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 really didn't want to let go of his father, but the questions that were flooding through his overactive mind wouldn't let him rest until he got some answers. He was his dad's son after all. Stiles slowly pulled away.

"Hey, uh… Dad? Do you think I could talk to Derek alone for a sec?"

John wasn't thrilled with the idea, but he supposed he owed the guy a bit of trust after having just saved his son's life. He exhaled heavily.

"Alright. Five minutes. And I'll be right outside the door if you need me." He gave Derek one more warning glance before rising stiffly to his feet and exiting the room.

"Your father hates me," Derek muttered plainly, after the door clicked shut.

Stiles snorted. "Nah. I think he's really warming up to you. Just, you know, don't do anything illegal in his presence and you'll be fine."

"Yeah, right. In this town, that's easier said than done."

"I've noticed. Hey, speaking of… What the hell did you think you were doing crawling through my window while my dad was here, dude? As if he wasn't already suspicious enough. And would it kill you to knock next time before letting yourself in? This is my bedroom after all, you perv."

Derek rolled his eyes.

"I got a text from Scott saying you weren't at school today so I figured I should come by and check on you after what happened last night. I uh…" He shot an uncomfortable glance towards the closed door. "I didn't think your dad would be home."

Stiles knew that was Derek's attempt at apologizing for the intrusion and decided to let him off the hook. "It's fine. Honestly, your timing couldn't have been more perfect. He's one hell of an interrogator, and if you hadn't shown up when you did, it would've gotten uglier fast. Sorry he almost shot you though."

Derek shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time I got shot sneaking through a window."

Stiles gaped at him, not sure if he was being serious or not, then decided he really didn't want to know either way.

Derek's eyes locked onto the raw looking wound on Stiles' cheek. He reached out and took hold of the boy's chin, tilting it for better lighting. He winced in sympathy when he got his first real glimpse of the damage. "He got you pretty good, huh?"

Stiles shrugged back, mirroring Derek's move from a minute ago. "Not the first time I've been beaten up by an old guy, either."

Derek quirked an eyebrow and dropped his hand, relatively sure Stiles was just messing with him. He moved on.

"I'm guessing by his reaction you haven't told your dad who did this to you yet?"

Stiles tugged the comforter tighter around his shoulders, trying to suppress a chill that ran through his body at the thought, then shook his head. "No. He's got enough on his plate already without starting a blood feud with the Argents."

Derek nodded in understanding, then glanced away. "Look, Stiles… I know Gerard went after you to get to me…"

Stiles sat up a bit straighter, immediately going on the defensive. "I didn't tell him anything, Derek. I swear."

"I know. I just… I wanted to say thanks. Not many people would've done that for me."

"That's what a pack's for, right? We look out for each other. 'Enemy of my enemy' and all that." Stiles shifted slightly in discomfort, his knees and calves starting to ache from the way they were folded beneath him.

Derek was looking concerned again. "What's wrong? Is the pain still bad?"

"No, not really. Just a leg cramp I think."

"Come on. Let's get you off the floor before you lose feeling in them cause there's no way I'm carrying you if that happens."

Stiles knew he was lying, but he allowed Derek to pull him to his feet anyway and the leather-clad werewolf gently guided him back to the bed.

Stiles sank gratefully onto the edge of the mattress, feeling completely drained and wishing he could just crawl back beneath the blankets and call it a day. Instead, he watched in silence as Derek spun Stiles' computer chair around and straddled it so he could rest his arms on the back cushion.

Stiles bit his bottom lip, debating on whether or not he wanted to ask the question that had been bugging him since Derek's odd statement earlier. Curiosity eventually won out.

"So, Gerard…" he began.

Derek frowned. "What about him?"

"He's… He's really dead, right?" Stiles asked quietly, making damned sure his father wouldn't be able to hear him on the other side of that door. "You know, as in gone for good?"

"If he's not, he will be soon."

When that didn't seem to comfort the boy much, Derek launched into an explanation of how Scott planned to take the old man down without telling anyone, and how Gerard's desperation to live ended up being his undoing. It was poetic, really.

"He managed to crawl off when we weren't looking, but considering how much mountain ash he ingested, it's only a matter of time till he turns up dead in a ditch somewhere."

"And the mountain ash pills… That was all Scott's idea?"

"Surprisingly, yeah."

"Huh." Stiles had to admit he was impressed. More than that, he was kicking himself for not having thought of it first.

"Maybe your IQ is starting to rub off on him a little," Derek announced with a quick smirk, and unless Stiles was very much mistaken, there was a hint of pride in the older boy's tone.

"Guess so. Maybe his strength will start to rub off on me a little then, ya think?" He tried to make it sound like a light-hearted joke, but Derek already knew him too well.

"Physical strength isn't everything, Stiles."

"No, but it sure doesn't hurt to have it in a fight." Stiles dropped his gaze at that admission, feeling even more pathetic for having said it out loud.

"Hey." Derek waited till Stiles looked back up at him. "Gerard was a trained hunter with an entire family of hunters for backup. What happened to you wasn't because you were weak.

"I think he targeted you because he knew that if you broke, the rest of the pack would follow. But no matter what he did, you managed to come through it okay, and I'd say that makes you stronger than all of us. Of course, if you repeat that to anyone, I'll deny it, then kick your ass."

Stiles huffed out a laugh, but sobered shortly after when another thought hit him.

"You know, Peter offered me the bite once." Derek's eyes instantly narrowed, but Stiles kept talking before he could interrupt. "Said I could be every bit as powerful as Scott, maybe more. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. Maybe if I had said yes, I wouldn't be the stupid sidekick anymore. Maybe I'd finally be able to help you guys instead of being such a liability."

Derek shook his head. "You don't want the bite, Stiles, trust me. You think being a werewolf would've changed things? Gerard still would've taken you. The only difference is you would've ended up chained to the ceiling and electrocuted like Boyd and Erica."

Stiles paled, his eyes suddenly going wide. "Oh my god… Boyd and Erica! What happened to them?! Did they get away?" After all the insanity that had gone down last night, he had somehow completely forgotten about the two betas being held captive in the Argents' basement.

Worst Batman ever…

"Word has it Argent let them go. Apparently he and Gerard aren't really seeing eye-to-eye these days."

Stiles did a double take on that one. "Wait, he let them go? Then where are they now?"

Derek scuffed his foot on the floor absently. "Gone. Took off, first chance they got. Can't say I blame them though. I wasn't exactly the best alpha. To be honest, I'm surprised they stayed as long as they did."

"So… Isaac's your only beta now?"

"Actually, word has it he switched to 'team Scott' last night after the other two abandoned ship. So I guess that means I'm back to just me, myself, and I."

"Well, not exactly."

Derek's eyebrows rose, looking almost hopefully.

"There's always Peter."

The werewolf groaned in annoyance. "Don't remind me. The one I keep trying to get rid of is the one who refuses to leave."

Stiles snickered. "He's like your Greenberg, only more evil. Does this mean you're gonna start turning more high school kids? Or are you planning on leaving town again?"

"Haven't decided yet. I suppose there's not much left for me here. My pack is gone, my family is gone, my house is gone…"

"For what it's worth, you've still got me." Derek's head shot up in surprise and Stiles felt himself blushing. He quickly tried to backtrack his way out of the chick-flick moment he had inadvertently stumbled into. "I mean, I know it's not much, but…"

"It's enough. Thanks."

Stiles' door creaked open and John popped his head back in. "Five minutes are up. You should try to get some more rest, kiddo."

Stiles flopped backwards onto his bed and burrowed deeper into the warmth of his comforter. "Mmm… Gladly."

Derek stood awkwardly, wondering if he should head back out the window or pass Stilinski to take the stairs. John answered that for him.

"Derek? A word?" He crooked a finger at the younger man, beckoning him to join him in the hallway.

Stiles raised himself back up onto an elbow and watched the exchange warily.

Derek nodded at the sheriff, then made his way to Stiles first, grabbing a pillow and sliding it beneath the boy's strained body. When Stiles stared up at him in confusion instead of making use of the offering, Derek rolled his eyes again, put a hand on the kid's shoulder, and pushed him down, carefully but firmly.

Stiles' sore muscles were no match for Derek's brawn and the boy quickly collapsed back onto the mattress, his limbs sprawled and his head now cushioned on his favorite pillow. He blinked heavily a few times, still fighting against the exhaustion threatening to plunge him into darkness.

"Derek, wait… Don' tell…" he began, voice barely strong enough to be heard. His brow furrowed in concentration and discomfort as he focused on the remaining aches in his body to keep himself awake just a little longer.

"Sleep, Stiles," Derek answered back just as softly, then he leeched what was left of the boy's pain through the hand on his shoulder.

Stiles gave up the fight and sank bonelessly into his pillow, nuzzling it with a cheek before going still, his breathing evening out and all traces of discomfort gone from his face.

Derek gently raised Stiles' legs onto the bed and arranged him in a more comfortable looking position. Then he rested his hand against the boy's forehead for a moment to make sure he wasn't overheated, and when his touch was met with cool and clammy skin, he tucked the comforter more tightly around the kid's body like a cocoon before turning off the bedside lamp so Stiles could sleep in peace.

John watched the whole exchange in silence, a warm smile crossing his lips. When Derek met him in the hall as requested, John closed the door quietly so they could talk.

"You're good with him," John admitted, then watched the tension slowly bleed from Derek's stiff shoulders. Clearly, he had been expecting another reprimand instead of a compliment.

"So are you," he responded.

"Nah, he's good with me. Always has been."

Derek nodded, unsure what he was supposed to say to that. Thankfully, John switched topics before the silence became too awkward.

"Listen, I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions earlier. You seem like a good guy."

"I try to be. But I guess everyone makes mistakes. Sorry for breaking into your house earlier."

John chuckled. "In hindsight, I'm kinda glad you did. But next time you decide to pay my son a visit…? Use the front door."

Derek smiled. "Yes, sir. And speaking of… I should probably go." He moved past the sheriff and headed for the stairs with a polite nod of his head.

John debated with himself for a moment before calling out to the man's retreating back.

"Hey, Derek?"

Derek stopped and turned back around. "Yeah?"

"Is my son really safe now?"

Derek gave the question serious consideration before answering. He knew Gerard was no longer a threat, but that didn't mean the rest of Beacon Hills wouldn't be gunning for the kid every chance it got.

"For the moment. But I give you my word that I'll do whatever it takes to protect Stiles from here on out. I'll watch out for him."

John's throat closed up at Derek's heart-felt words and all he could do was nod his gratitude. It was nice to know someone had his son's back, especially when John himself couldn't keep an eye on the kid at all times thanks to his demanding job.

Some of the weight lifted off his shoulders and suddenly John didn't feel so alone in the world anymore. He had been raising Stiles by himself for almost half of the kid's life, always terrified he'd screw it up one way or another.

But this mysterious stranger had just sworn to share some of the load, and considering all the weird happenings that seemed to be taking place more frequently in their small town, John was thankful for any and all help that he could get.

With that, Derek was gone, and John happily took first shift in the "protecting Stiles" vigil. He slipped back into his son's room and sat down on the edge of the mattress again, trying his best not to jostle the boy.

Stiles blinked blearily up at him, barely able to keep his eyes open. But he needed to know. He needed to make sure…

"Where's Derek?"

John rubbed a hand up and down Stiles' upper arm in comfort. "He had to go, but something tells me he'll be back."

Stiles smiled weakly, fighting to keep his eyes open when all his body wanted to do was pass out. John cupped the back of his son's neck, the meat of his thumb resting gently over the boy's pulse point for reassurance, and leaned down so he could see his son's face more clearly in the shaded room.

"You sure you're okay, Stiles?"

Stiles untangled his hand from the cocoon of blankets and gave his dad's forearm a gentle squeeze. "I'm fine, Dad. Really."

And for the first time in a long time, the sheriff believed him.

THE OFFICIAL END

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