Aaaaaye, I'm back! Jeez, I missed you guys! Working on a bunch more chapters now. Wanna get a few done before posting a new one, so I have some back up if I get lazy! But I seriously wanna get farther into the plot, and it's taking so long, so I'm going to try to hammer out as much as I can for as long as I can and TRY to make a dent. I also have been having to watch a bit of TW to remember stuff again, and figure out how to change things. Wish me luck with that!

WillDawg: Honestly same though. I end up having to go back for 7 different things each chapter I write just to make sure I have things right. I'm gonna try to keep up on it a bit better so hopefully it'll stay fresher in all our minds. Especially since I'm getting into doing a lot more subtle story hints for the late game plot and such. (I don't know how late game it'll be. It might depend on how many people guess it first. I'm also very much contemplating how much of season 3 to include, but no need to worry about that yet, I suppose.)

Mars: AWWW, DON'T! You'll hurt his feelings! lol But true Derek does have Stiles. Heartsheartshearts Things will get very clear with in the next few chapters. Relatable truths on focus though. RIP me

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John had gone through his supply of whiskey the night before, which had two distinct results. He had woken up with a hammering hangover, that he usually didn't have to deal with considering his tolerance level and that he couldn't now remedy with more alcohol. And he had a rare moment of total sobriety to recall the worse than usual night. Which there was no lack of reminders of. The badly skewed picture frame, glass shattered in place, family picture warped from wetness now dried, the glass of his whiskey bottle scattered on the table, and of his tumbler on floor, the tear stains now dry and uncomfortable on his cheeks, and of course, Stiles' absence at the counter for breakfast: bacon, sausage links, eggs and toast, which he'd half admit to having made out of guilt. His words, though he hardly remembered saying them, ran through his head back to back, phrase by phrase. After cleaning up a majority of the shattered glass from the table and the floor, letting the meat burn a little to let out more of the smell and make it crispy like Stiles liked, he finally flicked the flames of the stove off. He dished out a plate and took it up, tapping his knuckles on the door before opening it. He found his son sniffling softly on his bed. He slowly took a seat next to him, setting the plate down on the bedside table. "Hey, kiddo..." Stiles sniffled and shifted, though not actually changing his position. "Stiles, I'm so sorry... What I said... was horrible..."

"It's not your fault... You were right-" Stiles sniffled. "I-"

"No. Stiles, no. None of that was true. Stiles, I love you more than anything. Your mother loved you more than anything. Nothing- Nothing could ever change that. And you love us. No amount of getting into trouble or skipping school would ever-" John paused, feeling tears coming on, and he pulled the boy into his arms. "I know... I haven't been good since... since she-... That's not your fault. None of that is in anyway your fault... You don't deserve the way I've- acted... All that you deserve is a much better father than I- than I've been being." Stiles hugged his dad back.

"That's not true!" Stiles answered, as only a child would. John couldn't help but breathe a laugh.

"It is, Stiles... If Claudia could see the way I've been lately... If she ever heard me say those kinds of things, blame you like that... I doubt she would ever forgive me. And trust me Stiles, the fact that you can... That says more about you than- than anything else, no matter what anyone says... Especially me. You understand that?" Stiles nodded. John smiled, leaning down to kiss Stiles on the head. "Good... Always do your damnedest to remember that." Stiles smiled melancholily up at his father.

"I don't have to as long as I have you to remind me, right dad?" John held a smile best he could. He wouldn't put that on Stiles. He couldn't. Not so young.

"Yeah, son. As long as you've got me." John said as reassuringly as he could. "Isn't Scott gonna be wondering where you are soon? I thought you said Melissa was supposed to take you two on a drive?" Stiles nearly bounced off his bed in joy.

"Wait, so I can go?!"

"Sure." John nodded, laughing. "Grab a bottle of water out of the fridge before you go." He said, taking a twenty out of his wallet. "And this is for lunch, give it to Melissa as soon as you get to over there, okay? I don't want you forgetting about it." Stiles nodded, grabbing it once he'd haphazardly thrown on the first pair of pants and shoes he could find. "Behave and be careful!" He was answered with the hurried slam of the door. He sighed. "I guess I'll just... put this in the fridge for later." Once he was sure, Stiles was off and wouldn't come back for something he decided he needed to take, John set to work cleaning up the rest of the glass, and replacing the panes of all the picture frames that had shattered in the chaos that ensued the night before. Once he'd finished with that, he hopped in the shower. Getting out and going to shave, the steamed mirror greeted him in his wife's handwriting, "Thank you".