Following his nose, Sheriff Stilinski walked down the hallway. A smell that he could only describe as a combination of anise and wet dog grew stronger with every step he took toward Stiles' room. His first thought was that the boy hadn't cleaned in a while, and something was getting moldy in his room. Irritated, he shuffled down the hallway, his bare feet made quiet on the hardwood floors by the cuffs of his pajama bottoms. It's too early for this shit, he thought as the smell got more and more potent.

With a frustrated sigh, he put his hand on the doorknob. A thought stopped him momentarily from opening the door. What if the scent wasn't just something rotting? It smelled spicier than that, less like decay. What else would it be? Could Stiles be trying to mask the scent of drugs? The Sheriff's stomach dropped as he considered the possibility. Surely Stiles would have enough sense not to do drugs. Especially in the house of the Sheriff of Beacon Hills. He would know how much that could put his job in jeopardy. Then again, assuming anything about Stiles' actions seemed like a long shot.

Tensing his shoulders, he opened the door. "Stiles-" he said, starting to chide his son. He was surprised to see that the room was actually fairly clean, with only a few items of clothes on the floor. There were no visible signs that Stiles had been doing any sort of drugs, except maybe the open window. What made the Sheriff stop short, however, was the sight of his son, laying in bed with his best friend. Having been close for many years, it wasn't a totally uncommon sight for the Sheriff to find. However, this was the first time that he'd ever found them both naked, clinging to each other. With no covers on, he could unmistakably make out Stiles' lean, pale form pressed tightly against Scott's dark muscles in the morning sun. The room was almost unbearably humid, making their bodies glisten with profuse sweat.

His son's back was to him, and so Scott was the first of the pair to stir at the sound of his voice and see the Sheriff. Stiles was still fumbling to get a view at the door as Scott's face turned red, his hands immediately going to cup his groin. In his attempt to turn over and look at his father, Stiles rolled off of the bed in a flailing heap. Meanwhile, Scott looked around for something to cover himself. His eyes went to the pile of ash that had been his underwear the day before. He looked at Stiles' underwear, but it was now cut to ribbons thanks to his impatient claws. As Scott looked frantically, Stiles managed to figure out which way was up, and rectified himself, his hands also covering his groin.

Before either boy could bother to say anything, the Sheriff turned around and closed the door. He paused for a moment, his face puzzled as he drew in a deep, slow breath. Yep, he thought to himself, it is way to friggin early for this shit.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Scott and Stiles bounded into the kitchen, their wet hair dripping onto the shoulders of their shirts. Scott's blue tank top and red shorts clung to his damp body, while Stiles' white t-shirt and black shorts provided an airy breeze to dry him. The Sheriff was sitting at the table, his hands folded in front of him and his eyes distant. At that moment, he was trying to ignore the fact that both boys had clearly showered, but he had only heard the shower turn on once. The pair poignantly avoided looking at him as they set about making breakfast. As they hurried around the kitchen, Mr. Stilinski sat silently, unmoving.

The pair set their bowls of cereal down on the table and sat, now looking at each other awkwardly, questioning Stiles' father's silence. They ate slowly, neither quite sure how to react as the Sheriff continued to sit in silence, perfectly still. Finally, thankfully, the man broke the silence.

"So... it was hot last night," he said, almost like a declaration.

"Uh... yeah, it was," Stiles answered, thinking of the literal steamy romance the pair had shared. Stiles' powers had unconsciously amplified the humidity coming through the window in response to being so close to his mate, turning the room into a sauna.

"Which is why..." the Sheriff started, unable to finish. Stiles and Scott looked at each other for a moment across the table, sharing a thought.

"Yeah!" Scott piped up, looking like an eager puppy. "It was too hot. So we figured the best way to cool down would be..."

"Right," the Sheriff said, satisfying himself with his delusion. "With the window, and the... yeah, okay."

The three were all quiet and motionless for a moment as they let the situation sink in. Nobody was quite sure how to approach the subject of the new situation. The three of them had eaten breakfast together hundreds of times before. Somehow, that fact made it even stranger, now that things had changed.

"Okay," the Sheriff announced, breaking the silence again, "time to set up some ground rules."

Stiles and Scott both looked at the man hesitantly. "Okay," Stiles said in an unsure, wavering voice.

"First, Scott, if you're still gonna sleep over, you should take the guest room," he said, looking at the tanned boy. "You know, the room right between mine and Stiles'. You know, my room, where I keep all my guns. Yeah, that one will be between you and Stiles."

"Dad," Stiles tried to interject, but the Sheriff summarily ignored him.

"Second, no sleeping over if I'm working overnight. Let's say if I'm working after three in the morning, no sleep overs," the Sheriff said.

Before Stiles could say anything, Scott smiled and responded. "That sounds fair," he said to the Sheriff, looking him confidently in the eye. An almost imperceptible sidelong glance between the two boys confirmed to Stiles that Scott intended to use his wolf powers to curtail these rules, as any self-respecting teenager would.

"And finally," the Sheriff said, gathering the pair's attention once more.

"Dad, really, more?" Stiles whined.

"Finally," the man reiterated, "if anyone gives you any shit, you tell me, and I'll take care of them. You got it?"

Scott and Stiles both beamed happily at the man. A grudging smile creeped across his red face. "Okay," Stiles and Scott both sounded in unison.

"Now," the Sheriff said, rising, "when you boys are done, I need you to help me move some broken limbs. In the storm last night, the tree in the front yard got struck by lightning."

Stiles and Scott looked at each other, and both boys started laughing in hysterics. Sheriff Stilinski looked blankly at the two, confused as they doubled over in laughter, milk pouring out of the sides of Stiles' mouth.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Hey, Dad," Stiles called, popping up from the couch as he saw his dad walk toward the front door. He'd been feeling a bit glum after Scott had to leave, so he'd been sitting on the couch most of the afternoon. Somehow, the day just seemed anticlimactic after the beautiful night they'd shared.

Mr. Stilinski turned around to face his son, annoyed at the disturbance as he tried to leave for work. "What?" he asked, already feeling that any conversation with Stiles would make him late.

"I was wondering, do you have any, like, contact information for mom's side of the family?" he asked, his dark eyes hopeful. The Sheriff crossed his arms, his face starting to crease into a concerned and confused scowl.

"Why do you want it?" he asked, his eyes narrowing at his son.

"Oh, you know, just thought it'd be nice to catch up... with my family..." Stiles said, poorly disguising his real, supernatural intentions by acting overly casual.

"After sixteen years?" the Sheriff asked, cocking his head. "You haven't seen them since you were a baby."

"Well... you know, it's never too late with family. And... you know, if I ever need an organ transplant..." Stiles answered in his characteristically avoidant manner, stuttering as he realized how unconvincing he was being. "You know, my kidneys... aren't... doing so well."

"Listen, Stiles, if you're trying to get more money on your birthday-" the Sheriff started. Looking at his son's face, he recognized an old sadness. The pain in his eyes was familiar. Mr. Stilinski let out an exasperated sigh.

"Dad, I just... want a connection," Stiles said. He hated lying to his dad, which he'd done a lot of lately, but this wasn't so much lying as a half truth. Since discovering his powers, he felt a new sort of connection to his mother, one that he hadn't known was hidden deep inside him. Now that he could feel it, he wanted to know this new side of her better. His family could both provide answers about his own powers and tell him about his mother's life as a witch.

A pained expression slowly worked across his dad's face, deepening the folds and creases that had gathered with time and making him look much older than he was. He knew he couldn't always be there for Stiles, and that having some family around could do him some good. He also knew that it was unfair to keep Stiles' family away from him just because they reminded him too much of the boy's mother. With a heart-heavy sigh, the Sheriff ran a hand through his hair. "I guess I could... look through some old records after work and see if I can find some numbers or addresses or something," he said, looking at his son with world-weary eyes.

Stiles' big brown eyes held his father's gaze, earnest and secure. "Thanks, Dad."