Title: The Briefcase
Author: The Red Hoodie
Rating: G
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski
Summary: When Stiles wakes up next to Derek, he isn't sure how he feels about it and then the worst thing happens: his dad walks in.
Notes: Fluff! Ish? I don't write anything smutty for these two. Anyway, I wrote this on my mini-vacation as well. It takes place in the AU happy world where everyone is happy and wolfie and there's nothing bad going on except hunters and werewolves. Also, BLAME HOECHLIN AND O'BRIEN FOR THIS. Their video inspired all of it. There will be a short sequel! :)

The Briefcase

Stiles woke up next to something warm. No…someone warm. And Stiles wasn't really awake awake, but on the edge of sleep and consciousness. He couldn't remember falling asleep, and the couch felt familiar so he was probably home. He slowly became aware that his head was nestled on someone's shoulder and that someone was bigger than Scott and definitely not female.

He struggled to grasp consciousness—Stiles was a notoriously slow waker-upper—and finally his eyes opened, but all he could see was brightness before they adjusted. The TV screen was blank but still on and the light next to the couch was on. Stiles didn't mean to but he had snuggled a bit closer to whoever was next to him while he was waking.

It took him sluggish seconds to realize who he was on the couch next to. And it took just as long for his mind to flip over how comfortable it felt, snuggling there next to Derek Hale. The thought shocked him fully awake and he jumped to the other side of the couch as Derek slowly opened his eyes and the keys jangled at the door. Before Stiles could even think, his dad walked into the house, looking haggard. And definitely not expecting Stiles to be in the living room, much less scrambling to his feet as an exonerated murder suspect rose slowly behind him.

"Dad!" Stiles exclaimed.

"Stiles," Mr. Stilinski said, eyes on the man behind his son. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Uh…" Stiles glanced over at the digital clock on the DVD player under the TV. It angrily showed it as 2:33 AM. Oh crap.

"Stiles, come talk to me in the kitchen." The Sheriff pulled off his jacket as he walked toward the kitchen. Stiles followed after, spinning around to tell Derek to stay or leave or something—he didn't know, his mind wasn't quite up to speed with his body yet—but his dad barked his name so he spun back around to face his father.

The Sheriff vaguely remembered Stiles saying he knew Derek Hale by more than just name once, but that had been the night Lydia Martin was attacked and he had been ran thin so he couldn't be certain.

"Dad," Stiles started.

He held up his hand. "Stiles." Mr. Stilinski tried to keep calm. Derek Hale had been found an alibi of being in New York at the time of Laura Hale's murder, so he was cleared, but he had a history in Beacon Hills and he was quite a few years older than Stiles. He wasn't sure how he felt about him being under the Stilinski roof. "What is Derek Hale doing in my living room?"

"We were…we were watching Pulp Fiction," Stiles said, mind clearing enough for him to remember exactly why the Alpha was in his house. He had to quickly force down a grin as to not anger his father any more.

"You were watching a movie?" Confusion spread across the Sheriff's face. "Stiles, do we need to have a talk…?"

"Dad, what?" Stiles turned red. A, because of the thought being not so crazy right at this moment and B, because he knew Derek could clearly hear everything being said.

Mr. Stilinski raised his hands, palms out. "I was just asking."

Stiles pressed his lips into a line and sharply shook his head.

"Alright, fine. Why don't you just…ask him to leave. It's late."

"Yeah." Stiles nodded and backed out of the room before poking his head around the corner. "There's a plate in the fridge for dinner. Do not add any butter or salt."

Out in the living room, Derek had moved little but he was now sporting leather. "You're leaving," Stiles said, wondering why he was disappointed and hoping he didn't sound it.

"The last thing I need is to get on the Sheriff's bad side," Derek said with a shrug before walking toward the door.

"Oh…yeah," Stiles frowned and followed Derek out. "Hey, why don't I…I could tell my dad about your house." The door closed, leaving them alone in the quiet neighborhood. Stiles had driven Derek here so there had been no Camaro sitting at the curb to let his dad know they had company. "I mean…it's yours, the Argents shouldn't be there."

Derek turned and put a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Stiles, since you're part of the pack now—" Stiles would never admit—well maybe he would?—how he practically soared just then—though whether it was from Derek touching him without one of them being close to dead or because he was totally part of a freakin' werewolf pack as of tonight, he couldn't decide—and forced himself not to grin. "—you have to think. The hunters don't know where we are and having the house back wouldn't do anything to help us."

"Oh." Stiles nodded slowly. He was now the honorary human of Derek's pack, though Derek said wolf packs never really lasted long without at least one human—Stiles remembered that Derek's family had been both human and wolf—but Stiles was choosing to think he was more than just a safety net and he wasn't going to become a burden. "Yeah, that makes sense. Heh. Two-thirty AM, my mind is like…out of commission."

"It's fine." Derek took his hand back and started to walk away.

"Do you need a ride?"

Derek turned back around, letting slip one of his softer looks though it was half hidden by the dim streetlights and cloudy sky. "Stiles…"

"Yeah?"

"Just go in before your dad decides to come skin me," Derek instructed.

Stiles ducked his head sheepishly for wanting Derek to say yes to his offer. "Right." He headed back to the house.

"Stiles!"

He turned, hand on the doorhandle.

"They never showed what was in the briefcase?"

Stiles laughed, because that was not what he was expected to hear. "Nope. That's the whole point." He shook his head and disappeared inside, flicking over the deadbolt and letting his eyes settle on his dad, who was busy eating his dinner.

Before he could get roped into another conversation, Stiles shuffled up to his room and flopped down on his bed. He lay there on his stomach for a while before rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. Tonight had been his initiation into the pack. It was some sort of special wolf thing when they invite a human into the pack. Everyone had been there—Stiles hadn't even felt the least bit embarrassed to suddenly be the center of wolftention—and Stiles had been introduced as an official pack member. He was to be trusted and protected and take part in pack meetings and all sorts of things—he had been direly waiting for his own leather jacket, but had received none to his disappointment—before Derek stated it was customary for the Alpha to spend some time with the newly joined human, doing whatever it was Stiles wanted to do. That had resulted in them coming here for pizza and Stiles' second favorite movie. He hadn't wanted to get into Star Wars because they only had so much time and Derek didn't seem like the Star Wars type. It had been both weird and awesome at the same time, except maybe the wakeup call, which had left Stiles perpetually confused.

He didn't mean to, but Stiles noticed that he sort of smelled like Derek—who always smelled like woods and ash and leather and something distinctly wolfy—and fought with his mind to just go to sleep. He glanced over at his window, then at the ceiling and back, wrestling with himself until he finally let out a frustrated groan and rolled off the mattress. He quickly unlocked his window before launching himself back on his bed, burying his head under the pillow.

Just in case.