Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Jeff Davis and I wouldn't have it any other way!

Summary: When Stiles comes home bloodied and beaten after his big lacrosse game, Sheriff John Stilinski can't ignore what's been happening to his son any longer and finally confronts him. Hurt!Stiles, concerned!Stilinski, protective!Derek. Tag to "Master Plan", S02E12.

Stiles lay still beneath his sheets, facedown on his bed, and glared over at his blaring alarm clock, mentally wishing it would die a horrible death and leave him alone. Every inch of his body ached and he just wanted to lie there for the rest of the day. Hell, maybe the rest of the month.

Between the lacrosse game last night, being shoved down the stairs, Gerard beating him to within an inch of unconsciousness, his ridiculously long walk back home from where he had been released, and then smashing his jeep through the side of a warehouse building to help with the fight against the kanima…

Any and all movement sent bolts of pain along his tenderized nerves.

But the worst pain of all was losing Lydia to Jackson yet again. For the briefest of moments, he actually thought he might stand a chance. But who was he kidding? Just because he won one game, it didn't make him the hot co-captain of the team. She made it obvious that she had a certain type, and Stiles simply wasn't it.

He let out a long, suffering groan and buried his head deeper into his pillow, wishing he could just disappear into it.

Seconds later, a loud knock on his doorframe made him jump, a move he deeply regretted half a second later, and did his best to hide the wince that crossed his face as he craned his neck to glance over at his father.

John could clearly see the raw abrasions on Stiles' cheek when he turned to look at him. He also couldn't ignore the dried blood on his busted lip or the multitude of bruises that weren't quite concealed by the overly large T-shirt he was wearing.

That shirt in particular, temporarily loaned to him by John, made the boy look so small… so fragile. So broken.

"Hey, Dad," Stiles grunted out, the awkward angle making it difficult to speak.

The sheriff eyed his son's battered body and registered the wrongness of its lack of hyperactive movement, one horrible thought repeating in his head; this happened on my watch. This happened because I couldn't protect my own son; too busy trying to protect a town that is already beyond saving.

He forced the guilt back down and managed a small smile. "Hey, kid. Brought you some Asprin."

Stiles nodded, then bit the uninjured side of his lip as he carefully turned over and sat up against the headboard to face his father properly.

Every flinch and grimace that crossed Stiles' face drove that knife a bit deeper into John's heart. He had been at that game. Been mere feet away from his son, and yet he had been helpless to stop someone from taking him… From hurting him.

Sure, this wasn't the first time he had ever seen his son in pain. Stiles had always been notoriously accident-prone. It was ridiculous how many boxes of Band-Aids they had gone through when his little boy was growing up.

But this was different. Back then, his injuries were typically due to clumsiness. Back then, Stiles would get a scrape or bruise and come running into John's arms, tears streaming down his reddened face, knowing his daddy would somehow make it all better.

If only it were still that simple.

These injuries had been caused by another human being. Someone had laid a hand on his son, and that thought alone was enough to have John seeing red. Now wasn't the time to fly off the handle though. He needed to stay calm.

John crossed the room, stopping by the side of his son's bed and holding the pills and cup of water out to him.

Stiles took them gratefully. "Thanks."

The sheriff watched his son down the pills, then accepted the empty cup back, placing it on Stiles' side table before shutting off the annoying alarm next to it. The room instantly fell into an awkward and oppressive silence. John cleared his throat.

"So. How're you feelin' today?" he asked lamely, struggling for a way to ease into the serious conversation he knew was imminent.

Stiles had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, having answered that question more times than he could count in the past twelve hours.

"'m fine," he answered back automatically, but he could tell by his father's skeptically raised eyebrow that he didn't believe him, so he tried again; this time, with more conviction. "Seriously, Dad. You don't have to keep checking up on me, okay? It's just a couple of bruises and scrapes. No big deal."

And there it was again… The boldfaced lie that Stiles had been spouting for months. It was almost as convincing as his other favorite line, "I'm fine."

John had given his son space. Boys will be boys after all, and teens would be teens. More often than not, he didn't want to know what his kid got up to, but these instances were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

It was clearly intervention time, but where to start?

John scratched at the back of his head, feeling way out of his depths. Claudia was always better at these sorts of talks, but she wasn't here anymore and it was time for him to step up and be the father.

"No, Stiles. It's not just a couple scrapes and bruises, and you're not okay."

He sank down onto the edge of the mattress, resting his knee gently against Stiles' hip, needing some form of contact to assure himself that his boy was right here, safe and sound. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and allowed the words to flow with it.

"Look, kiddo, I know I've been working a lot of crazy hours lately, and we haven't had much time to just sit down and chat like we used to do…"

Stiles was already shaking his head, absolving his father of any self-recriminations that the man was about to list. None of the turmoil in their lives had been his father's fault.

"Dad, don't. I know you're doing your best. We've both been busy lately. You just got your job back, and I bet they dumped all those open cases on you as soon as..."

"I don't need you to make excuses for me, Stiles." The sheriff smiled sadly at his son, patting him gently on one knee in gratitude before continuing. "My job is just that. A job. You're my son, and family should always come first. I should've been trying harder. Should've spent more time with you. Made it to more of your games."

Stiles huffed out a laugh that made his bruised ribs ache. He rubbed at them absentmindedly, then when he noticed his father was watching in concern, he dropped his hands into his lap and fiddled with his blanket.

"I've been riding the bench this whole season, Dad. Trust me, you didn't miss much. It would've been a complete waste of your time."

John moved his hand over his son's, stopping him from unraveling the woven material.

"Hey. I don't care if you're in the game or not, alright? You're still part of the team, and I should've been there to support you, just like the other parents. I should've been there for the games, should've been home at night to cook you dinner and help with homework, should've been there the day your mom…"

The sheriff trailed off and Stiles dropped his gaze to his lap, allowing his father time to collect himself with a modicum of privacy. John cleared his throat and squeezed Stiles' hand once more, letting him know he was back in control.

"Sorry, kiddo. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't want to look back in five years and see this moment as being another missed opportunity. I wish like hell that I could go back in time and figure out where I went wrong as a father, but all I can say is that I'm here now, and, Stiles, I need you to talk to me, buddy. I need you to be honest with me for once."

I need you to let me in so I can fix this… So I can make things right between us again.

Stiles hated himself before he even opened his mouth, knowing he had nothing to offer his father but more lies.

"Dad, I already told you what happened after the game. I don't know what else…"

"I'm not just talking about last night, Stiles. You've been acting strangely for weeks now. I was hoping you'd come to me on your own when you were ready, but I suppose I haven't been all that approachable, and now things just seem to be escalating. I can't let this go on any longer."

Stiles swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, shifting slightly in discomfort. He wasn't ready for this conversation yet. Or more to the point, he knew his father wasn't ready to believe the truth. He stalled for time.

"Let what go on, exactly?"

"You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. You've been getting detentions a lot more than usual, I've seen you at multiple crime scenes for reasons unknown… You stole a prison transport vehicle and kidnapped a kid in your grade for crying out loud!"

"Hang on, I told you that was just a prank that got blown way out of proportion. And Mr. Harris hates me. If I cough too loudly in class, he'll give me detention!"

John held up a hand, bringing Stiles' indignant defense to a halt.

"I'm not finished yet. You're jumpy and constantly on edge, you take off without letting me know where you're going, you're out at all hours of the night, then you come home with injuries and bullshit explanations, you've been lying straight to my face ever since that night you boys were out searching for Laura Hale's body in the woods, you…"

"Okay, okay. I get it," Stiles interrupted quietly, unable to listen to his father's lengthy diatribe of all the ways Stiles had failed as a son lately. "You're right, Dad. I'm sorry. I haven't been entirely honest with you about some things, but I swear I lied for the right reasons."

The sheriff frowned intently at Stiles, trying to find the missing information hidden behind the boy's expressive, honey colored eyes. What reason could his kid possibly have for keeping him in the dark? Was this some misguided stage of teenaged rebellion?

"Help an old man out here, son. Is this all just a ploy for attention? Have I been neglecting you that much?"

Stiles looked appalled. "No, Dad! Of course not! This has nothing to do with you. Honestly."

"Are you trying to impress a girl? Maybe that redhead who visited last night?"

Stiles began fiddling with his blanket again, his eyes downcast. "I already told you, she's in love with someone else. I don't think that's ever gonna change now."

John reached forward and lifted Stiles' chin. "Look at me, son. I will sit here and guess all day if that's what it's gonna take, but I'd prefer it if you'd just be straight with me and tell me what's going on. I promise I won't judge or get angry, alright? I'm just trying to understand."

The anguished look in his son's eyes when they eventually met his took the sheriff by surprise. He had seen that look before, in the eyes of key witnesses, and in his own mirror every morning.

And then one small piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

"You're trying to protect someone."

Stiles licked at his bottom lip before drawing it into his mouth and sucking on it, a nervous habit that told John he was finally on the right track. He pressed on, hoping to keep the ball rolling.

"This isn't about Scott, is it? Cause if he's doing something illegal..."

This time, Stiles does roll his eyes. "Of course he's not, Dad. This is Scott we're talking about here. The guy doesn't even jaywalk."

"Finally. A statement I can believe. But don't think I haven't noticed how weird he's been acting lately too. His grades are plummeting, he's showing up late for work, cutting classes…"

Stiles rubbed at his eyes, feeling a headache starting to form behind them. "He's a teenager in love, Dad. Of course he's gonna do stupid things every now and then."

"Alright. So it's not Scott. Care to narrow it down some more?"

Stiles' shoulders slumped in exasperation. "Not really, no."

"Why not?" John demanded, hoping the circular discussion would yield some results eventually.

"Can't we just talk about something else? Like how incredibly late I'm gonna be for school now? Speaking of…" Stiles threw off his blankets and moved to stand up but John gripped his upper arm and gently pushed him back down to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Uh uh. Get comfy, kid. You're staying home today."

Stiles blanched. "What? Why?"

"Cause you need some time to rest and recover, and I'm not letting you outta my sight till I know what's going on here!"

Stiles threw his hands up in frustration. "Dad, nothing is going on!"

"Please tell me this wasn't some sort of gang initiation thing…"

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah, that's exactly it. And next week we're all getting matching tattoos."

John shook his head, looking as exhausted as Stiles felt. "This isn't a joke, Stiles. And neither is aggravated kidnapping. If what you told me last night really is true, then there are some punks out there who should be facing jail time for that kind of felony."

"Well, then you'd have to lock me up too for what I did to Jackson," Stiles huffed in response, resting his elbows on his knees and fiddling with his fingers like he always did in uncomfortable situations.

John sighed. "You didn't hurt that kid, Stiles. This is different. If someone out there really wants to harm you, there's a good chance they'll try again. And maybe next time, you won't be as lucky."

Stiles dropped his head into his hands. "He already made his point, Dad. It's over now, okay?"

"He?" John's voice was deadly calm.

Stiles' head shot back up, eyes wide as he realized his mistake a little too late. "W-what?"

"You said 'he', Stiles. Last night you kept saying 'they' and 'them', but now you said 'he', as in one guy in particular."

Stiles mouthed wordlessly at the man until his brain finally caught up again. "I… It's just a figure of speech," he tried, his voice cracking on the last word and giving away the lie.

"Nice try, kid." John felt his anger starting to rise. He stood, pacing a few steps away to try and reign in his emotions, then turned back and pointed at Stiles. "You know who it was, don't you."

"Not really, no. I mean…"

"Don't you lie to me again."

"I'm not lying, I-I just… Ugh, crap." Stiles dropped his head back into his hands in frustration.

John knelt down in front of his son, gently tugging his wrists away to get his attention back. "Stiles. This guy that took you… Is he the one you've been protecting? Is this some sort of Stockholm Syndrome?"

Stiles pulled away, looking anywhere but at his desperate father. "No, of course not."

John spoke again- calmly, slowly, and clearly, just like he would with any other victim of violence. "Did he threaten you?"

Stiles almost laughed mirthlessly at the absurdity of the question. Lately, his life was being threatened on a daily basis, sometimes multiple times in a day. But he had a feeling his dad wouldn't appreciate the humor right now. "Define threaten."

"Damn it, Stiles, you need to tell me who did this to you right now so I can deal with them. Just give me a name, son. A description. Something. Anything!"

Stiles continued shaking his head in denial, knowing that if he gave up Gerard's name, his father would go after the man and end up facing a whole family of hunters in a war he would not win.

Stiles already felt responsible for what happened to his mother. He wasn't going to be responsible for getting his father killed too. Not over something like this.

John continued to push. "Come on, kiddo. I know you're scared, but I can't help you if you don't talk to me. Was it another student? A spectator? A teacher?"

John didn't know if he wanted to throw up or punch a wall at that last thought. It would make sense though. Another student wouldn't typically be able to scare his son into silence like this, but someone bigger, older, and with higher authority could certainly be intimidating enough.

He was definitely leaning more towards punching something now.

An adult. Someone Stiles trusted to a degree, or at least enough to follow them off the field. Someone Stiles was afraid to tell his father about. Someone who had some sort of grudge against the kid, or maybe…

The sheriff stood back up so abruptly that it made Stiles' head spin, then resumed his pacing, needing an outlet for the anger bubbling up inside of him.

"Adrian Harris. He's trying to get back at me for grilling him on that arson case, and he's taking it out on you. Is that what's been going on at these detentions of his?"

Stiles could understand how his father might have come to that conclusion, but while the teacher was a royal pain in his ass, the man had never tried to cause him physical harm. "Dad, no. It's not like that…"

"The hell it isn't," John barked back, picking up his pace even more. Stiles didn't miss the fact that John's hand had gravitated to the holstered weapon at his hip. "I should've put him away when I had the chance."

"It wasn't Harris, okay?!" Stiles blurted out, his own nerves and frustration starting to get the better of him. At least his words made his father pause for a moment, uncertainty now marring his expression.

"You're sure?" John demanded, watching for any sign that Stiles was lying again.

"Yes! Dad, you've gotta let this go. Trust me when I say there's nothing you can do to change things. You're just gonna make it worse."

"How can you be so nonchalant about all this, Stiles?! You're acting like this sort of thing happens to you every damned day!" John had said it incredulously, trying to make a point. But when Stiles bit his lip and turned his face away, sudden realization hit John like a bag of bricks.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his legs barely stable enough to keep him off the floor. His words were barely above a whisper. "This isn't the first time this has happened, is it."

TBC

A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry it has been so long since I've posted! I was going to make this a one-shot but the story turned out to be much longer than I had expected, so it's going to be a two-parter instead. Please review if you're enjoying it so far!

And for those of you who have asked for another Supernatural story, I do have one in the works. Just need a bit more time to figure out where it's going, and then I'll be posting that one as well. Thank you so much for your continued support and patience!