The problem with a job like law enforcement is that the concept of "weekends" becomes essentially meaningless. While folks who work a 9 to 5 might be thanking their chosen deity for the arrival of Friday afternoon at this very minute, Sheriff Stilinski's work day stretched ahead of him into the wee hours of Saturday morning, with only a 4 hour break until he'd be covering Sunday's callouts. And when he stopped to pick up his weekly allotted greasy breakfast sandwich, Marge at the drive through window was going to make a joke about pesky Monday mornings, and he'll have to smile and hum in commiseration while he waits for his change so he can start his luxurious two and a half day weekend.

Needless to say, after decades on the force, it's something he's used to, but that doesn't mean he doesn't spend a few minutes wondering what his life would have been like if he'd taken the position at the insurance company his father-in-law had offered him when he was 20. 40 hours a week at a cushy desk job, the toughest decision he'd have to make between the blue pen or the black. His heart would certainly have been a happier camper. He'd have been there for every one of Claudia's disastrous Sunday dinners, and Stiles' numerous parent-teacher conferences in grade school.

Then again, the Sheriff conceded as he stretched out the paperwork induced knots in his back, he also wouldn't feel the satisfaction of a job well-performed against the poor odds of a surprisingly high crime rate, or the pride in his team of highly trained individuals.

Sheriff Stilinski settled back in his orthopedic chair and watched the clock on the wall tick over to 5:03PM

He sighed. If he'd lived the life of a paper pusher, he wouldn't have to be sitting here in his office, waiting for the arrival of his son, who'd been expected over half an hour ago.

"TGIF, my ass," he muttered.

Penises. Always with the penises.

Why was it that Stiles could, without fail, pick out the clouds that were shaped like genitalia? He'd worked through his gay panic around spring break freshman year(or, more accurately, because of spring break freshman year, and the glorious city of San Francisco) so it wasn't like repressed lust was making him see dicks everywhere. He'd jacked off furtively in his dorm that morning, for the last time before he moved home for good, so he couldn't blame his rampant libido with any confidence.

Likely, it was simply that he hadn't yet grown out of his teenage boy sense of humour, despite the fact that he'd spent the last few years attempting to convince his dad he wasn't a kid anymore.

Stiles thought of his dad as he watched the erect cock in the sky become more and more flaccid, until it looked more like a human stomach. Gross. It was nice to see his dad again, after the long stretch of post-mid-term slacking, pre-finals studying and actual finals week had kept him away for so long. This college was that far away. The drive to BCSU took just under an hour, which is easy enough to justify on a lazy weekend, but just far enough to make him reconsider when he'd been running on Monster, 3 hours total sleep and the manic willpower of a guy who hadn't gone to his stupid Astrology elective all semester, and had an exam in 3 days.

With a silent apology, Stiles dogeared the corner of the paperback he'd brought with him from the library, and left it on his chest as he stuck his hands into the long, soft grass by his hips. God, he'd missed this place. Since he was 10, and old enough to explore past his front yard on his own, he'd been coming to this spot in the middle of the preserve, his hill, where he'd never seen another living soul. (There was this raccoon he'd seen a few times, but they had an agreement to mutually ignore each other, and forget how loud they'd both shrieked the first time they'd met.)

The sun was warm, though not enough that he thought he was getting burned, The trees on the edge of the hill that overlooked the town were singing from the jostle of the occasional breeze that kept Stiles from sweating. He probably had at least one bug crawling on him, but if he didn't think about it too hard, it was easy to pretend it was just grass tickling his ankles or his lower back.

He took a deep breath, filling his nose and lungs with the scent of the preserve, clean, crisp and fresh, like he imagined the mountains bottled water companies promised their springs were located would smell, but with the added earthy tang of leaves warmed by the California sun.

Of course he'd missed Beacon Hills, and this place in particular, but he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that the independence he'd gotten just by being that small distance away was a nice feeling. He'd been home less than 12 hours, and already he felt the mature adult urges to do things like laundry and packing himself lunches for long days slipping away.

It wasn't that he blamed his father for his regression. That would be pretty stupid, considering the Sheriff hadn't done Stiles' laundry since elementary school. Obviously, he knew that if he ended up bringing nothing to work but beef jerky and peanut butter for the next few months, he'd have no one to point the finger at but himself.

"Oh, god." He froze, and sat up so fast that the book balanced on his chest went flying onto the ground between his legs. "Fucking shit."

He scrambled for his bike, which was leaning against the nearest tree, cramming the book in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He didn't have to look at his phone to know that he was late, but he did it anyway. He was already starting down the path when he turned it on, and he winced when the numbers flashed back at him. Day one of the life of Stiles the College Grad, and he misses work.

He was in deep trouble. Like, subvolcanic rock deep.

The Sheriff purposefully didn't look up when Stiles banged his way into his office. He'd heard the tell-tale stomping of his son's surprising large feet, and the habitual pause he made in the journey to check to see if there was anyone in the holding cells. (Not that there was ever anyone more interesting than Earl, the town's friendly drunk.) He kept his eyes trained on the paperwork in front of him and relished Stiles' obvious discomfort. He waited until Stiles was nearly vibrating off the ground before he pointed to the uncomfortable chair in front of his desk.

Stiles managed to keep his mouth shut all the way from the door to his seat, and even remained silent for a whole 15 seconds while the Sheriff dropped his glasses on the mess of paper on his desk and rubbed his tired eyes.

"I'm sor-"

The Sheriff raised a hand. "Save it, kid. I know you are." He finally blinked his eyes and took a good look at his son, whose whole body was radiating apology. "And I want to accept your apology, write you up, and move on from this." Stiles' shoulders dropped a few inches in relief, until he continued, "but, I can't."

Stiles' eyes widened in alarm. "I won't be late again, I promise. I'll set a bunch of alarms on my phone,

"That's what you said last year, when you had a total of five lates, two missed shifts, and one 'where the hell did Stiles run off to in the middle of his damn shift.'"

"The K9 unit was lonely," Stiles muttered.

The Sheriff took a deep, calming breath, letting it out slowly like his doctor had recommended to keep his blood pressure down. "Stiles, I know you aren't technically paid to be here, but it's still a job, and you still have to show up on time for your shifts."

"I know, Da-Sheriff." None of the deputies cared much if either of them acknowledged the nepotism, but Stiles had decided the after his freshman year to practice for when his internship became an actual job. It always took the whole first week of Stiles' summer internship for them both to get back to a working relationship. It took even longer for him to stop being appalled by Stiles calling him "Sheriff" in their own home.

The Sheriff picked up his cheap Wal-Mart reading glasses and gestured with one of the arms. "Well, it doesn't matter now, since you're not going to be working here."

Stiles didn't fall out of his chair, but it was a close thing. "W-what?" He sputtered, looking suddenly years younger. His wide, shocked eyes had gazed up at Claudia the same way after he'd been stung by a bee for the first time. "But, you said that-"

"I know that we worked out a deal, you and I." An unpaid, unofficial internship in the summer months, in exchange for tuition. "But, son, even you have to see that this isn't working the way we thought it would."

Stiles scoffed, and burst up from the chair, "I dunno what you mean. It's working great!" He paced in the space in front of the Sheriff's desk, his long arms barely missing the stacks of files and picture frames in the cramped office. "I'm getting the experience I need, you get help pushing paper. It's a win-win."

"I just don't think you're ready to take this seriously as a real job."

"And whose fault is that?" Stiles whipped around to face him, bumping into the chair, then sitting down, like the Sheriff would think he'd meant to do it. "If you'd have let me, I'd be finished police training by now, and working here for real. But, noooo, somebody thought I needed a fancy piece of paper letting people know I can pass a few classes."

"And I stand by that decision." He hadn't ever told Stiles that Claudia had made him promise to send their son to post-secondary. He'd rather listen to him complain about it every summer than make him feel guilty for wanting so badly to disrespect his mother's wishes. "Don't try to tell me that criminal psychology isn't going to be useful when you want to become a deputy."

"Dad, seriously. It's Beacon Hills PD, not Criminal Minds."

The Sheriff took another deep breath, rustling the stack of paper in front of him as he let it out. Stiles had told him when he was 8 years old, and he'd been the coolest kid at Career Day that he wanted to be a police officer. But, for the last few years, his fatherly pride had been battling with the knowledge that Stiles, with his hyperactivity, slight moral ambiguity and his inability to be serious wouldn't be happy with the life he thought he wanted.

"Son, I know this is where you think you ought to be. And I'm not saying you won't end up here, but I think you need a break."

"Oh, great. My first break-up, and it's with my boss."

"Can it. It'll just be this summer. In the fall, you'll be going for your police training with the county, so we'll try again after that. For now, though, you need to fulfill your end of the deal." He reached into his side drawer and pulled out a business card. He tapped the heavy paper on the arm of his chair for a few moments before tossing the square down in front of him. It was a testament to Stiles' shock that he didn't pick it up. "Have you ever met any of the Hales?"

Stiles' nose scrunched in confusion. "Don't think so."

"But you know of them, right? They live quite a ways out of town, and keep to themselves."

"Most of them died years ago, in an accident, right?"

"Yes, a fire. I wasn't sure if you'd remember. You weren't even in high school then, and it was right around your 14th birthday, so." He broke off. There was a beat of silence. Neither of them wanted to talk about the week of Stiles' 14th birthday, when Claudia lost all semblance of lucidity for the final time.

"Why?" Stiles squirmed, and gripped the seat of the chair.

"I was talking to Derek Hale this afternoon." Probably for the first time since he'd delivered the news of his family's death eight years ago. "He came into the station to cancel the background check he'd asked us to run on his most recent live-in babysitter. Apparently, she didn't even last the 48 hour trial period before running out of the house like her hair was on fire. Come to think of it, her hair might have been literally on fire, if I understood him correctly."

"Yikes. How many kids does this dude have?"

"Seven."

"Jesus."

"Yeah. He told me he travels a lot, and obviously doesn't have a lot of family he can count on to look after them."

"What about their mom? Did she die in the fire too?"

"No, a car crash, actually. Almost three years ago, now. Her only living relatives are in Florida, apparently." He didn't bother to mention that Hale hadn't told him this. There were perks to every job, and his were a bit more unorthodox than most.

"That's a total bummer."

The Sheriff rolled his eyes skyward. "Yes, it is a total bummer, as well as a lame sitch, and completely un-rad, bro."

"Ack, stop-stop-stop! I get it, school's out, I have to talk like a normal person, now."

"That'd be nice."

"Jeez, I feel like I'm in a nightmare, where you're gonna start chasing me with a can of Axe and a box of pizza pops.

"Would you please get serious for one minute, Stiles?"

"Yeah, sure, of course," he said, and straightened out from his slouch. "So, what does this all have to do with me?"

"You like kids, right?" He knew the answer to this question already. Stiles had paid for his jeep with the money he made babysitting the kids in the neighbourhood with only a few cursory complaints, mostly about his lack of social life.

"I like 'em fine." Stiles' eyes narrowed. "Is this going where I think it's going?"

"Are you thinking that you're Hale's new sitter? Then, yes, it is."

Stiles leaned forward in the chair, gripping his short hair and tugging. "Are you being serious right now?"

"Deadly."

He let out a huff of disbelief, and let his hands fall into his lap. "You want me to be a nanny for seven children."

"Yep."

"All summer?"

"Yep."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope."

"Great." Stiles sat back hard in the chair, uncaring of the ominous creaking of the wooden slats. "Just peachy."

"Come on, don't be such a drama queen." The Sheriff ignored the pissy look Stiles shot his way. "I'm sure it'll be more interesting than filing."

Stiles' lip curled in a smile he couldn't suppress. "You're probably right."

The Sheriff looked at the clock on the wall and stood up. He grabbed the business card from the desktop and held it out. "I know you'd planned to move back into the house for a while, but they'll need you to stay with them overnight, too. So you can eat them out of house and home for once. Call this number when you're all packed, they'll send a car. "

"Alright," Stiles stood too, and took the card like it'd explode if he looked at it wrong. "Whatever you say, Pops."

"Good. I told them you'd be ready by 6."

Stiles paused on his way to the door. "That's in half an hour!"

"I know." He raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm sorry to spring this on you so quickly, but it all sort of fell into place this afternoon."

"Yeah, yeah. That's what I get for never being on time."

He was almost through the door and on his way before the Sheriff called out, "One more thing, Stiles. I don't want it surprise you." He went quiet, and could hear the television in the breakroom playing the news. He couldn't make out what they were talking about, but he could picture it. The rising tension, the protests that escalate to riots. The ridiculous laws that are somehow getting passed. "The Hales are werewolves."

Stiles met his eyes, all traces of joking or sulkiness gone. He jerked his chin in a nod. "You know that's fine with me, Dad."

"Good." He had known, he thought, as Stiles left his office, but it was nice to hear the proof that he'd raised his and Claudia's son alright.