wasn't it.

It was small as apartments went, and obviously meant for no more than one or two people. A small kitchen with rather outdated appliances sat opposite a smaller bathroom (only a stall shower, no tub). A round wooden table occupied the dining area, and a place was set for one. A plate with half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and half a glass of milk rested on the placemat. There were two bedrooms, only one of which served that function. The other seemed to be an office which was littered with newspaper clippings, files and an impressive looking computer. Peter sat on a small couch in front of the television (a pro tennis match was playing) in blue sweatpants and a UCLA sweatshirt. Airforce Ones adorned his feet. The Beacon Hills Slasher.

"Sheriff. How good of you to come. Please, sit." His warm blue eyes mystified Steven. If they were the windows of the soul, then he was looking in at a man at peace…or nearly so. It irritated Steven no end.

The Sheriff handed over the photos. Peter looked at them with mild interest. "Scott texted me, and told me the set sent to the Argent home has been destroyed. That gives us some time."

"Any ideas who did this?" barked the Sheriff. Melissa winced at the tone.

"A few possibilities suggest themselves…but I have no way of being sure. I will begin following up on them immediately."

"By following up, you mean killing them?"

"If I am left with no other choice…yes. This person, along with Kate are the only others I have any interest in killing. I take it you are familiar with the backstory?"

"Familiar? I was in charge of the investigation of the fire that destroyed your house! When the first few murders happened, I was the only one who saw they were pieces to a puzzle! I just didn't know which Argent it was…"

"A month ago, I wouldn't have cared and destroyed the lot of them. Luckily for quite a few people…I have recently seen the importance of family."

"Well, part of your family is my family…my son Stiles…you know, one of the kids you bit last night to bring them into your little club?"

"You are only a human…you have no idea what it means to be bonded with one of us. The human feels it as keenly as the werewolf, the desire builds up to uncontrollable levels! There is no keeping them apart except under great duress, which could break their minds. Your son had to be turned to protect him, Steven. A brief flash of pain compared to the agony he could have felt if my nephew lost control…and now he is a match for Derek, and more than a match for any human! Tell me…how many times has your son come close to ending his own life due to clumsiness… or impulsivity… or curiousity?"

The Sheriff sighed. "I lost count at around seventy."

Peter smiled sympathetically.

"What his strength cannot shield him from, his mate will. He is happier than you could ever have made him, and his life will be longer for this, Steven. Once the Argents are out of the way."

The Sheriff knew that what the man was saying was true to an extent…and he had a feeling that Peter knew what the real problem was. Peter's next words proved it.

"You feel as if you've lost your connection to him. He will no longer see you as a father, or an authority figure due to his new powers."

Melissa sighed, her hand over her mouth. This never occurred to her…Scott needed her more than ever, and her own power over him rivaled Peter's.

The Sheriff's eyes shone, but no tears fell. "I feel so goddamned helpless…"

"That's something I can help you with...if you're willing."

And Steven Stilinski felt his heart lurch painfully in his chest to see the blue eyes of the mild-mannered man in front of him suddenly flash bright crimson.

A/N – C'mon guys, one review (Thanks, joe!) for a 7,000 word chapter with over 500 hits in 48 hours? I didn't think I sucked that badly lol. I don't want to waste my time with this story if no one likes it, just let me know. I wasn't even going to submit this chapter but it was already written. Hurry, before I overdose on leftovers and go into a permanent turkey coma. Feedback, advice, suggestions, requests…hell I'll even take flames at this point. Peace!