Stiles was parked at a speed trap, drumming out a rhythm on the steering wheel and idly watching the radar gun. He'd pulled over a few people earlier but Beacon Hills was boring. Stiles figured that was a good thing since the town's preferred method of being interesting was murderous supernatural creatures.
"Unit 24, what's your twenty?" The radio buzzed. Stiles grabbed it, thankful for the distraction.
"This is unit 24. I'm parked off of Washington catching speeders. What's up?" Stiles asked.
"I think you'd better come back to the station 24," the dispatcher said with a sigh.
"Copy that, I'll be there in fifteen," Stiles replied. He wondered why they were calling him back and silently prayed it didn't mean trouble. He liked boring Beacon Hills, it could stay boring forever.
The entire sheriff's department seemed subdued when he got there and it made Stiles uneasy. Sure he was the loudest of the bunch but that didn't make them a quiet group by any stretch. One of the deputies walked up to him slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder as if to brace him for bad news.
"It's the Sheriff, he's had a heart attack," the deputy said quietly.
"What?" Stiles asked. He couldn't seem to process the words. "But he's okay, right?" His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding. The deputy gave him a long look that spoke volumes before shaking his head. Stiles snapped into action, pushing past the deputy and crashing into his father's office as though he would be there. The office was empty. Stiles collapsed against the wall beside the door and slid down to the floor. He cradled his head in his arms and let the tears flow. He couldn't breathe.
Stiles didn't register his husband's presence until Derek was pulling him into his arms; hadn't noticed at all when he'd entered the room and shut the door. Stiles clutched at him desperately, trying to burrow into Derek's broad chest and strong arms so that nothing could get to him. Derek just held him. He didn't say, "it's okay" just "I love you".
Eventually, when the tears had run out and Stiles was left feeling numb, he let Derek lead him out to his car and drive him home. Everyone was waiting for them in the foyer when they arrived. Stiles couldn't find anything in him to give to them so he just pressed closer to Derek who shook his head at the pack, saying 'not now' with the simple gesture. He guided Stiles upstairs to their bedroom. Stiles curled around him on the bed.
"What do you need?" Derek asked softly.
"My dad," Stiles choked. Derek rested his cheek on the top of Stiles' head.
"I know, I'm sorry," Derek whispered, a slight rasp in his voice. Stiles realized Derek was fighting back his own tears. He shifted and took Derek's face in his hands. He kissed his husband gently, lovingly.
Stiles felt like he had broken into a million tiny pieces, but he could hold them together. He would get through the night taking care of Derek; get through tomorrow taking care of the kids. He would take care of the pack and he would take care of Beacon Hills. Because they'd all lost someone and they all needed him. And because taking care of everyone else was how Stiles took care of himself. He would get through this.
It seemed like the entire town came to the wake, which gave Stiles a feeling of pride he decided to embrace. His father had meant something to so many people, had made the world a better place with his presence. It was still hard. Every once and a while it would overwhelm him and he'd sit with his family while the pack ran interference with the public. All three children, now teenagers, were quiet. Stiles had made sure they had a good relationship with their grandfather and he knew they were missing him almost as much as he was.
It was just the pack and the sheriff's department at the funeral because the cemetery couldn't accommodate much more than that. The priest stood before the coffin and said a few words, a prayer, and a quiet farewell. Then the acting Sheriff stood to say a few words.
"Sheriff Stilinski," he paused but didn't correct himself, "was a great man. He was brave and loyal. He was…"
"He was stupid!" Everyone fell silent as they turned toward the voice. It was Martin. "He died of a heart attack, that's stupid!"
"Martin," Derek growled warningly.
"It's a stupid way to die!" There were tears in his eyes. He stormed up to the coffin and gave it a sharp kick. "You fucked up! You're so stupid!" he screamed. Then he was pushing through the crowd and running off. Derek started to go after him but Andrew grabbed his hand and stopped him.
"Take care of Pops," he said before taking off after his brother. There was an awkward silence for a moment while everyone struggled to move past the outburst. The acting Sheriff looked around awkwardly and returned to his seat. There just wasn't anything to say.
"What was that?" Derek demanded when they got home.
"The truth," Martin snapped. "I'm not going to lie just because he's dead!"
"It's not the truth and saying it was selfish! You need to apologize to your father for ruining your grandfather's funeral!" Stiles just stared at him, the hurt obvious in his eyes. Martin hesitated a moment, looked at Stiles with a torn expression, then swallowed hard and replied,
"Bite me." Derek growled. It had become the boy's favorite retort, rearing up whenever he and Derek argued. It was a plea as much as a challenge and everyone knew it. Andrew put a hand on Martin's shoulder, trying to calm him. Martin just shook the hand off and stalked up to his room.
"I'm sorry," Andrew said. He'd gotten into the habit of apologizing for his little brother. "He's just sad so he's acting out. Grandpa always gave him a hard time about his attitude, you know. I think he wants that back. He didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know," Stiles sighed, "But he did."
Things didn't get better after that. Stiles had to go through everything his father had left behind. He barely got through it. Boyd had been a big help, standing steadily beside Stiles and doing whatever Stiles couldn't. Eventually they'd taken care of everything and put the house up for sale. Stiles hated how empty it felt. On top of that they held an emergency election which Stiles won by an overwhelming majority. He wasn't sure if it was because of his father or his own skill, either way he was the new Sheriff Stilinski. The new title came with added pressures that Stiles wasn't sure he could handle. And Martin was getting worse. They could hardly get through a day without him picking a fight or challenging Derek.
"Where have you been?" Derek asked calmly when Martin came home at one in the morning.
"Out," Martin answered flippantly.
"It's the full moon."
"So?"
"You know the rules, you don't go out alone on the full moon, and you definitely don't stay out till one," Derek explained.
"What does it matter? I don't have a problem with the moon," Martin replied.
"But if something happens we might not be able to protect you," Derek said wearily. They'd had this conversation before.
"Bite me," Martin retorted, retreating without another word. Derek took a calming breath and headed to his room.
"How'd it go?" Stiles asked as Derek climbed into bed.
"How do you think?" he huffed.
"He said it again, huh?" Derek just growled in response. "Look, I've been happy to defer to your alpha wisdom so far, but maybe you should just bite him."
"I can't Stiles." Stiles bobbed his head, willing his husband to elaborate. Derek sighed. "Both of his genetic parents are werewolves but he's not. Maybe he's not supposed to be. I think if I bit him… I don't think he would turn."
"Have you told him that?" Stiles asked, trying not to think about the possibility of his son dying.
"I don't think it would help."
"We'll figure it out," Stiles sighed, snuggling closely.
"You're grounded," Stiles said calmly when Martin came down the stairs the next morning.
"You're joking, right? You're going to ground me for going out when you said I couldn't? Let me know how that works out," Martin scoffed.
"Ha ha, cute. But see, while I won't send angry werewolves out to find your disobedient ass during the full moon, I'd be happy to have them fetch you any other night of the month. Home after school or Erica eats you," Stiles explained dryly.
"Not like I'm not used to scratches," Martin replied, turning to pour himself a glass and giving Stiles a clear shot of the deep scars on his face.
"Why do you take pleasure in hurting me?" Martin raised his eyebrows innocently as he gulped down orange juice.
Stiles had to send the pack after him every day. When a full week had gone by with more fights and no sign of it stopping Stiles got fed up. He pulled the police cruiser up beside Martin as the boy trudged along the side of the road.
"So this is what you need to do so desperately that you ignore your grounding, walk?" Stiles asked. Martin ignored him. "Get in the car."
"Am I under arrest?" Martin asked sarcastically.
"You could be, nobody would try to stop me." Martin stopped and looked away with a deep huff. Then he pulled open the passenger door and slumped into the seat. Stiles watched him for a moment, not driving away.
"Well? Aren't you taking me home?" Martin asked, frustrated.
"What's going on with you? Why are you acting this way?"
"You know why."
"Show everyone you're out of control so your dad will turn you into a snarling beast with claws? Yeah, good plan," Stiles said sarcastically. Martin sat up sharply, rounding on his father.
"You know how long I've wanted this but nobody gave it to me when I was an obedient, contributing member of the pack! You both know I could handle it, you just don't want me to be a wolf!"
"Did you think maybe there's a reason for that?"
"You want me to be as weak as you?" Martin accused.
"No smartass. And I think that ship sailed a long time ago, don't you?" Stiles said flippantly. He sighed. "You know what happens if the bite doesn't take? You die Martin. You could die."
"It's worth it! I'd rather die than be a worthless human for the rest of my life!" Stiles stared at him, expression unreadable. Then he reached for the radio.
"Sheriff Stilinski. I've picked up a delinquent and I'm taking him for a chat with his family. I'll be out of contact for a while."
"Copy that Sheriff. Give him hell," the radio responded.
"Count on it," Stiles said to himself as he pulled onto the road.
Martin started to protest when they pulled up to the cemetery and Stiles killed the engine but Stiles cut him off.
"Shut up. You don't talk now. You follow and you listen and then I take you home. You don't get to talk to me until you've got the message. Let's go," Stiles said icily. Martin did as he was told; in their family Derek had always been the angry one, the enforcer, he'd never seen Stiles truly mad before and it scared him. Stiles led him to a part of the graveyard that was sectioned off with a fence, the Hale family plot, and pointed to a grave.
"This is Derek's mother," Stiles said sharply. "She was loving and kind. She was a teacher. She made a lot of people, including your father, who they are today. But she was just a worthless human." He took a few quick steps and pointed to another grave.
"Your uncle. He was born with respiratory problems and had to struggle every day just to live. But he still went out of his way to make his big brother laugh. He was recovering from a surgery that made him healthier when he died in a fire. But better to die than be a worthless human, right?" Martin didn't dare speak. Stiles nodded and walked away, his son stumbling after him. They stopped in an all too familiar place and Stiles pointed again.
"My mother," he swallowed back his hurt. "She had the most beautiful smile in the world. She was the only person who loved me for my hyperness rather than in spite of it. Even when it took all of her energy just to be in the same room with me, she still loved me. She was a worthless human too." And then Stiles pointed at the grave beside it.
"My father." Martin felt his knees shake unsteadily. "He spent his entire life protecting people and he did a damn good job of it. He saved the whole pack from the kanima. He never gave up on me. And he loved you. This stupid, worthless human loved you!" Stiles roared, bitter tears pooling in his eyes.
"But you know who isn't here? You know who's rotting in a shallow grave with no one missing him? Your great uncle Peter. He decided that power and revenge were more important than anything else. He murdered half a dozen people, including his own niece whose only crime was being the alpha. He turned Scott against his will and he would have turned me if I'd let him. A werewolf.
"You think being a werewolf automatically makes you better, Martin, but you're wrong. Your worth doesn't come from what you are; it comes from what you do with the strength you have. And if you don't believe me then maybe you should ask the father you worship why he chose this worthless human for his mate."
Author's Note: I'm totally making things up when I say Sheriff Stilinski saved them from the kanima, but I seriously want it to happen.