This is my very first fan fiction ever, so please review and let me know if I got it right. It takes place right after "Magic Bullet".

WARNING: There are instances of child abuse and m/m relationship (not at the same time). Anyway, if this upsets you don't read it.

Oh yeah, and I don't own any of the characters, bands, or brands that are owned by other people. Also, certain characters may have been adjusted to suit my needs.

Stiles sighed in relief when he realized that his dad's squad car wasn't parked in front of the house. After he parked, he lingered in his Jeep to let the current track of his new Avenged Sevenfold CD finish up. It wasn't often that he got to listen to music he actually liked. Scott didn't like metal very much and the good sheriff thought that it led to underage drinking and unprotected sex.

His heart was still racing and had been the moment that Derek handed him that saw-like thing. While most people would probably say the fast and furious guitar solo screaming out of his speakers courtesy of Synyster Gates was only going make things worse, Stiles firmly believed that it was calming him down. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was nice to be alone for a little while and not have to be the goofy sidekick, although he had felt kind of left out when Scott and Derek had run off for some secret wolf club business.

Stiles opened the door of his Jeep and yanked the key out of the ignition just as the last few lyrics were hissed out. He saw the messy house and cringed. His mom had never allowed the place to look like that. He figured he wasn't going to sleep that night anyway, so he set to the task of picking up the discarded cans from the living room.

He considered diving into his room when he heard his dad pull into the driveway, but decided against it. The sheriff entered the house without greeting his son or acknowledging the cleaning in progress. Stiles shrugged and continued dropping the cans into the trash bag while his dad cracked open a new can and settled into his arm chair.

The sheriff didn't consider himself an alcoholic because he only drank beer. Stiles didn't care what his dad called himself, but he was sick of picking up cans. When he finished picking up, he left the trash bag by his dad's chair. He didn't say a word about it, hoping that the message was clear.

"Stiles, get back here," his dad slurred.

Stiles rolled his eyes. It appeared while he'd been out trying to keep a mythical creature from dying, his dad had been out keeping the bars in business. He turned around where he stood, but didn't take a step towards his father.

"Son, I said come here," the sheriff insisted.

Stiles approached, wondering what kind of mood his dad was going to be in that night.

"Sit on my lap." The middle aged man slapped his thigh and stared at the teenager.

"Dad, I don't know about that," Stiles said, but they both knew he was going to do as he was told.

"I'm so proud of you for coming home after school and cleaning up the place," the sheriff said, his voice getting a bit louder.

"Uh, thanks," Stiles replied.

The slap came so quickly, Stiles had no time to react. He always seemed to forget that his dad was quick, even while intoxicated. "I know when you lie," the sheriff hissed. "The neighbor stepped out to complain about you playing that fucking music too loud."

"I was studying with Scott," Stiles explained quickly.

"Lying again…"

At that point, Stiles knew there was no point in trying to diffuse the situation. His dad shoved him to the ground and gave him a sharp kick to the ribs. Stiles curled up to protect his face and head, but other than that just let the blows come. He didn't really care. When his dad had finally worn himself out, the kicks and punches stopped. The sheriff went to bed, but not before dumping the bag of cans on top of his son's curled up body.

Stiles waited until he was sure that his dad was asleep or passed out before he got up. He still went to check on his dad, making sure that the sheriff was laying on his side to avoid a Hendrix-like demise. Stiles then shuffled to his bedroom and flopped onto his bed. He still didn't think that he was going to be able to sleep, but it was still nice to lay in bed.

There was a noise at his window and Stiles barely had time to sit up before Derek had climbed through into his room. Stiles threw his pillow and was annoyed when Derek seemed amused.

"What are you doing in my room?" Stiles demanded.

"I came to check on you."

"Why? We don't even like each other!"

For the first time, Derek seemed uncomfortable. "I thought after tonight's events…"

Stiles collapsed back onto his bed, wincing in pain. "Alright, Derek. You checked on me. You can leave now."

"Are you alright?"

Stiles started to feel strangely like he wanted to cry and he didn't quite understand it. "Yeah, yeah, just go on."

Derek seemed to take that as an invitation to pull Stiles' desk chair over and sit down. "How long has your dad been hitting you?" Derek asked.

"What?" Stiles said weakly. He still had to pretend like he was keeping the family secret.

"I can smell blood and fear and stale alcohol."

Stiles pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and couldn't taste blood, but he knew that when his dad had first slapped him he'd bitten down. "It's none of your business."

"Does Scott know about this?"

Stiles felt his face getting hot. The fact that he'd endured this for so many years without his best friend so much as asking twice about injuries was enough to make tears well up in his eyes. One escaped, sliding down into his short brown hair. "Scott's never asked."

Derek stood and offered a hand to Stiles. Stiles sat up and Derek sat beside him on the bed. Stiles was glad Derek wasn't hugging him or anything. He didn't want that. Surprisingly, the creepy loner was actually doing a very good job of comforting Stiles by just sitting next to him and emanating strength.

"I owe you," Derek said. "I could fix this problem."

Stiles was puzzled for a moment and then he realized what Derek meant. "No! No, my dad is the only family I have. You better not do anything to him."

Derek nodded. "Fair enough. The offer is always available." Derek stood and acted as if he was about to leave.

Stiles wasn't entirely sure who was more surprised when he reached out and grabbed Derek's wrist. "Could you just…just stay for a while?" he asked.

Derek nodded and sat down again. He continued to be excellent company, not forcing Stiles to talk or anything, just remaining steadily by his side as he wiped the tears from his face. Stiles finally spoke. "My dad really does love me."

"I'm sure you believe that," Derek replied.

"He's not like this when he's sober. He was never like this when my mom was alive." Stiles was surprised at himself for being so fast to make excuses for his father.

Derek touched Stiles for the first time, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you want to believe that."

"It's true," Stiles said, shirking Derek's touch and scooting away from him. "What do you know about family anyway?"

Stiles knew it was a low blow as soon as he said it, but Derek held up a hand to prevent him from making a quick apology. "I'll let you get away with that because you're upset, but never say anything like that again."

"I'm sorry," Stiles said anyway.

"You need to sleep," Derek said abruptly after a moment of silence.

"I know. I probably won't though."

"Sleeping will start the healing process."

Stiles shrugged. He doubted squeezing in three hours of sleep was going to help him at all. "Well stay here and talk to me until I fall asleep."

Derek smirked at Stiles' change of heart. "You need your rest though. Especially since we'll be telling Scott about this tomorrow."

Stiles regretted asking Derek to stay. Not only was Derek assuming that Stiles wanted to tell Scott, but he'd used the word 'we' as if they were some sort of unit. "Scott doesn't need to know," Stiles insisted.

"He does need to know. You're his closest friend, his pack. Whatever happens to you will have an effect on him."

"The only one having any effect on him right now is Allison. Have you lectured her yet?"

"You're cranky," Derek observed.

"Yeah, maybe I am. Maybe I'm tired of my best friend ignoring me. Maybe I don't want to be the hilarious sidekick that no one feels the need to include. Maybe I'm tired of my dad. Maybe I'd like to get a sincere thank you for saving your ass today."

Derek stared at Stiles intensely for a moment. "Thank you," he said, without a hint of sarcasm.

This disarmed Stiles, who had expected anything but that. "You're welcome," he muttered.

"You really do need to go to sleep," Derek insisted again.

Stiles decided not to argue and instead shrugged in concession. Derek stood up and waited for Stiles to lay down. Stiles stared down at his clothes for a moment, but decided he didn't care. He would rather sleep in jeans than change in front of Derek. He laid down and wiggled a bit to find his groove in the mattress.

Derek shocked Stiles by leaning over to fluff up his pillows and shocked Stiles even more by laying down beside him on the full sized bed. "Uh…okay…what?" Stiles was, for once, at a loss for a witty comment.

"You asked me to talk to you until you fall asleep," Derek explained.

"Well yeah, but…" Stiles continued to search for sharp words to describe the situation, but his thoughts were interrupted.

Derek kissed Stiles softly on the neck. Stiles turned his head to look at Derek and their lips brushed lightly. Stiles surprised himself by lingering a little before attempting to scramble away.

"Not cool," he declared. "Not cool at all, man!"

Derek didn't make any move to leave and instead reached out and pulled Stiles close to him. "I've been alone for a long time, Stiles. Today, you took care of me. That made me feel things I haven't in a while."

"Well…great, but let's think about this for a minute."

"Stiles, you're a great friend. We both know Scott wouldn't have gotten this far without you."

"OK…so what was that like a kiss of gratitude? Because people don't really do that anymore. Thank you notes are just as thoughtful."

Derek ignored Stiles' attempts at humor. "In a wolf pack, the omega is the lowest ranking member. Omegas exist to help relieve pack tension, be it as punching bags or as jesters."

"Great, so you're saying I'm bottom of the wolfy totem pole. I kinda already guessed that one, Hale."

Derek looked into Stiles' eyes for a moment before speaking. "When I met you, I thought you were an omega. You aren't, Stiles. You need to stop acting like one. I don't mean stop being humorous. You need to stop letting your father push you around and stop letting Scott blow you off all the time. After today I don't see you as an omega. I see you as a potential mate. You would be excellent for Scott, but he's letting Allison distract him. He doesn't realize what he has. I'm not that foolish, Stiles. Wolves were never meant to be solitary creatures. I want you as my mate."

Stiles started searching for the right rejection, but as his mind raced, he noticed the heat radiating from Derek. It was soothing, addicting. He wouldn't mind getting closer to that heat. "Hey, stop that wolf-magic or whatever you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything, Stiles."

Stiles allowed himself to melt into Derek's arms. The older man smelled like sandalwood and morning rain. After a while, Stiles let Derek kiss him again. It wasn't bad, and was hardly weird at all. Stiles even started to kiss back, and that's when the attraction struck at its fullest. Stiles started feeling something that he hadn't exactly felt with another person present. He writhed a little, hoping that Derek wouldn't feel the hardness between his legs. He wasn't sure why he was so shy.

Derek was as cool and in control as ever. He straddled Stiles' hips and peeled the boy's shirt off. He swooped down, kissing Stiles on the neck, his rough stubble scratching in a positively erotic way. "You smell right," Derek declared.

The place where Derek had kissed him sent tingling bolts traveling up and down Stiles' body from his toes to the top of his head. He trembled as Derek's hand traveled over his chest. "Okay…okay well there that is," Stiles said breathily as his body jerked in response to Derek's hand brushing his nipples.

Derek smiled and it occurred to Stiles he'd never seen that before. Derek kissed Stiles' forehead. "You come apart so easily for me. It shows that you're mine and only mine."

"Hey, I'm not a complete and total super virgin," Stiles snapped. It was a lie, but one he felt he needed to tell considering he didn't have much dignity to hold on to. Especially when he gasped as Derek removed his shirt. Stiles held on to his composure enough not to reach out and caress every well formed muscle right away. Derek removed that barrier by taking Stiles by the wrists and placing his hand over the place where his heart was pounding.

Stiles stared at what his hands were doing, occasionally looking into the cerulean eyes watching him. Derek started to move his hips the slightest bit and Stiles didn't even care anymore that the hardness in Derek's jeans was stimulating the erection straining beneath his own jeans.

Derek sped up the gyration of his hips as he kissed Stiles roughly and possessively. Stiles reciprocated the grinding and they easily fell into rhythm, creating wonderful friction. Stiles gasped for air and Derek started to nibble and kiss his neck.

"Wait a minute," Stiles yelped, but it was too late. His body shuddered and jerked, his hips continuing to grind against Derek's. With a soft, ragged cry, Stiles came in his pants.

After the pleasure faded, embarrassment came. So much for proving he wasn't Super Virgin. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. Derek seemed amused, but not in a mocking way, as he freed Stiles' body and settled back into the spot he had been laying in before things got all hot and heavy.

Stiles cleared his throat again. "Ahem, well, I think I should probably change clothes before I go to bed. And…uh…yeah, shower. So…"

Derek didn't say anything, just watched as Stiles retrieved a pair of clean boxers and flannel pajama bottoms. Stiles took what was probably the fastest shower since he'd hit puberty, considering part of his shower ritual was already taken care of. He brushed his teeth and got dressed, returning to his room fully expecting that Derek would be gone.

The dark haired loner was still laying in Stiles' bed. Stiles stared at him as he climbed into the bed. Derek didn't say anything and Stiles didn't feel like talking for once. He wondered if Derek intended to stay the entire night. Though he normally started out the night laying on his back, Stiles knew that he would eventually shift to laying on his side before falling asleep. The only problem was if he slept on his side, his ass would be right on Derek's crotch.

Eventually, a wave of tiredness crashed over Stiles and he realized he only had a few precious hours left to sleep. He put his pride aside and turned onto his side. Derek's arm wrapped around Stiles' stomach and firmly held him against Derek's warm, muscular torso.

"Good night, Stiles," Derek said.