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.
Lots of Stilinski feels in this one, and maybe even some Sterek towards the end if you squint!
"This isn't the first time this has happened, is it."
Stiles closed his eyes, trying not to remember how scared he had been when Peter forced him to chauffeur him around after almost killing Lydia, or when Mr. Argent and his hunting buddies shoved him and Jackson into an empty hospital room to have a "not so friendly" chat.
And that's not even including the Argent's fake deputy that dragged him down the police station's hallway or the handful of times the kanima completely paralyzed him and left him for dead.
In retrospect, being kidnapped by a psychotic geriatric for a few hours barely made it onto his top ten list of most traumatizing events in Beacon Hills. So excuse him for wanting to pretend last night never happened rather than rocking himself in a dark corner, balling his eyes out.
Which, of course, was exactly what John felt like doing right then. It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed the discarded bandages and bloodied clothing in the trash over the past few weeks, but he had blamed it on skateboarding incidents, or rough lacrosse practices. Never in his wildest dreams did he think his boy was being abused.
But now with the truth staring him in the face, he couldn't believe he had been able to ignore the fact that his cocky, confident, and sarcastic kid was now closed-lipped and withdrawn. And after their chat last night where Stiles refused to see himself as the hero of the game, it was clear his self-esteem had taken a mortal blow as well.
John was well beyond "punching walls" angry now. He had reached "demolishing buildings like Godzilla" fury. Stiles could see it in his eyes, and it was terrifying.
The teen stood slowly, putting his hands out in front of him to try and placate the man. "Dad, please. Just… Just listen to me for a sec, okay?"
"I've been listening, Stiles! But you're not telling me what I need to hear!"
"I don't know what you want me to say!"
John's hands started reaching towards Stiles as if he wanted to shake some sense into the boy, but he quickly curled them into fists and pulled them back instead. "Give me a name, Stiles. I'm not asking anymore."
Stiles shook his head again, taking a step backward. "I can't, Dad. I won't."
He hated disappointing his father, but he would prefer that to endangering him. He quickly wiped at the moisture that was gathering at the corner of his eye. He felt weak enough already without dissolving into tears in front of his father, but the room was closing in on him and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.
John's mind was on overdrive, sifting through his memory banks and trying to come up with a name he had previously overlooked. Someone Stiles may have mentioned in passing. Someone who got involved in his son's life around the same time Laura Hale's body was found. That's when everything had started falling apart. That's when his boy started evading and lying and… Wait.
A conversation he had with Stiles a while back floated to the surface. It had taken place in the hospital, shortly after Jackson had carried Lydia into the ER with a deep wound in her side.
Stiles had been missing for a while that night too, and when he finally showed up, he had blamed his delay on having lost his car keys. But now John was seeing things through wiser eyes.
Lydia had been attacked by someone or something the night of their school prom, and when John asked his son if he had seen anything, there had definitely been a hesitation before he claimed total ignorance. The more John thought about that night, the sicker he felt.
Stiles had been flushed from running when he shoved his way through the ER's double-doors, but once he'd had the chance to calm down a bit, there had been a stubborn red mark on his cheek that refused to dissipate.
John had been so caught up with finding Lydia's attacker that he completely failed to realize that his son might have been a victim that night too. What else could have kept Stiles from the girl's side for so long? Hell, even her ex was there before him, and they never did find the jeep's supposedly misplaced keys.
It was a piece of crap, but Stiles loved that jeep. There was no way he'd lose his keys. They were on him at all times, and John should have realized something was amiss the second those words left his son's lips.
His boy had lied to him then, and he was lying to him now. But when the two of them had stepped out into that hospital corridor together, Stiles might have let a clue slip. John could recall their conversation as if it had happened yesterday.
"Stiles, listen… Just go wait with your friends, alright?""Dad, tell me. You know it has something to do with Derek."
"What? I thought you two said you barely knew him?"
"Alright, we might know him a little better than that…"
And he hadn't been sure at the time, but he could've sworn that when Matt held the entire police station hostage, he had heard him talking to Stiles and Scott in the other room about Derek as well.
If once was an incident, twice was a coincidence, and three times was a pattern…
"It's that Hale kid, isn't it," he stated so quietly that Stiles wasn't sure he had actually said anything at all.
"What? D-Derek?" Stiles stammered, wondering how on Earth his father had come to that conclusion. Oh, this is so not good…
John watched his son's eyes widen to comical proportions and took that as verification. "Damn it… I knew it! I knew he was bad news from the start. You told me you barely knew him, but that was your biggest lie of all, wasn't it?!"
"D-Dad…"
"He was a fugitive wanted for murder, Stiles. Murder. Do you understand? I should've known something was off with that kid, the way he hangs out with teenagers all the time…"
Stiles gaped at his raging father, his heart pounding in his chest at how bad this whole situation had become. Derek had taken the fall once before because of him and Scott, that night at the school when the janitor was killed by Peter. Odds were, he wouldn't be too thrilled with having an APB out on him yet again.
Stiles didn't know how to fix this. If he told his father it wasn't Derek, then the man would push him until he cracked and gave up a name. He could lie and lay the blame on someone else he simply didn't like, but that could easily blow up in his face.
His dad was never going to let this go. Stiles' chest began to ache and numbness spread through each of his limbs. What have I done?
Now that John was focused solely on Derek, dozens of smaller incidents popped into his head that he had failed to recognize the first time around; Like that one time he had gone up to Stiles' room to congratulate him on making first line and he was sure now that he had heard Stiles say "Derek" as he approached the door.
Then the way his son had acted, barricading his room from his father's view, acting more antsy and erratic than usual… Derek, the fugitive, had been right there on the other side of his son's door, and John had just shrugged off Stiles' weird behavior and walked away.
That criminal had broken into his house- into Stiles' bedroom for crying out loud- and John had been completely oblivious. Some cop he turned out to be…
Stiles was starting to feel dizzy and his mouth had gone completely dry. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears that it took him a minute to realize his father must have asked him another question because he was staring at him now, waiting for a response.
When his son blinked back at him stupidly and failed to respond, John stepped closer and tried again, annunciating each word to make sure Stiles heard him clearly this time.
"You tell me right now, son. What. Did. He. Do?" Each scenario that popped into his head was worse than the last, and he hoped like Hell he was barking up the wrong tree.
Stiles finally found his voice again, his own rising temper helping to defer the panic, at least temporarily. "He… Nothing, Dad! Just… Just stop, okay?! This isn't a conversation anymore, it's an interrogation!"
John was done beating around the bush. "Fine. You don't want to tell me, I'm taking you to the hospital for some tests."
Stiles balked. "What?! Dad, I don't…!"
"No more arguing. Go get your jacket."
When Stiles stayed rooted to the spot, John surged forward and took his son by the arm and the back of the neck, then guided him towards the stairs. When Stiles regained control of his legs, he twisted out of his father's grasp and stumbled back towards his room, one arm wrapping protectively around his screaming chest.
He had to fix this. He had to do something… Say something!
"You've got it all wrong, Dad! Derek didn't do anything!"
"Stop protecting him!" John shouted, advancing towards his son again.
"I'm not!" Stiles yelled back, his face completely red and strained. "Damn it, I'm trying to protect you!"
That shut John up. He stopped in his tracks, his mind going completely blank for an instant while it dealt with his sudden shock.
Stiles' throat was closing and the whole room was starting to spin around him. He reached out to steady himself on his doorframe but missed and collapsed to the floor.
"Dad… I-I can't…"
"Stiles!" John called out in fear as his boy landed hard on his hands and knees. He was clutching at his chest, gasping for air, and quickly turning from red to blue. John instinctively knew what was happening, and it terrified him. "Oh, God…"
He quickly dropped to the ground by his son's side and pulled him into his arms, one hand firmly pressed against the boy's heart as if that would help to slow it down. It had been years since he had seen Stiles having a panic attack this bad and he felt like he was on the verge of having one himself.
"Stiles, you need to breathe. Come on, kid. Nice and easy." He took to rocking his son gently, something he hadn't done since he found the boy sitting outside his mother's hospital room, head in his hands and looking so lost.
God, what have I done?"I'm so sorry, Stiles. I shouldn't have pushed you like that."
Stiles grunted in pain, his jaw tightly clenched. "H-hurts…"
He started listing to the right and John cradled his head in the crook of his arm, bending down to press a protective kiss to his temple. "I know, kiddo. I know. Just breathe for me, buddy. You're gonna be okay. I've got ya."
Neither of them heard the bedroom window slide open, or the pair of sneakers that hit the ground so agilely behind them. But the perplexed voice that spoke brought out a deep hatred that John never thought he was capable of feeling.
"Stiles?"
The sheriff whipped around, shielding his son's body with his own while simultaneously pulling his gun from its holster with his left hand and directing it squarely at Derek's chest. "Don't you dare come any closer."
Derek held his hands up in surprise to show he meant no harm, then jutted his chin towards Stiles. "What's wrong with him?"
"You tell me," John hissed back angrily. "You've got a lot of nerve breaking into my son's bedroom again. I should shoot you where you stand."
"D-Dad! W-wait!"
Stiles' limbs flailed wildly as he scrambled for his father's gun hand, trying to get the barrel aimed at anything other than Derek. John tightened his grasp on his son, limiting his weak struggles and causing him to whimper.
Derek's frown deepened and he took a threatening step forward, sensing the fear and desperation emanating off of Stiles.
John cocked the gun. "I said stay back!"
"No! P-please! Dad, d-don't!" Stiles gasped out, struggling even harder now.
Tears were streaming down the boy's battered face unchecked and Derek could hear his heart pounding furiously within his chest. He could also hear how labored his breathing was and caught a whiff of the bitter stench of pain. His instinct to protect his pack mate flared and he practically growled at John.
"Let. Him. Go," Derek demanded. He wasn't sure what he had walked in on, but it was pretty clear Stiles' agitation was currently being caused by his father.
"Over my dead body," John growled back. "You're not gonna take my son away from me again."
Derek's anger morphed into confusion at that and his focus kept alternating between the two Stilinski men. "What are you talking about?"
"I know what you did to him, you son of a bitch…"
Derek locked eyes with a barely conscious Stiles, waiting for some kind of cue as to how he should diffuse the situation. He wasn't a fan of getting shot, but as far as he knew, the sheriff wasn't aware of the supernatural yet, so odds were, he was using standard issue bullets and Derek would take the hit if he had no other choice.
But Stiles shook his head weakly, fighting to keep his eyes open, so Derek slowly took a step back instead, hoping it would help calm the irate father down.
"Sir, I'm not here to cause any trouble. If you want me to go, I'll go. But first, let me help your son."
John scoffed. "I think you've helped him enough already. Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head."
Derek knew he could take the man down in seconds, or at the very least, disarm him, but the desperation that was coming off of Stiles in waves told him he better cooperate for now and see how things played out. He didn't actually want to hurt the sheriff anyway if he could avoid it.
He slowly dropped to the ground and did as he was told, never taking his eyes off the gun.
As soon as Derek surrendered, John looked down at his boy who was painfully sobbing in his lap and found himself torn between never letting his son go and getting up to cuff Derek before the guy had any bright ideas. Where was backup when you needed them?
Derek could see the uncertainty in the man's eyes and decided to try his luck with words.
"Sheriff, listen to me. I don't know what you think I've done here, but the man who hurt your son? He's been taken care of. I swear to you, he will never come after Stiles again."
Stiles stiffened in John's arms, having been completely unaware of what had transpired with Gerard last night. By the time he had driven through that wall, the old man had disappeared and Stiles' sole focus had been on protecting Lydia.
"Define 'taken care of'," John bit out, not liking how the words sounded.
Derek sighed. "Does it really matter?"
John was appalled with himself when he realized that no, he didn't really care if that meant the perp was dead. In fact, he felt a sadistic pleasure at the very thought, and part of him wished he had been the one to put the man down instead.
And he thought he had felt nauseous before.
John clenched his jaw against the bile that was making its way up the back of his throat. Derek saw the man pale and knew exactly what was going through his mind. He hadn't always been a killer after all.
He kept talking, hoping to get the sheriff refocused on what really mattered.
"My point is, it's over, sir. Your son is safe. I need you to believe me."
"Why should I?" John bit out, a part of him wanting to just pull the trigger and be done with it. He would never do that in front of his son though unless he had absolutely no other choice.
"In truth? Your son saved my life not so long ago." John quirked an eyebrow at that, but stayed quiet and let Derek continue. "I'm just trying to return the favor. Please. Let me help him, and then I'll do whatever you want. You have my word."
"And what exactly is it that you think you can do for my son that I can't?"
"I can ease his pain."
John bristled at that, his grip tightening on the gun, and on Stiles. "That sounds an awful lot like a threat to me."
Derek sighed. "It's not what you think."
"Enlighten me."
"It's a…. technique I learned from my family. Think of it like pressure points."
"If you think I'm gonna let you 'Vulcan nerve pinch' my son, you've got another thing coming."
Derek looked completely baffled now. "Huh?"
John huffed in annoyance. "Never mind."
Stiles was becoming heavier in his grasp by the second, his breaths more shallow and labored. The boy tried to anchor himself by clutching onto his father's sleeve but his fingers wouldn't cooperate. Instead, he scrabbled weakly at the strong arm wrapped around his chest, using whatever energy he had left to draw his father's attention away from Derek.
John looked down again to see his son's eyelids flutter closed, then the boy went completely limp in his arms.
"Stiles? Hey, stay with me, kid!" he tried, but his son didn't respond. Now that the boy wasn't struggling against him, John was able to switch the gun over to his right hand and he started fumbling for the phone in his back pocket. "That's it. I'm calling 9-1-1."
Derek had to keep repeating his mantra in his head to dial back his frustration, preventing his fangs from descending and his eyes from flashing red. He needed to stay calm if he was going to get through to the man in front of him.
"There's no time for that, Sheriff. If he doesn't get some relief soon, he's going to go into cardiac arrest. Keep your gun on me if it makes you feel better, but let me at least try to help him."
John was torn. He knew how he was supposed to handle this situation as a cop, but as a father… Desperate times and all that.
"Fine. You get my son breathing easier, and I'll reconsider burying you in my backyard."
"Fair enough."
John motioned him forward with the business end of the gun. Derek slowly lowered his arms from behind his head and moved towards the Stilinskis.
"Lay him down flat. That angle won't be helping him breathe any easier."
Derek was referring to the uncomfortable looking position Stiles' head had ended up in when the sheriff switched gun hands while keeping his boy propped up with the same arm.
As much as John didn't want to relinquish his son, he knew Derek was right. He eased Stiles down to the floor and straightened his neck out, allowing his hand to rest on Stiles' cheek for just a moment. He was hot and sweaty to the touch.
Derek appeared by Stiles' other side, looking to the sheriff one more time for permission to do what he needed to do. John looked into the guy's steadfast and confident gaze before lowering the gun, nodding his consent, and moving back to give Derek more space with which to work.
Derek leaned over Stiles, lifting each of his eyelids and tapping gently at his face.
"Stiles? Can you hear me?"
No response.
Derek shook Stiles by the shoulder, then tried again a bit harder when his first attempt didn't garner any results. "Stiles!"
The boy's head lolled limply to the side, but other than that, he didn't move. Derek knew unconsciousness was the body's way of protecting itself against excessive pain, and he knew the only way Stiles was going to wake up again was if Derek brought the pain levels down to something more manageable.
But how was he going to do that without John seeing the black lines streaking up his veins? The man was watching his every move like a hawk. Derek gritted his teeth, then began rolling up his jacket sleeves.
"Sir, I don't have time to explain, but the pressure points I mentioned earlier will only work with skin-to-skin contact. I… I have to touch him. Just, don't shoot me, alright?"
"No promises," John warned, raising the gun once again to Derek's head. "Watch yourself, Hale."
Derek nodded, then slowly lifted the hem of Stiles' shirt and slid his hand beneath it, placing his palm flat against the boy's chest and marveling at how fast his heart was still pounding even while unconscious.
This is gonna suck.
Derek let out a slow breath, then began the uncomfortable process of extracting Stiles' pain. He could feel it burning its way up through his fingers and into his own body.
Derek was used to pain. It came with the territory of being a werewolf after all, but he couldn't help but be amazed at the level of pain Stiles had been able to withstand, especially since he was only human. His respect for the kid raised a few notches, not that he would ever admit that out loud.
A moan of discomfort slipped through Stiles' lips and Derek winced, fully expecting John to put a bullet through his head. But to his surprise, John was lowering the gun again, his eyes locked on his son.
"He's coming around," the man whispered in baffled awe.
The boy's breathing was starting to become more regular and his heartbeat was steadying. But now Derek could feel the tremors beginning beneath his hand as the adrenaline finally seeped from Stiles' system. He just hoped it hadn't done too much damage first.
"Stiles?" he tried again when the kid's brow furrowed and he began to shift, fighting his way back to consciousness. Derek turned his attention back to the stunned man on Stiles' other side.
"Grab a blanket. It'll be a few minutes before his body temperature will be able to regulate itself again."
As John moved to pull the comforter off of his son's bed, Derek retracted his hand from beneath Stiles' shirt and flexed it with a grimace as the final streaks of black slowly absorbed into his skin.
Stiles cracked his eyes open with a groan and stared up at his ceiling in confusion. What the hell just happened?
And then it all came flooding back to him: Gerard, the beating, his father's anger, Derek showing up, the gun… Oh, crap.
Stiles sat bolt upright, looking around wildly but seeing nothing because his vision instantly blurred due to the abrupt return to vertical.
A firm hand quickly latched onto his shoulder and held him steady. "Whoa! Slow down there, numbnuts. Give yourself a minute to adjust, will ya?"
Stiles blinked heavily a few times until the blurred image in front of him morphed back into a very concerned looking Derek.
"Thank god…" Stiles whispered, so relieved that Derek wasn't dead (and that his father hadn't become a murderer) that he lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Derek's neck.
Derek tensed in surprise, completely dumbstruck at the unexpected reaction, then he awkwardly patted the kid on the back.
"You're alright," Derek stated softly. "Just take it easy."
Stiles was vaguely aware that at some point in the near future, he'd be mortified that he was actually hugging Derek Freakin' Hale, but for the moment, he couldn't have cared less.
His eyes sought out and locked onto his father who had just turned back to them with the comforter in his hands. They were both okay then. No one had died today because of him. And suddenly, he could breathe again.
John stared at the hugging boys, only now starting to understand how wrong he had been about this whole situation. He still might not trust Derek, but it was clear the kid wasn't the one who had been abusing Stiles. If anything, it seemed like he had been protecting him all this time, and for that, John was grateful.
John knelt back down on the floor by his son and carefully wrapped the comforter around his shoulders. Stiles finally released Derek and threw himself into his father's arms, squeezing his eyes shut as his tears started to flow again, this time in pure relief. He clutched at the back of his dad's shirt, bunching the fabric into tight fists.
John held his son close, one arm across his shoulders and the other cradling the back of his head. His own tears were threatening to fall now that the danger had finally passed.
Derek stayed where he was, watching the moving scene and feeling a pang of regret that his own family had never been quite that close. The Stilinskis had something special, and he was honored to bear witness to it.
John mouthed a heart-felt 'thank you' to him over Stiles' shoulder and Derek nodded back with a weak smile. Sure, he and Stiles didn't always get along, but he had grown fond of the kid.
Stiles wasn't just a friend, he was family now. He was pack. And after losing Erica and Boyd to some other alpha, and losing Isaac to Scott… He knew he would die to protect what little he had left.
He made a vow to himself, then and there, that no one- aside from himself of course- would ever lay a hand on the kid again.
THE END
Except not, because there will be an epilogue coming soon as well! Please review if you've enjoyed this story so far, and thanks so much for reading!
