"Woah… Easy…" Stiles directed quietly as he guided Derek into his bedroom. Cleaned up, for the most part, Stiles wanted to get Derek laying down, and resting, so he could clean up the bathroom and try to figure out what to tell his dad.

"What are you doing?" Derek demanded to know, as he sank onto the edge of Stiles bed, looking around. Normally, whenever he was in this room, he was overwhelmed with the stench of teenage hormones, and an aroma that was uniquely Stiles. Today, though, it was just a room. Under-whelming and plain. A little bit messy too. As if he could read the thoughts on Dereks face, Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't expecting company, okay? As for what I'm doing, I'm cleaning up, and trying to think of what I could possibly tell my dad, to make him okay with this. Right now, there's blood in the foyer, and the bathroom, and a currently broken werewolf in my bed! So… you just… lay down, and sleep, while I take care of this situation." Stiles ranted irritably, all the while scooping up clothes that littered the floor into his hamper. While he was at it, he knocked a few empty energy drink cans into his garbage bin.

"Stiles-"

"That's not sleeping, that's talking." He cut in sharply, before leaving the bedroom, door closing behind him. Derek sighed roughly, staring at the door where he'd just been looking at the outline of Stiles body.

"-Thanks." He finished quietly. Gingerly, Derek shifted back and nudged his shoes off onto the floor, before laying down. He had to admit, Stiles bed was comfortable. More comfortable than the cot he had set up at his burnt shell of a house. The cold pillow on the back of his neck was soothing, and despite the glow of Stiles computer screen, he was able to drift off into an exhausted, dreamless slumber.

Stiles, on the other hand, was so keyed up, sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. The first order of business was throwing away the bloody cloth he'd used to mop up the blood from Dereks flesh, and clean his wounds. He made sure to shove them to the bottom of the bathroom garbage bin, and stowed the first aid kid carefully back where it was supposed to go. A quick rinse of the sink, and the toilet where Derek had been sitting found Stiles satisfied that there was no evidence to be found in the bathroom.

Practically running down the stairs, taking them two at a time, Stiles pulled the bleach out of the laundry room, filling a bucket with water, and some of the cleaner. "As if I don't already do enough for his wolfy-butt…" Stiles grumbled as he got on hands and knees, scrubbing the hard wood of the entryway.

Engrossed in his chore, Stiles didn't hear the car door, or the footsteps guiding up to the front door. When it swung open, nearly hitting him in the head, he had to jump backwards and pull the bucket out of the way, before it got knocked over.

"….Stiles…. What in God's name are you doing?" The Sheriff asked his son as he stood there, staring down at him.

"Uh… hey Dad. You're home…ea-Right on time! Wouldya look at that!" He exclaimed after craning his neck to glance at the clock in the living room. "How was work? Careful the floor is wet."

"I can see that. Would you mind telling me why the floor is wet? And why it smells like bleach? You're not cleaning up blood, are you?" His father was still standing in the doorway, staring down at Stile who was grimacing at him quietly, before looking away and sighing.

"Actually… I am…. Not mine! I'm alright!"

"I don't know if that makes me feel better, or worse, Stiles. Who was bleeding in our house? Is Scott-"

"No, it wasn't Scott. Scott's fine. Scott's at home, or something, I don't know." At last, the Sheriff stepped in, carefully skirting around the freshly cleaned section of hard-wood floor. Stiles carefully stood up, drying his hands off on an old, ratty towel.

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Son."

"I'm trying to think of one, Dad." That got him a withering glare from his dad, so Stiles sighed and lifted a hand to rub over his face, but stopped short with a wrinkled nose when he smelled the bleach on his hand.

"Alright… Okay. So… umm… Why don't you go and get changed, and lock your gun up for the night, then I'll explain everything, okay? Are you hungry? I'll make some food." He started to leave the foyer, before turning back around and grabbing the bucket of bleach-water, to carry into the kitchen. Dumping in the sink, he was actually surprised to hear his dad walking upstairs, to do as he'd suggested. Of course he wanted the Sheriff to put his gun away before he told him that Derek was asleep in his bed.

Shit… Derek was asleep in his bed!

Stiles went as still as a rock, listening intently for the tell-tale signs of where his dad was in the house. He knew every floor board creak, every groan this old house made. Relief flooded him when he heard the high pitched squeak of the loose board next to his father's bed. Tossing the empty bucket into the laundry room again, Stiles quickly scrubbed his hands and started to make his dad a steak. A real one, though it was lean meat. If he was going to give his dad bad news, he might as well butter him up first. It was halfway done by the time the Sheriff surfaced in the kitchen at last.

"Stiles, I think you left a movie or a game on in your room. I could have sworn I heard snoring when I walked past.

'Goddammit, Derek, of course you would snore.' Stiles mentally whined, flipping the burger.

"Uh… Right, well…" Stiles grabbed a beer out of the fridge and handed it to his father. "That's… actually a person, in there, snoring. The person who was bleeding in the entry, remember?" Sighing, Stiles dad sat down at the table, and took a long drink off of his beer.

"Alright. I'm sitting, I'm placated, I'm unarmed. Tell me what's going on."

Swallowing thickly, Stiles licked his lips anxiously and lifted his hands, mouth open and poised to speak. He was prepared to spin this beautiful, winding tale, but the look on his dads face was too much for him, and he sagged visibly.

"Derek Hale is asleep in my bed right now."

"….Come again? I think I misheard you. You said Der-"

"Derek Hale. Tall, dark, grumpy, yeah, you heard me right."

"The same Derek Hale that I've had in prison, and a warrant to arrest after you and Scott accused him of murder, twice?" Blanching at the reminders, Stiles turned back to the stove, nudging the cooking steak around.

"Derek didn't kill anyone, dad. There's… a lot of stuff that's been going on this year, but Dereks a good guy. Scott and I didn't know him that well, when all of that stuff happened, but he's saved our butts a couple of times since then, and we've helped him out too. I wouldn't… say were exactly friends, yet, but we have mutual friends and… He's not a criminal. Besides, Laura, and the janitor at the school were both determined to have been killed by wild animals, remember?"

Stiles could feel his dad staring at him. He just knew It was one of his disappointed stares too, and it hurt.

"Alright. Fine. So he's not a criminal. But he isn't… I don't know him. You don't talk about hanging out with him, what am I supposed to think? What do you mean he's 'saved' you and Scott? Stiles I overlook a lot of shit but-"

"Dad, stop. Look, I'll tell you everything, okay?" The seemed to surprise the Sheriff into falling silent. Stiles finished making his dads dinner, pairing a salad with the steak and setting it down in front of the tired looking man. Stiles sat across the table from him, and folded his hands in front of him, though his fingers still tapped and wiggled anxiously.

"Okay. I'm listening." Waiting until his dad started eating, Stiles took a deep breath.

"It all kind of started that night that everyone was out searching for the other half of Laura's body. Scott and I were out looking together. I know I told you I was alone, but you already knew I was lying. Anyway, when you caught me, Scott went to go back home alone. He got attacked by something out there though. The same 'wild animal' that killed Laura. It bit him, on the side. I saw the wound, in all its bloody glory, myself, the next day at school. The next day though… It was gone. Complete. Not even a scar…."

It took an hour to explain everything. He didn't leave out a single detail except for the fact of Peter coming back from the dead. That one was a little too hard to explain. And the whole time, his dad remained silent, eating his dinner. His poker face was perfect, and left Stiles a little scared.

"So… uh… that's where we are now. Werewolves, and stuff." He finished lamely, sighing. For another long minute, silence reigned between the two Stilinski men, until at last the Sheriff looked up, setting his beer bottle aside.

"Okay. So, assuming I believe all of this… werewolf stuff… You're telling me that werewolf Derek Hale is asleep in your bed, and he was the one that was bleeding on our floor? But you said werewolves can heal and… " He was lost for words as he tried to make sense of it.

"I can call Scott over here to prove it to you, Dad. It's not make believe, okay? I'd wake Derek up to have him show you but… he's kind of broken right now, and won't be healing for a while. I have to take him to see Dr. Deaton tomorrow, and find out more about this. But basically, some new Werewolves are in town, Beta's, and they're trying to kill Derek. Derek's an Alpha, and one of the way's a Beta werewolf can become an Alpha is by killing an Alpha. The problem with that is, Alpha's are incredibly strong. Too strong for a regular Beta to take down alone. So they drugged him with some kind of weird Wolfsbane that makes it so he can't… wolf out anymore."

"Stiles, I know you're really into your video games and comics but-"

"Dad! I'm being completely serious here, okay? Completely. Tell me it doesn't fit together? Everything I told you fills in the holes that you've been trying to figure out, right?" Stiles was trying to not get angry. He couldn't blame his dad for having a hard time believing.

"Look, it's…"

"Mrs. McCall knows, too. She saw Scott transform, at the police station. You were unconscious. Matt had shot Scott right in front of her, and… If you won't let me call Scott over, then call her, and ask her. She'll tell you it's true."

That seemed to resonate with his father. Melissa McCall was one of the most levelheaded, down to earth individuals he knew, a longtime friend, thanks to Stiles and Scott's friendship.

"…Why didn't you tell me sooner, Stiles?" He asked finally. That was the question that had been pressing on him. Stiles face fell a little bit, and he buried his face into his hands.

"Because…. It was easier having you confused and in the dark than scared for me 24/7. I didn't want you to think I was crazy, or to hate Scott. It's his secret more than it is mine. There are people who kill werewolves for the simple fact of what they are. It's more and more dangerous with every knew person that finds out about all of this." He replied in a thick voice, before reflexively clearing his throat, hands slipping from his cheeks to fold together loosely in front of his face. Gently, he rested his chin on his fingers and looked up at his father's concerned face.

"Stiles, I'm your dad. It's my job to be scared for you 24/7. For Godssake, I thought you were doing drug, or petty crime." He exhaled as it he was at least a little relieved. The thought of that made the Sheriff laugh inwardly. "God… I'm actually happy that you're… running with werewolves, instead of doing drugs." He muttered, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, you know, Werewolves are a gateway mythical creature. Before you know it, I'll be riding unicorns and slaying dragons; hosting weekly poker games with leprechauns." Stiles suggested with a bit of a grin. Joking his way out of a tense situation always worked best for him. This time, his father actually did laugh a little.

He sobered soon enough though, and stood up to carry his cold plate over to the sink, to rinse it off.

"So how long are we playing host for Mr. Hale?" He asked stiffly. Stiles relaxed with a visible sag to his shoulders.

"Just until his wolfliness comes back, and he can protect himself again. It shouldn't be very long. You're the best, Dad." Stiles jumped up, taking the plate and shooing his dad away. "Go to bed. I'll finish up the dishes." He ordered, already grabbing the pan to start scrubbing it.

"Stiles… What else aren't you telling me?" His father asked after a long silence. Stiles only faltered for a second, before continuing to scrub the brillo-pad over the pan.

"Too much honesty for one night dad. Anymore, and I'll start having an allergic reaction. That's… a talk for a different day. Just… take comfort when I say it's perfectly mundane and not life threatening in anyway at all." Finally, after another minute, the Sheriff slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Stiles to sigh in relief, slumping over the dishes. That went way better than anticipated…

Thump! Jumping at the muffled sound, and a curse from his dad, Stiles shut the water off, about to investigate when his dad reappeared suddenly, setting a box on the table, with a single labored breath.

"The air mattress… So… you know… you don't have to share….. yeah." Stiles cheeks almost immediately flared red as he gaped at his father, glancing between him and the box.

"I… Wha… Dad… Thanks, but… Ugh, go to bed will you!? I'm fine." Stiles brandished a soapy spatula towards the door, snorting a little when some suds flung onto his dads arm. The Sheriff just grumbled at him, wiping it off and shuffling out. Stiles had only just started to turn back to the sink when his dad's head poked around the door-frame.

"Do you want me to clear out the old guest room? We can set the futon up in there for him instead, and that way you wouldn't have to sh-"

"Dad! Seriously! I love you, go to bed! You have to be up in…. 6 hours for work! " Stiles lectured in exasperation. Pursed lips, Sheriff Stilinski conceded defeat with a hand raised in surrender.

"Alright, alright. Goodnight, son." He replied, finally. Stiles heard him shuffling towards the stairs. At last, he could relax again. He was rinsing out the pot when he realized that he hadn't heard the stairs creak yet. Quietly, he glanced to his left, and caught his father, mid shuffle, back into the kitchen.

"What are you…" Stiles frowned, in confusion, looking his dad over. The sheriff winced out a grin as he reached out and set a bulky black object down on top of the air-mattress box.

"I'm just gonna… leave this here, if you want to put it under your pillow… Okay, going to bed, goodnight!" This time, it seemed like his dad couldn't get upstairs fast enough. In seconds, he could hear him opening, and closing his bedroom door. Another glance at the object his father had put on the box made Stiles released a strangled groan, and exclamation.

"A taser?! Really, dad?!" He knew his father would hear him, through the thin walls of the house. The muffled laughter that followed proved it. "Jesus…. Christ… seriously. He's a werewolf, not a face eating alien." He grumbled silently as he finished loading up the dishwasher.