"So, you gonna show us what's in that fancy little box of yours?" Dean asked. Stiles nodded and pulled the lid off the box. Inside, there were four knives, one pair of nunchucks, two more packs of bullets, eight arrows, one hand-grenade, a miniature blowtorch, a ziploc baggie full of wolfsbane, and one more bag filled with mistletoe.

"I assume you're the reason he has all this, right?" the Sheriff asked, glancing at Peter.

"Where it came from isn't important," Stiles snapped, replacing the lid. "We're not using any of this stuff anyways. We don't need it."

"Well if its gonna kill the werewolves, then we sure as hell better be using it," Dean said.

"I'm sure Derek's taking care of it," Stiles said, only to snap his jaw shut a second later. "I-I mean someone. Someone's taking care of it." Sam leaned closer.

"Who's Derek, Stiles?" he asked. Stiles clacked his mouth open and shut.

"My nephew," Peter put in. "He's another hunter." He risked a glance at Stiles, who nodded.

"Y-yeah," he stammered. The Sheriff looked between them.

"I thought we had agreed that you would tell me everything, Stiles. Is this why Derek was always crawling into your room?" he asked. Peter raised an eyebrow. Stiles felt his face heat up.

"That's the guy you were talking to last night, when the werewolf broke in," Dean said. Peter turned fierce blue eyes to Stiles. The teen gulped.

"I... Y-yeah... Derek knew what was going on and he wanted to ask me about it," he said slowly.

"Right, that's why he was asking you to sneak out in the middle of the night." The Sheriff slammed his fist onto the table. Stiles jumped. He glanced at Peter, hoping for some kind of backup, but there older man refused to meet his gaze.

"Stiles..." His father breathed out.

"Yes?"

"How long have you two been," he waved a hand about. Stiles cocked his head.

"How long have we been what?"

Peter snorted. "How long have you been sleeping with my nephew?" Stiles spluttered, throwing his hands up and jerking backward.

"I'm not sleeping with Derek! I'm a virgin!" he cried. He didn't need to look at Peter to know that he was smirking. The Sheriff rubbed his temples.

"How long have you been seeing him then?"

"I'm not!" Stiles was bright red by now. His hazel eyes were wide as they flickered between his father's. The Sheriff leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. The wrinkles around his eyes were more prominent like that, making him seem older.

"Stiles," he said, "I thought we were done with the lies..." He stood up. "I have work in an hour. I'm going to get ready. Sam, Dean, keep an eye on him." With that, he was gone, trudging up the stairs to his bedroom. Stiles crossed his arms, glaring at the table.

"I'm not in a relationship with Derek," he grumbled. He knew that a werewolf would detect a hint of disappointment under his anger, but he didn't care. Even if Peter did tell Derek, the man wouldn't care. He didn't have time for that.

"But you would tell us if you were, right?" Sam asked. Stiles glanced up.

"Considering how everyone reacted based on an accusation? No, no I wouldn't tell you," he said. It was the truth, after all. Sam cringed.

"You know he's not mad about preference," he said softly. Stiles leaned back until his head smacked the top of his chair.

"I know I know. He's just..."

"Mad that it's Derek of all people?" Peter suggested. Stiles wrinkled his nose.

"What, you got a better option?" Peter grinned at him and gestured at himself.

"Of course I do. Me," he said. Stiles laughed.

"Right because my dad, who couldn't stand the thought of me dating Derek Hale, would feel so much better if I dated his much older uncle."

"I'm just saying it's a suggestion." Sam and Dean glanced at each other then back to the pair in front of them. Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam shrugged. Maybe the Sheriff should be wary of the Hales and his son after all.