AN- I got nothing. Anemia sucks. I'm going back to bed. Thanks for reading.
"Sitles, are you riding Dark?".
The wolf rider in question barely bothered to lift his head up to acknowledge his parent. "No, riding signifies some sort of control. This is more like being hauled around.", Stile mumbled into thick dark fur, his body a limp noodle propped up over the werewolf's back as Derek descended the stairs with a strangely delicate grace that belied his immense size. He probably looked ridiculous but zero fucks were given on his part. Stiles was exhausted, pulled a hammie, and didn't have the stamina or supernatural healing to recover from an all nighter of fighting the monster of the week, some sort of bizarre were muskrat because yeah, life was like 'fuck you, that's why.'.
"You look like one of those baby monkeys. Get off the damn dog.", John sighed at his offspring as the wolf and boy passed by him on route to the living room.
"You're just jealous you didn't think of it first and he's perfectly capable of making his own life choices. Noble stead just happens to be one of them.", Stiles said a little too smugly for anyone's good, especially his own.
Derek expressed his opinion about being termed as a beast of burden by dumping Stiles onto the living room floor with an easy shrug of shoulders and mild tilt in stance. He didn't actually mind carrying Stiles around, the werewolf barely registering the teenager's weight, but he didn't want to encourage Stiles either. He had to draw the line somewhere. 'Noble stead' was apparently it. That and he might actually start liking the idea of Stiles clinging to him.
"Ow.", Stiles groaned, shooting a glare at the werewolf who looked unrepentantly down at him, "Why?".
"Serves you right.", John said, coming over to poke a socked toe into Stiles's side, making the teenager curl up like an oversized pill bug.
"Your concern for my well being is touching.", Stiles deadpanned, making efforts to defend himself from further pokes by flailing his arms about. It was ineffective at best and John thought it made Stiles look like he was having a stroke.
"Just supporting Dark's life choice.", John snorted, reaching over to scratch behind Derek's ears. The werewolf wondered if it was a little bit sad that he was getting used to such slightly demeaning yet affectionate treatment.
"See if I do any more late night research for you.", Stiles muttered into the carpet, knowing that Derek would be able to hear him clearly. Derek responded by pressing a very cold and very wet nose to Stiles's side where his shirt had ridden up high enough to expose vulnerable skin. The teenager yelped at the moist contact, rolling away so that he ended up on his back. Derek grinned openly enough to let his tongue loll out when Stiles flipped him the bird.
"Get off the floor before you hurt yourself.", John shook his head, taking a seat on the couch with every intention of watching the game. Stiles's spastic positioning in front of the tv was a little distracting though.
"How am I going to hurt myself? As long as you don't step on me, it's the very definition of safe.", Stiles asked, refusing to move. The floor was his friend even if werewolves with cold ass noses and fathers insisting he move his aching bones were not. "The only danger here for me is dieing of starvation.", he said, looking pointedly over at John.
When it became obvious that his father wasn't about to get off the couch anytime soon or was anyway moved by Stiles's plight in life, the teenager resigned himself to wasting away on the floor with only the dust bunnies for mourners to his passing. Stiles's will to live was forced back into commission though then a box was dropped on his head. The ineffective bludgeoning weapon turned out to be a box of strawberry pop tarts, delivered from kitchen to Stiles's head via werewolf express.
"All is forgiven.", Stiles told Derek solemnly. Best werewolf ever, even if he was rolling his eyes at him.
"Did you seriously teach the dog to retrieve pop tarts for you?", John asked incredulously, though he had to admit to himself that he was a little impressed. John found himself wondering if he could get the dog to do the same thing for him.
"You told me it was my responsibly to train him.", Stiles said, ignoring the steely look Derek was giving him.
"Son, the point of that was to enrich yourself, and even perhaps build some character, not make you a lazy sack of crap.", John pointed out, making an effort at parenting.
"Ouch. The brain is a muscle too.", Stiles feigned wounding.
"No. No, it's not. Are you passing that class?", John asked wearily, still remembering his rather awkward parent meeting with 'Cupcake'.
"With flying colors.", Stiles answered weakly. Derek groaned as he laid down beside the prone teenager, putting his paws over his snout.
"It's sad when your dog doesn't even believe you.", John said as he got up in search of some snack food that wasn't vegetables, giving Stiles a chance to glare openly at the wolf by his side.
"Oh shut up. It's either homework or finding out how to kill your freak of the week.", Stiles grumped at Derek who remained unapologetic. Stiles took his revenge by mustering up enough energy to treat the werewolf like a body pillow, using Derek's bulk to partially prop himself up as he liberated a foil packet from its box, tearing it open with his teeth. To Stiles's surprise, Derek seemed to encourage this closeness or simply didn't care, the werewolf curling his body around the teenager while anchoring him there by placing his heavy head in Stiles's lap and draping his bushy tail over Stiles's legs.
"Are you talking to yourself?", John asked, returning with the supposedly well hidden bag of potato chips in hand.
"Just talking to Dark.", Stiles admitted, choosing to turn a blind eye this time as he munched mechanically on his own sugary breakfast. He was too tired and his father seemed really committed about keeping his junk food.
"That's comforting.", John said around a mouthful of Lays, savoring salty, fat laden victory.
"Poor puppy. You'll hurt his feelings.", Stiles said, placing his hands over Derek's ears. The werewolf grumbled at the crumbs getting into his fur but stayed still, even leaning into the touch when Stiles started to stroke the velvet around his pointed ears. Derek barely stopped himself in time from whining when Stiles stopped, the teenager more interesting in feeding his face.
"Quit eating on the floor.", John sighed as Stiles opened another packet.
"I'm the only one who vacuums. He who cleans may eat where so ever he chooses.", Stiles pointed out, gesturing expansively with his pop tart in hand while distributing sticky crumbs far and wide.
"And he who pays the bills say to get off the floor and at least eat over the sink. That and you're blocking the game.", John said, adding to the mess by brushing flavoring off of his fingertips.
"I blame the fall of society on you.", Stiles rolled his eyes. "Poptart?", he asked, offering Derek the rest of the packet. The werewolf did the lupine version of a shrug that almost sent Stiles scrawling forward before accepting the rectangle of fruity carbs, barely chewing it before gulping it down.
"Quit feeding the dog pop tarts. That's people food.", John admonished.
"You're going to give Dark a complex, demeaning him like that. It's not healthy.", Stiles shook his head, draping himself over Derek's back. "I don't suppose you'll take me back to my room.", he asked the werewolf hopefully. Derek grumbled back, not moving a muscle in obstinate answer.
"I'll bring the pop tarts.", Stiles offered, showing the noble stead that he had the box in hand. Stiles yelped as Derek got up abruptly, letting the teenager fall back onto the floor. Stile continued making noises as the werewolf bit down on his t-shirt and proceeded to drag Stiles out of the living room and up the stairs.
"Ow. Ow. OW! Bad dog! Heel! Please? That was my pancreas! I need that! Ow! Crap, my funny bone! Ow! No, not the pop tarts!"