Stiles could still remember the day he has found you in the forest; it was late afternoon, the sun setting, creating a golden huey colour through the trees. It was peaceful, calm, all of the things he needed at that moment. He didn't exactly need you, but he certainly wanted you. Like a little child begging their parents for a puppy.

That was what it was like when he brought you back to Scott's house, all sharp fangs and twigs sticking out of you're hair. “She has no pack, Scott! Nothing! Nundo! What did you want me to do, leave her!?” It was true, partially, you had no pack, never really had. Not even a normal family, and whilst you weren't all that bothered about finding a pack, it'd be good closure to, you know, have someone give a damn about you.

“Just— just look at her cute little ears! Look at 'em! And that fluffy tail, Scott!” Stiles never failed in gushing over you're werewolf form, having noticed that it was much more different than any he'd seen before; like when you still transformed, you got all hairy and feral and stuff, but looked like a puppy, those ones that nobody ever really wanted at the pound.

They were always too scruffy, shedding everywhere, always causing a mess in the house by pissing on everything (something you thankfully do not do in the Stilinski household) and jumping atop of people. Stiles couldn't even count the amount of times you'd woken him up in the morning by tackling him to his bed sheets, you're strength a clear contrast to you're adorable dog-like state.

As well as the chaos you caused, that only being in the house so far, Stiles father had been, well, skeptical of adding more supernatural chaos to their lives at first, but after hearing his son explain the conditions he'd found you in, the fact that you had nowhere else to go, having dragged you're feet from one town to the next whilst surviving off of scraps— it didn't take much more reasoning for Noah to welcome you into their house.

It took even less time for Noah to force Stiles to sleep on the couch the first week you joined them, so you could take his much comfier bed.

Yeah, Stiles wasn't as happy about that part.

But the part where he got to take you to pack meetings whilst holding you're small, delicate hand, not having the heart to tell you that you're blunt claws were leaving imprints on his skin? The part where he got to watch all the Star Wars movies with you until you both fell asleep at four in the morning, all curled up beside him, cheek pressed against his shoulder and his arm draped over you're side?

That was the best part for Stiles. That was the part that outweighed you're endless energy, you're sarcastic remarks and needless chaotic trail that followed you everywhere.

In some ways, you were a little like him. Maybe a bit too much. Sort of like brother and sister.

“Okay, so, remember Empire Strikes Back?” The brunette asks you from across the table, pepperoni pizza held in his hand as he speaks. “No— no, you're thinking of Return Of The Jedi,” Eyebrows furrowed and lips forming a frown, you tilt you're head, confusion etched in you're expression.

“Remember? Oh— come on, sure you do! It's the one where we find out Lukes dad is Anakin! Darth Vader? Ring any bells?” Stiles rolls his eyes at the shake of you're head, though his lips pull into a small smile now, taking a bite of pizza as he does so. “Do you seriously want me to force you to re-watch them?”

You're second immediate shake of head makes Stiles laugh, his smile widening as he watches the horror in you're eyes, the memories of popcorn scattered everywhere and arguing over what was happening in the movie present in you're mind. He still couldn't believe you thought you could argue with him over Star Wars.

Arguing with Stiles over Star Wars was like talking to a brick wall.

“Early night for you anyways.” He mutters, mouth full of pizza as he stands up, ruffling you're hair with the hand that wasn't coated in cheese and tomato sauce. “I mean it— dads on a late shift and I promised him you'd be in bed by nine-ish, m'kay?”