#packtw

“Heavy,” Stiles finally answers. Because that’s what he feels. Like his bones are weighting him to the soft bed beneath him, like he’s an anchor sinking deep into silt and water. “Am I high?”

Werewolves start sleeping in Stiles' bed, when Stiles is still in it, because that's what packs do. Weird, but it does give him nightmare-free sleep. And Derek seems to be dropping hints, maybe. Or maybe Stiles is just imagining that, since his Alpha-sized crush on Derek is getting out of hand. Or maybe not.

There are some salvageable things though. A virtually untouched heavy slate sign that says, engraved in an ornate script that confirms at least one person in the Hale family had a sense of humor (Stiles has a horrible suspicion it might have been Peter), When You Stop Believing in Santa You Get Underwear.

He knows that Stiles is speaking to his wolf, to that animal inside that thrums with the need to maim and kill and take, take, take and he really shouldn't allow it, he shouldn't.

Erica has a problem and Stiles is going to find a solution. (Or else.)

When Scott ditches Stiles for Allison and the rest of the pack goes back to ignoring him as usual, Stiles decides to get a dog. A cat wouldn't get along with the pack, but a puppy would have to, right? ...Or not. Most definitely not. Who knew?

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “You have me. You’ve always had me, you absolute moron, how many physically impossible feats of life-saving heroics do I have to perform before you get it?”

Derek kicks Stiles out of the full moon puppy piles; it takes Stiles a while to figure out why. And then he takes ~steps.