When the first memory didn't spark any others, Derek didn't let himself get too worried. When the second and third didn't either, he counted his blessings and convinced himself they just needed more time. Now, it's nearly sunset and still there's no sign the amnesia will wear off any time soon.

He's officially worried.

Even without Stiles regaining any of his own memories, the ability for him to share Derek's still changes everything. Stiles is incredibly eager to get them and generally all smiles for a good ten minutes after they're shared. They spent the better part of the afternoon trying to explain family and share the pack dynamic. Derek hopes he's not overselling it by showing the highlight reel, but overall the pack really is pretty good these days. Jackson's personality will be the most confusing. Scott's going to have a hard time remembering that this Stiles isn't the same kid he's known half his life. Lydia and his father might be a different obstacle altogether. Regardless, after all Stiles has been through, it's not like the bar is very high anyway. He seems excited at the prospect of getting to be in a pack like this one. Overall, Stiles just seems happy, the happiest he's been in the week they've had him back.

Given that when he woke up this morning he was just a terrified ball of confusion and misery, I'm going to call it a good day.

He knows he thought too soon when he phone rings, and it's the sheriff. He steps out on the back porch to get out of earshot—well, more easily tuned out anyway—leaving Isaac and Stiles to their game of checkers.

"Sheriff?"

"How is he?"

"Better," Derek replies, "a lot better. We explained everything. I gave him a few memories. He's doing good."

"But it's not triggering any reversal of the amnesia?"

"Doesn't seem to be."

"I need to see him."

"Sheriff, we've talked about—"

"Derek, I don't care if I just have to swing by the house and creep in the window for five seconds; it's been a week. I walked into the apartment where he was supposed to be safely awaiting the return of his memory to find blood everywhere and a mangled corpse on the floor. I just—I need to see he's okay."

Derek wants to refuse the request. It's been a good day—hell, a great one compared to the clusterfuck he was expecting—and he doesn't want to push too hard. Irritatingly, the desperation in the sheriff's voice is wheedling through his resolve. Besides, the man has a point. He's no doubt been worried sick all week, scared to death yesterday, and now he's graciously bunking at the McCalls' because they needed the Stilinski house. Still, if Derek has to pick between Stiles' peace of mind or his father's it's no contest.

"I'll talk to him," Derek offers. "I'll see where he thinks he's at with it. If he thinks he can control the shift with us here, I'll call you back. If not, you'll get a picture message from Isaac, and that's the best I can do. Stiles comes first."

"You think I don't know that?"

"I didn't mean—I know you're his Dad, but you're not the only one trying to take care of him— I'll let you know, okay? We'll see."

He disconnects the call and runs a hand down his face, collecting his frustration and calming completely before he walks back in.

"What's up?" Isaac. "Everything okay?"

"The sheriff's just—having a hard time with it."

"Understandable."

"Stiles, I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to be entirely honest. There's no wrong answer. I just want to know the truth, okay?"

"Yes."

Derek can feel a smile playing at his lips in response to the triumph that Stiles' reply doesn't have Derek's name tacked onto it like a title. It's another seemingly small but nevertheless significant change of the day that Stiles believes Derek now when Derek says he doesn't have to do it; he believes Derek doesn't care. He might not understand it completely, but he trusts Derek not to lie to lay traps.

"If your dad—if the sheriff—came here, could you control the shift?" Derek wonders. "Isaac and I would stay; it wouldn't be you alone with him, but it's okay if that's still too much."

As frustrated as he is that the Sheriff's rocking the boat with this, Derek is quietly hoping Stiles isn't opposed to the idea. He's held the shift in front of him once before—until Scott left at least. Derek knows the sheriff and Stiles have always been close. It's been just as hard on him to keep his distance as it's been for the pack to deal with Stiles directly—maybe harder. If Stiles can handle this, it just might be good for both of them, especially since they've been trying to teach Stiles about family all day.

"I can control the shift in front of humans when I need to," Stiles replies.

"Without hurting yourself?"

"I think so. I can keep something close by just in case and—"

"No," Derek says firmly. "If you shift, Isaac and I will stop you. I don't want you controlling the shift with pain anymore."

"Yes, Derek," Stiles replies, title slipping back in now he's been given a direction.

Shit, little less authority there next time. Should probably work on that.

"We'll teach you to control it without the pain as soon as we get a chance," Derek promises, "but there's not time for that right now. Just try to keep it at bay, and trust me and Isaac to get you back in control if you shift. You trust us to do that?"

"Yes."

"Good. He wants to come here tonight. He wants to see you—to see that you're okay. Would that make you uncomfortable?"

"No."

"You understand he's not a threat even though he's not pack?"

"Yes. I understand." Stiles hesitates a moment before adding, "I didn't hurt him the first time."

"I know, I just wanted to be sure. If it stresses you out, we can wait."

"I can do it, Derek," Stiles says determinedly.

"You sure you want to though?"

"He's my family," Stiles replies. "Right?"

"Damn," Isaac replies. "Can't argue with that, can you, Derek? Point to Stiles for that one."

Stiles looks confusedly at Isaac, unsure what the statement means, but he smiles along with Derek and Isaac anyway.

"I'll let your dad know it's okay. He'll call before he comes up to the door so he doesn't catch any of us off guard."

Please don't let this fuck up the day. I'd really like for just one to finally go out on a good note.

"My neck is healed again, Derek," Stiles says tentatively.

He always tells Derek, but he can't quite bring himself to ask for the memories. He knows it tires Derek. He doesn't want his Alpha at any disadvantage, not on his account, and especially not Derek. Derek's going to be a good Alpha to Stiles. Derek protects his pack.

But if you can spare the energy, I do want more memories. Please, Derek. As many as you'll share.

So far it's been mostly images of Derek when he was younger, enjoying time with his family before they died. It makes Stiles sad to know they're gone now. It makes him hope this pack will be that nice, for him and for Derek. He's seen glimpses of moments with the current betas too—eating together at Scott's house, training in the woods somewhere—and he can't quite believe he's lucky enough to be taken in by a pack like this. He's trying to keep his optimism in check, bad things will always happen, but he can't entirely suppress the hope that's building inside of him.

"Got something in mind?" Derek asks, easily pleased again that Stiles wants more memories, yet another reason Stiles will keep at it. "What d'you want to see?"

He's seen memories of Derek's family, seen Derek's father, but now he's about to meet his own and he has nothing but the description in the scrapbook Lydia made, the picture that accompanied it, and the photos he's only glanced at that are scattered around this house.

"Maybe my dad?" he asks hopefully, but when Derek's face falls he backtracks quickly. "Or anything, Derek." More pack memories are good. Anything's good. I just like having good memories in my head. Please don't say no because I picked the wrong one. "It was just an idea. I thought tactically it might—"

"The request is fine, Stiles," Derek replies, "but it might be a little disappointing. I don't have many memories of you with your father. He didn't even know you were running around with werewolves until after you disappeared."

"Oh."

"Here, I've got this one," Derek offers. "It's not much, but it's something."

A lacrosse game has ended, and Derek's watching from a distance as the crowd disperses. He finds Isaac, then two people Stiles doesn't recognize, next Scott, and then Stiles. Stiles' father comes straight for him, patting him on the back as Stiles moves to follow his teammates off the field.

"Proud of you, kiddo," his father says. "You did good."

"I didn't even play," Stiles replies irritably.

"Well, you warmed that bench like a pro."

"Gee, thanks," Stiles replies with a roll of his eyes.

"See you at home?"

"Yeah, sure. Bye, Dad."

Derek's right, it's not much, but it's enough to see the kind, familial bond. It calms his nerves enough that he's certain he can keep from hurting the man when he gets here.

"Like I said, it's not much," Derek repeats apologetically.

"It's good, Derek. It helps. Thank you."

Stiles tenses when the headlights swoop through the window of the den as the sheriff's truck pulls in the drive.

"Nervous?" Isaac asks.

Stiles nods. "I won't hurt him though. I'm okay."

"I'm sure you'll do fine."

They follow Derek to the door when the Sheriff knocks. Derek opens the door slowly, and the Sheriff walks in smiling uncertainly. The relief of seeing Stiles safe and in one piece is evident his face, but he doesn't relax completely. He's got a big brown bag of what smells like burgers and fries in one hand and the other raised in a show of peace.

"Hey, Stiles," he greets with a smile.

"Hello."

"I—uh—I know this doesn't mean anything to you really, but I brought—"

"Curly fries," Stiles finishes for him, "from Caroline's."

"What did you say?" the sheriff asks, dumbfounded.

"Curly fries from Caroline's Diner," Stiles repeats, like he's reciting something off a paper, "and burgers, but you're supposed to be eating veggie burgers and carrots and—" Stiles breaks off the sentence and looks to Isaac and Derek. "How do I know that? I didn't—but then—it just—I don't know how I know that."

"Stiles, you remembered something!" Isaac exclaims, practically tackling Stiles with a hug before he thinks better of it, but Stiles doesn't flinch away; he hugs back.

"Dude, after getting memories all day and it never triggering any of your own, I was kind of scared it was never going to work," Isaac admits as he breaks the embrace.

It was scaring the shit out of us, dude, but it's okay now. You remembered something! Which means it'll happen again eventually. Which means we might just get you back after all.

"Do you remember anything else?" Derek asks.

Stiles pauses a moment before looking back at the sheriff and saying, "We go to Caroline's all the time—ever since I was young—and they know our names. I get chocolate milk."

"Yeah," the sheriff confirms, tears shining in his eyes as he beams at his son. "Yeah, Stiles, you're right."

"I don't remember anything specific," Stiles continues, "just being there."

"That's great though," Isaac says encouragingly. "That means more might come back. Maybe it'll take some time, but some more might come back."

"Yeah," Stiles agrees, looking uncertainly from Isaac to Derek, "but I don't know how to make it happen again. I don't know if I can."

"That's okay," Derek assures him. "Don't worry, Stiles. Whatever you get back we'll be happy for and whatever you don't we'll help you fill in the gaps, okay?"

"Yes."

"So—uh—you kids hungry?" the sheriff asks. "I don't have to stay and eat with you, but I wanted to bring something."

"Good thing you did," Isaac says. "Since apparently curly fries were the magic memory."

"Well, I did read that olfactory memory is supposed to be fairly strong," the sheriff replies.

Yup, that's where Stiles gets it. Of course you've been researching memory loss and recovery, probably incessantly. Also, if this is what it takes, we're going to have him sniffing the whole damn town tomorrow.

"If it was going to be anything, curly fries were a good bet," the sheriff continues. "It used to be practically a whole food group for you, kiddo."

Stiles doesn't seem sure if the comment is directed at him or not or how to reply if it is, so he glances back to Isaac who responds for him.

"Good call, then, sheriff, and definitely thanks for the food."

"No problem." He offers the bag to Derek who's closest to him. "You boys should go eat before it gets cold."

"Thanks."

"Glad you're doing better, Stiles," the sheriff adds with a strained smile, giving Stiles one more lingering look before he turns to walk out the door.

"Derek," Stiles blurts just before the door shuts.

"Yeah?"

"I could keep the control," Stiles promises, "if you want him to stay."

The sheriff's paused on the porch outside, and he looks so fucking hopeful at the prospect of getting to stay a while with Stiles that it makes Isaac want to bawl like a two-year-old.

"That's your choice, Stiles," Derek replies. "I don't mind either way. Do you want him to stay?"

Stiles pauses a moment, searching Derek's face to see if there's a right and wrong answer to the question. Finally, he nods.

"Yes, Derek. If that's okay."

"Fine by me," Derek replies, opening the door wide again. "Sheriff?"

"Yeah," the sheriff relies eagerly. "Yeah, I'd love to. Thank you, Stiles."

Stiles smiles in reply. It's too forced, but the intent is still there.

He's getting there. We've got a long way to go, but he's getting there.

They eat in the den while they catch the last half of the ball game. The sheriff—Dad, you call him Dad—seems thrilled to be here. He keeps glancing over at Stiles, watching him. Stiles tries not to let it bother him, focusing on ignoring the gaze by watching the game and keeping his pulse calm.

"So how're the fries?" Isaac asks, breaking the silence that's fallen. "Better than pancakes?"

"No," Stiles replies. He looks over to the sheriff—Dad—and adds politely, "but they're very good. Thank you."

It's odd to show a human such courtesy, but he's seen in the memories that they aren't viewed the same way in this pack as with the alphas. There were humans in Derek's memories of family and pack. There are positive memories of the human girl, Lydia. Stiles himself was human before the alphas turned him. They're given the same respect as werewolves it seems, though there's still some level of distinction between pack bonds and the friendship—family?—with the humans. He still needs more memories or explanations before he fully understands it, but it's clearer than it was.

"You're very welcome, Stiles," his father replies. "I'm glad to do it."

Silence falls in the room again. The sheriff seems eager to keep talking, but he doesn't seem to know what to say. Stiles surely doesn't know what to say, so he focuses on the fries, which are insanely delicious; they're almost as good as pancakes, except, pancakes Stiles can cook and make Derek smile. Pancakes make Derek and Isaac happy; pancakes still win, for now.

I bet I could figure out how to make these for us, too. I wonder if they'd like that.

"How much do you know about me?" the sheriff asks finally, pulling Stiles from his hypothetical fry-cooking plans. "You know who I am, don't you?"

Stiles nods. "My dad," he replies, the title foreign on his tongue. "John Stilinski. Aged 40. Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Single father. We were very close before I disappeared," he recites a summation of the facts Lydia wrote in the scrapbook. "You come to lacrosse games even when I sit on the bench," he adds, thinking to Derek's memory, "and say you're proud of me."

"Yeah," the sheriff confirms, "That's right."

There are tears welling up in his eyes again, but Stiles doesn't really understand why; maybe because he's not like the boy in Derek's memory?

I don't know how to be him yet. I'm still learning.

His father clears his throat and when he speaks again the sadness is mostly gone from his voice. "You didn't always ride the bench though," he says. "You won the state championship game. Has Derek had a chance to show you that?"

"No."

"I can't," Derek replies apologetically. "I wasn't there until after. I don't have a memory of it."

"Oh," the sheriff replies, looking disappointed. "Well, it was a helluva game. You were fantastic, Stiles." His face brightens as he wonders, "You can take memories, can't you? Could you take it from me and then—

"Derek, please, I don't need the memory. I don't need it. It's okay," Stiles counters hurriedly. "Please."

Don't hurt the human. Please don't hurt him, not for me. Don't take his memories because of me. Please, please, please.

Unbidden memories flood to the surface of his mind, terrible things he'd forgotten or blocked.

He can feel the Alpha's claw sink deep into his still-human flesh and the anguish in his mind as the Alpha's control shreds through his memories. He's sure it will kill him this time, sure he can't take anymore; he's thought—hoped?—that so many times now yet still they keep hacking away at him, allowing him to recover momentarily from the pain to feel a little more empty, a little more hollow, a little more confused every time, aching mentally and physically, healing just enough for the next round of the torturous process.

"Not such a brazen little smartass, now, are we, Stiles? You hear the pathetic little sounds you're making? You'll be begging us to stop soon."

"Fuck off," he replies angrily through teeth gritted against the pain.

"Now, now, is that any way to speak to your new Alphas?"

"You're not my alphas. You will never be my alphas. Over. My. Dead. Body."

"That can be arranged," the alpha taunts.

He plunges a claw mercilessly down into Stiles neck. As the pain sears through his mind, hacking away at precious memories, he prays to black out again, but this alpha seems to know Stiles' limits. It pulls away just as he's reaching the edge of the blessed blackness. The pain doesn't lessen, just throbs as he's released and crumples to the floor, cradling his head in his hands.

"You're not leaving here, Stiles. No one is going to save you from this. Not Derek, not any of those other pathetic mongrels he's trying to make a pack of, no one," the alpha asserts, accentuating the taunts with blows far too fast for Stiles to dodge. "It's just you and us, and we're going to keep at this until you're a good little beta like you should be." Stiles feels a rib break under the force of the next kick. "Or until it kills you. Whichever comes first. You understand?"

He wants to beg for mercy. He wants to shriek in pain and not hold back. He wants to cry out desperately for help until Scott or Derek or Dad prove these monsters wrong and come to save him. Instead, he bites back the weakness and braces for the coming blows.

He returns to the present without warning. Someone's shaking his shoulders, and he's lashing out before he can stop the impulse, the anger and fear from the memory still surging through him. There's a loud crash as he sends his attacker flying back into the coffee table which collapses under the weight. Too late he realizes it's Isaac, not an attacker. He backs away from Isaac, from Derek who's standing between Stiles and his breakable, human father, whimpering low in his throat as he takes in what he's done.

"Isaac, I didn't mean to; I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to, Derek, please, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Derek soothes, still braced protectively in front of the sheriff. "You had a flashback. It's okay."

"Help me shift back, Derek, please."

"Try on your own," Isaac says.

"Isaac, now's not the time for—"

"Let him try," Isaac insists, cutting off Derek's protest. "He's already got more presence of mind than he usually does. He's retreating not attacking. Come on, Stiles," he urges. "Breathe deep, and focus on something that matters to you. Just try. If it doesn't work, Derek'll help you."

He sucks in a shaky breathe or two, trying to slow his pulse.

Something that matters. Something that matters.

Isaac. Derek. Family. Isaac. Derek. Family. Isaac. Derek. Family.

He can feel himself shifting back slowly.

"Good, Stiles," Derek encourages. "That's it. That's perfect. Keep going."

Isaac. Derek. Family. Isaac. Derek. Family.

He feels the moment he's completely back to human form, the red tint in his vision fades. He closes his eyes gratefully as relief washes over him so completely that his knees buckle and he slides down the wall to the floor.

"Stiles?" Derek says, voice slightly alarmed.

"Stiles, are you okay?" Isaac asks as he moves toward him. "Are you—"

Stiles opens his eyes, smiling up at Isaac, voice on the verge of giddy laughter as he replies, "I did it."

Isaac grins down, offering Stiles a hand up. "Yeah, you did. You were fucking awesome!"

He looks to Derek who's smiling proudly, smiling because of him, and the giddy laughter can't be held back anymore.

"I did it without pain," he says happily to Derek, though he knows he's stating the obvious. "I can control it without pain!"

"That was fantastic, Stiles," Derek compliments.

"We told you it would get better," Isaac reminds Stiles. "You're gonna get better, Stiles. See? A little bit at a time."

"Maybe I should go," the sheriff suggests quietly.

'"No, I can control it now. This control is better. It's more stable I can—" Stiles pauses, and then looks quickly to Derek, realizing he might've spoken out of turn. "Unless you want him to go, Derek," he adds quickly.

'"You're the one who makes the call, Stiles," Derek replies with a shrug. "Stay as long as you want, Sheriff."

Isaac's pretty exhausted so he more than understands why Stiles is dozing off where he sits, but Stiles is trying hard to stay awake as the night wears on. It's kind of adorable really. He's still radiating happiness, and it's a nice change to the constant tremors Isaac got too used to all week. Nevertheless, it's been a long day for everyone, and tomorrow's going to be more of the same; that flashback may have been a catalyst to something better, but it was still a reminder that getting back some of these memories isn't going to be a walk in the park.

"I think I'm about to crash," Isaac informs the room at large, testing the waters for Stiles' reaction and if he'll want Isaac with him again tonight.

"Are you leaving?" Stiles asks, eyes worried.

"Not unless you want me to. Why? You want me to crash in your room again?"

Say yes, because otherwise I'm going to be up half the night worrying about you anyway.

He looks from Isaac to Derek, clearly trying to decide if he's allowed to want this before admitting, "Only if you don't mind," he glances back to Derek to add, "and if it's okay."

"I don't mind," Isaac assures him. "Derek doesn't either, do you?"

"Nope."

The sheriff clearly has a thought or two about this arrangement, but he's keeping it to himself for the moment.

Good call, dude. He needs me, and I don't give a fuck what you think. Stiles doesn't either. You can take it up with Derek if you've got a problem.

"Why don't you two grab the double bed in the guest room," Derek suggests. "I'll take the twin for tonight, and we'll switch the beds tomorrow?"

"Sounds good," Isaac says. "Good with you, Stiles?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"We don't mind, Stiles," Derek reminds.

"Of course not," Isaac agrees.

We're still just excited you're having semi-normal conversations with us. A little rearranging of the furniture and sleeping arrangements is nothing.

"I'll walk you out," Derek offers once Stiles and Isaac disappear down the hall. "Tomorrow I'll talk to Stiles about you moving back in."

"You don't think it'll be too much stress on him?" the sheriff wonders, rising and following Derek to the door.

"If he can keep the shift from happening and we're careful to keep one of the pack here at all times, he should be fine, and you should be safe enough."

"Looks like Isaac doesn't plan on going anywhere any time soon," the sheriff comments.

"Isaac's been good with him."

"Is it the best idea to have him share a bed with someone after what he's been through?

He trusted Peter too readily; that's a mistake he'll have to live with. Nevertheless he trusts Isaac completely. Isaac's not Peter. Isaac's the only reason they've been able to make it as far with Stiles as they have.

"That's the only thing that keeps him from waking up sobbing from nightmares," Derek replies unforgivingly. "This isn't a text book case. We're rolling with the punches. He has nightmares; he's scared to be alone. He's still a little scared of me, so it falls to Isaac. He's been great with Stiles. If anyone's got any inkling of what Stiles has been through, it's Isaac. There's no one I trust more with him."

The sheriff wants to keep arguing, but he doesn't, which is a fairly wise decision on his part. Derek's not ignoring the fact that the man is Stiles' father, but, right now, Stiles is counting on Derek to take care of him. Derek's going to do whatever it takes and whatever Stiles wants, perceptions and parental, outsider opinions be damned. "Just—take care of him," the sheriff says finally.

"We will."

"Keep me updated. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Of course."

"You won't leave without telling me?" Stiles asks quietly, just on the edge of sleep as he lies next to Isaac.

He wouldn't have minded the smaller bed again. It left him no choice but to be as close as he could to Isaac. He's not sure how much liberty he can take with that now. The small space separating them feels wider than it should. He knows he'd wake if Isaac left the bed, but he worries anyway.

"I won't," Isaac promises. "I'm right here, okay?"

He finds Stiles' hand in the dark and scoots just a bit closer. Stiles can't stop the smile that spreads across his face at the unhesitant reassurance.

Why are you so good to me, Isaac? he wonders for what seems the billionth time.

With Isaac's promise to stay easing the greatest trouble on his mind, Stiles drifts off to sleep still washed pleasantly in the residual giddiness of the day—making such progress understanding his Alpha, being shown family, having Isaac and Derek assure him he has a place in the Hale Pack family, getting a few memories like Derek and Isaac were hoping, controlling the shift without pain—and decides if every day is like this then he's going to be the happiest beta in the world.

Just a quick update before I got off to Disney which is officially 7 days away! If you have any questions contact me through my kik, which is on my profile and don worry if you´re a reader of Stiles is Derek´s Only because I´ll be updating today or tomorrow! Love you all so much and thank you for the support!

Stay a sourwolf! ~AlphaHook