Dr. Deaton arrives at the Hale house and concocts a mixture to knock Stiles out. The pain is just too much for him. After examining him, he looks at the group and states "He's healing now" and leaves. The pack is too worn out, both physically and emotionally, to ask any questions. Derek changes the linens and cleans Stiles up. He can feel his heart beginning to race; his wolf is fighting to the surface, so he leaves Lydia to watch over Stiles.
Derek storms downstairs and into the kitchen. He grabs onto the island and braces himself against it. He leans down onto it and grips it so forcefully his knuckles turn white. His body is shaking with rage. The granite snaps under the pressure and breaks off into his hand. He lifts it up and glares at it. With as much force as he can manage, he hurls the chunk of stone through the back glass door.
He is still shaking when he hears footsteps in the shattered glass. Looking up, he sees the Sheriff. Derek clears his throat and wipes his eyes.
"Scott called Melissa," Mr. Stilinski explains. Derek nods in reply. The Sheriff has been around Derek long enough now to be able to decipher his facial expressions. "Don't do anything stupid."
"I'm going to kill them."
"Do that and I'll arrest you. Think of Laura. Clam down and let it go."
"Let it go?!" Derek raises his brows and glares at him incredulously. "They tried to kill him and in the process killed our unborn child!"
"You have every reason to be mad…"
"I'm not mad. I'm furious, and I'm going to kill them." Derek moves toward the remnants of the door. Mr. Stilinski reaches out and places his hand on Derek's shoulder.
At the touch, Derek breaks. He can't stop the tears. Crying is weak and pathetic. Crying gets you nowhere, but… This is his mate. They messed with his family.
"No one messes with my family." Derek pulls away and exits the house. The Sheriff watches him as his form fades into the darkness.
Mr. Stilinski slowly ascends the stairs. He waves Lydia away from the door and enters the room. Stiles is sleeping fitfully. His whines and whimpers make the Sheriff's heart break. This is definitely a situation he never expected, but his son continues to surprise and shock him. He places a hand on his head to calm him.
"Shhh… Stiles, son, you're all right." His words only seem to bring tears to his son's eyes. His whines turn to sniffles and groans. "Shhh…" The Sheriff wishes there was something he could do. If his wife, Stiles' mom, was here, she'd know what to do. He thinks back to when Stiles was little. Back when he would fall and scrape his knees. He can see her sitting in their old wooden rocking chair; gently moving back and forth, back and forth. He can hear her humming and soothing her little boy. He wishes she were here now. Wishes there was some way he could take the pain away. But there's no bruise to kiss, no scrape to patch up. The ache will always be there, just under the surface, just out of comfort's reach.
"Dad?" Stiles is groggy and confused.
"I'm here, son."
The Sheriff slides into bed and sits against the headboard. He pulls Stiles up and wraps him in his arms. He does his best to hum along to his wife's favorite song. Stiles recognizes the melody. He can feel his son's tears as they hit against his arm and saturate the fabric of his sleeve. They stay like that for a long time, gentle humming and rocking back and forth, back and forth.