Ok guys, my apologies x a zilliongajillionn for how long it's taken me to update this time!

For some reason I decided to up sticks and move across the Atlantic on my lonesome so everything's been a bit hectic this last month, but I am finally settled and school is all sorted etcetera etcetera so I can finally relax and get back into writing.

Like I said I am so sorry this has taken so long, but I'm working on finishing the next chapter possibly tonight seeing as this is a bit of a let down filler considering your wait... Anyway I hope you like what I got, next chapter brings forth promises of Lydia, and possibly those Jackson answers you've been asking after!

(:

He was peering into the tip of the iron when his father arrived home from work. He didn't know how long he'd been stood there, contemplating the inner mechanisms of this crafty little machine with one eye squinted and the tip of his tongue tasting the air around him, before a jerked hand movement brought him careening back to awareness. That and the squirt of cool water bursting towards his eyeball as he grazed the spray release button.

He'd been so focussed on trying to understand the system, one which allowed the water to remain chilled within whilst evaporating from the hot plate that straightened clothes, that he hadn't noticed his father talking until his concentration was drawn to the burning sensation threatening to cripple his eye. So focussed in fact that the area around him was now filled with cups and bowls of tepid water he had been methodically transferring to and from the little device. No doubt if he had been left to continue his ministrations the thing would be in pieces strewn across the kitchen by morning.

"Stiles?"

"Ah, yeah, you're going to have to go again there pops."

The sigh was strained but fond, his father's default response when it came to all things Stiles.

"I'll make this easy for you kid, the jeep. Where is it?"

"She dad, where is she." He corrected.

"Don't dance around the question with personification."

He sighed, staring down at the iron in his hands in the hope that it might spark a good idea on the spot. He'd been considering what to say to his father since he got home, but his slight distraction had taken two hours? Two hours out of his limited plotting time.

"Don't."

"Huh?"

"Don't even think about lying to me Stiles, I can smell it on you."

He chuckled at that. The obscene image of his father with fur and fangs jumped to the forefront of his mind unbidden and he risked a glance up to check the severity of the situation.
He was tired. That much was clear. But that much was always clear so Stiles took it in his stride. He was facing his fingers again, imagining extensive intricate scenarios which would explain away the mysterious absence of his jeep, before he considered the likelihood that he was being double-bluffed. He'd left her in the middle of the road after all, surrounded by warring werewolves, no doubt someone had noticed.

"She has had an extremely bad day, she needs empathy and affection."

He stared back up at his father again, his only response being to raise an eyebrow and stare back expectantly. He took a deep breath, exhaling loudly for dramatic effect.

"I had a spot of engine trouble on the way back from practice, she's currently resting off-road somewhere pining for me to come rescue her."

"Somewhere?"

"Yes. Somewhere. I don't, I can't remember where... It was dark, I was a little freaked Dad."

"How did you get home?"

"Erm, Sc-" He caught himself just too late.

"Stiles."

Not Scott. Scott wasn't his excuse anymore. Crap.

"Derek. I mean Derek. Hale. He was driving by, offered me a lift. He even helped pull her over in fact."

He shrugged, as if feigned nonchalance would give the words a more casual air.

"This is Derek 'you might know him a little better than that' Hale? The same Derek Hale accused of murder?"

Stiles didn't look up. Fiddling with the watercap as if it had the answers.

"The leather jacket Derek Hale who haunts his own burnt out house like it's Halloween?" He sighs. "No, I didn't... I didn't mean that" but Stiles was already cutting across him.

"No, Dad, the other Derek Hale. Runs the grocery store, wife and three kids."

He couldn't quite explain away the snap to his tone.

"Stiles." And his father was right beside him, tugging on his arm to turn his face towards him. He wore that crinkle in his forehead, brows furrowed together as if trying to untangle the answer. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing, Dad, I'm just... Yes Derek drove me home. Derek helped me out. Believe me I'm as surprised as you are. I'm just..." He was struggling, the air caught in his chest, his throat was closing up again "I'm just-" he knew his volume was rising but he couldn't seem to help it "I'm just... trying to understand how this DAMN THING WORKS!"

He's was staring at the iron again, shaking in his hands before he set it down beside the pile of Alison's clothes, lost amidst cooling water. He was staring at it like he had been since he clutched it from the back of the cupboard and switched it on, trying to kick his brain back into gear, trying to focus. His Dad's hand was on his back, soothing small circles before he pulled away, heading for the kitchen drawer. Stiles' head clicked up as he recognised which drawer.

"Na uh, no way, we're having pasta and veggies, lots of veggies, your plate is gonna be so green you'll think it's a tiny patch of farmland just for you."

And with that he was clearing the table, emptying the vast array of containers and slapping the drawer in question shut with his hip, imagining for a second he could hear the forlorn flutters of abandoned take-away menus mewing for attention. He cooked and he talked and his chatter gradually began to pick up it's usual speed, by the time his father was heading up to bed his mind was clear enough to return to the task waiting at the opposite end of the kitchen table, the mound of clothes held an ominous air.

"Come on, you suckers, I got you." He squinted, holding the iron out before him in a jedi stance.

Four tops down and his eyelids were beginning to droop. The fifth came dangerously close to a scorching so he called it a night and crawled up to his bedroom.

He was stripping off his shirt when he felt the uncomfortable knot return once again, turning quickly, trapped in fabric and slightly panicked. By the time he had wrenched his shirt out of his vision and flung it across the room though the feeling had disappeared again, frightening in its speed. That odd sensation of feeling watched whispered off his spine like it had never been there and for a moment he doubted himself. He tried to shrug it off before crawling into bed with a shiver, senses wary, though as soon as he found a comfortable spot sleep hit him like a brick.

He was woken by a sharp incessant pain in his left ear, bleary eyes taking time to register the fact that his father was flicking him with a queer reverence on his face.

"Up and at 'em Stilinski, I want you showered, dressed and fed in half an hour or you can walk to school."

"Huurrngerff" was all he got for his trouble as Stiles tried to roll over and duck his head under his pillow simultaneously.

"I mean it Stiles." His father warned, Sheriff voice out in full action.

Way too early in the morning for full sheriff his mind registered. Way too early.

He shot up.

"Da-ad! I thought you had the late morning shift!" He groaned as he forced himself out of bed, into his father as he pushed him out onto the landing.

"That was before I had a son incapable of looking after his vehicle." His father moaned back, mocking in his tone.

"Your son is fine on his bike, Dad, go back to bed." He continued to push his father towards his bedroom door, though in his early morning state the attempt was feeble at best as his father stood his ground with ease.

"I'll nap after I drop you Stiles, it's simple. The quicker you go, the quicker I get back in bed." He stated, pushing Stiles back towards his room with only slightly more force than Stiles had been exerting "And I seriously doubt that rusty old thing is safe for human testing."

"Sh-"

"Don't even think about giving your bike a gender."

Stiles huffed as he wandered back into his room, searching for a towel and feeling guilty deep in his chest.

His torso was under the bed, fingers outstretched towards his favourite plush green towel when he heard the horn out front. He pulled his head up quickly in surprise, jarring it on the underside of his bed and yelping out in pain. He could swear even from this distance he could hear the faintest chuckle from the road outside his house. He ran to the window, looking out to see a sleek dark Camero pulled up in his driveway, the driver peering up from under his sunglasses with an eyebrow cocked. There was a figure in the passenger seat snoozing lightly, chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.

He was tracing out the figure of Isaac's drooping curls as Derek stepped out of the car and started walking towards the front door.
No.
Nonononononono.
Stiles was running, leaping, bounding over the various mysterious obstacles that often speckled his bedroom floor, heading for the stairs in the vain hope of beating a father already at the door, reaching for the handle. He paused as he reached the bottom step, vaguely aware that one of the obstacles he had collided with was now clinging to his ankle.

"Mr Stilinski."

Shit.

"Mr Hale. What can I do for you?" His father's voice was clipped, controlled.

"I came by to pick up Stiles. I was already taking Isaac," there was a pause, assumedly accommodating a gesture towards the driveway, "I imagine he could do with the ride whilst his jeep's out of action."

His voice was same old Derek, yet his words rang with a more cordial nature than Stiles had ever sensed when they were aimed at him. He'd heard this Derek before though, like the day at the station, the pretty woman on the desk. It was probably accompanied by that hideous grin.

An outrageous thought struck him, Derek better not be hitting on papa Stilinski. There are lines man, lines that can't be crossed, and his Dad? Yeah, that's a line that just should not be toyed with.

He found himself squirming uncomfortably just at the thought, irrational in every sense but still alarming as a concept. It wasn't long before his body was racing into action, inserting himself between the two men.

"Derek Hale! Fancy seeing you here... On my doorstep. At sunrise." His stare was exaggerated as Derek lowered his gaze to him, smile faltering slightly.

"I was just explaining to your father," his voice was a shade colder now "about my offer to give you a ride this morning."

"Your... offer." Stiles jumped as realisation hit, turning to his father to begin a ranted explanation of why he had failed to mention this earlier. His father didn't bother to turn to face him as he swiped his hand through the air in a silencing acceptance.

"Drive safe." Was all he gave to Derek as his began trudging back up the stairs, still in his t-shirt and boxers and seemingly relieved of one less job to do.

"You could have called."

"I did call."

They were in the car now, Stiles having fled to get dressed and grab his books in three minutes flat. Four minutes if you counted the time his spent struggling to remove his ankle from a slinky chokehold.

"You could have called at a reasonable hour when you knew that I'd be conscious."

"I assumed your sleep routine was in keeping with the rest of the world." Derek's tone was back to its usual irritated whine as he cut a side glance at Isaac to illustrate who he meant by the rest of the world. Isaac who had been sleeping before Stiles had to scramble over him to occupy the backseat.

"Well, you made an ass out of you. And me. Thankyou for that, by the way."

But he couldn't let it go that easily.

"You could have called me last night!" he griped, fully aware of how petulant he sounded "Or text me, I don't know, maybe warned me when I was sitting in your car."

"And miss out on a reunion with the sheriff?" He didn't look at back but Stiles could see the self satisfied smirk in the rear-view. He dragged himself up the back of Derek's chair, gripping the head rest in frustration as his body shuddered against it.

"You, are a terrible person!" He shouted, catching Derek's eye in the mirror "He-wolf. Whatever." He muttered against his ear, scowling at that grin in the reflection.

"And you are under the assumption that it was always my plan to do you this favour." He emphasised the 'favour' with a reciprocating glare. Isaac simply chuckled from his seat beside him.

When Stiles turned his glower towards him however he went silent and shifted to face the window, watching the trees speed by with false fascination. Stiles was puzzled for a moment, trying to suppress the pride that began to itch in response to the feeling of power. Until he turned to find Derek's own death glare pointed at Isaac, no doubt the true motivation for his silence. Alpha -1 Stiles -0.

"Whatever." Stiles sighed, leaning so far back into his chair he began to slip onto a horizontal plane, wasting little energy in the half hearted attempt he made to right himself.

Derek seemed content with just huffing his signature exhale and returning his focus to the road. It didn't escape Stiles' attention that he seemed to be seizing every opportunity to execute unnecessarily sharp turns, the only purpose of which seemed to be to disturb Stiles' already uncomfortable positioning.

"Dude, Sheriff's son in the back cries danger!" Stiles hollered after being so severely uprooted his head made jarring contact with the window across from him.

"Maybe you should try putting your seatbelt on then." The alpha growled in return.

Stiles took a moment to himself to be thoroughly confused before returning to his seat and heeding Derek's advice. "I didn't know you cared." He mocked once the belt was securely in place, rubbing at his head with a self-conscious hand. Isaac scoffed into the window and Stiles felt a strange fondness for the boy in that moment.

"As you so dutifully pointed out," Derek answered through his teeth "I don't want to be the last person you were seen with when the Sheriff finally finds his kid in pieces."

Stiles raised his head at that one.

"Pieces? Well, thank god I've got super-seatbelt on to protect me from you theoretical slice n' dice scenario" he muttered "Maybe I should bring it to the next werewolf showdown..."

The responding growl was enough to make Stiles' eyes flicker up, catching Derek's just in time to witness the red ringing them for a second before it faded away again. Isaacs head was cocked, suddenly less enthralled by the landscape as he felt his alpha's anger.

"You have to have a deathwish." He sighed from the passenger's seat, shaking his head in the direction of Stiles. All warm fuzzy feelings for him evaporated quickly.

"Umm, excuse me!" He gestured emphatically to the seatbelt now clasped against his chest "I am currently the height of a car safety campaign thankyou!" He nodded to Isaac's unbelted seat before whinging "Hippocrite." under his breath.

"Were-wolf" Isaac sing-sang, turning back to face the front with a self-assured grin. It didn't last long as his alpha growled again and he hurried to strap himself in with supernatural speed. Stiles couldn't help the victory chuckle that escaped him.

"There won't be any more repeats of last night." Derek rumbled, wolf mode still clearly switched on. The silence that fell upon the car sent chills up Stiles' spine with all the things unspoken. Stiles could not leave things unspoken.

"So the rogues- "

"The rogues have been dealt with."

It was only then he noticed the rusted splotches on his jacket sleeve, the clothes Isaac had been wearing the night before balled up on the seat beside him, strips carved out of them like shredded rags, the copper scent hinted on the air.

"Dealt with." He repeated quietly to himself. Sure, Stiles knew the drill, understood the necessity, 'danger must be eliminated'. But... "The hunter. They killed him?"

Isaac was the one to answer him this time. "Doesn't seem likely, the hunter was a lone wolf attack. Deaton said the lacerations demonstrated spontaneous movement, like an out of control accident. These guys, they're more calculating." He met Stiles' eye as he spoke, managing to resist flashing his usual smug expression.

Stiles tried not to seem impressed, but Isaac had rolled the words off his tongue like a freaking werewolf expert, bringing forth a sharp reminder of a certain strawberry blonde with similar evaluation skills. Damn it, this guy was starting to grow on him.

"They denied it." Was all Derek had to contribute.

"But then... You killed them? For what, Jeep damage? They could have paid the repairs, Jesus."

"They're not dead Stiles."

Stiles felt a rush of relief at the words, swiftly followed by his usual bounds of curiosity.

"So?"

The car remained deathly silent and he threw his arms upwards in annoyance "Come on. What happened? What did they want? What did you do? I think as the victim of their Alpha-baiting I get some sort of free pass to information here! Be honest, why would you adopt the role of designated driver for today if it wasn't to break some wolfy news to me?"

Derek's shoulders were hunching as he leaned in to grace the road with his obstinate scrutiny, movements suddenly stiff and limited. Great. Normally Stiles was all for pestering unyielding Derek, but this was stupid o'clock in the morning and he hadn't even had his daily sugar rush yet. He was about ready to start slapping people when Derek spoke again.

"They were looking for a pack." His face was still transfixed on the tarmac. "We kindly showed them they are not welcome."

Stiles eyes flickered down to the crusted brown still speckling his neck. Dude, showering before you carpool should be state law.

"And... they're not welcome because?" He hadn't quite forsworn pestering yet.

"I think that's pretty clear Stiles." His voice contained barely veiled anger but Stiles didn't miss the confusion that folded his brow as he spoke.

"Yeah, Yeah, I know, big bad wolves had a rough and tumble, but come on. Two powerful werewolves on your side? That's gotta be at least worth considering, right? Not that your current raggedy team of outcast bandits isn't totally ship shape. As a recent damsel in distress I can totally recommend your services all round. But, I mean be serious here, you've just lost a member. You've got an out of control werewolf roaming the California countryside and not one but two wolves are offering to make up your numbers? Tell me there's another reason you turned them down."

"It's not that simple Stiles, they threatened our pack."

"Aaaactually I'm pretty sure it was Boyd who bit first, if we're going down that route."

"They threatened our pack." He was starting to sound like a huffy schoolboy.

"Yes, Mr Broken-record, you had a tiff. Isn't that what werewolves do? Then afterwards you kiss and make-up and hunt deer together, live and let live yada yada."

"Yeah," Isaac piped up from the corner, "that's what werewolves do."

Stiles was starting to get the distinct feeling something was shooting straight over his head.

"But they chose to target a human." Oh.