Stiles could hardly breathe. One of the many, many, many terrible things about being part of a pack of werewolves is all this cardio. He was part of the lacrosse team! He may not be first string, but he should not need to do this much outside exercise for survival.
He was breathing fast and shallow, a stitch in his chest verging on beyond painful and into ‘just thrown into a wall’ territory. There were gunshots behind him and someone screamed. He whipped around, looking every which way.
“Oh my God,” he panted. “Please don’t be dead or horrifically maimed, Scott. Oh my God.”
He tripped over the upturned roots of a tree and crashed hard. He rolled over and gasped, spitting out dirt.
“Fuck me,” he wheezed. “Fuck everything. I am moving, and making new friends, and if I see fangs, I’m moving. I will go by a new name,” he paused for a moment. “I think I could pull off Sterling. No, that’s a stupid name.”
“What are you doing?”
Stiles jerked and sat up to see an angry Derek. “Um. I fell.”
“Well, get up,” Derek growled yanking on his arm. “The hunters are hot on our trail, you utter failure.”
“Wow, rude,” Stiles muttered, trying not to fall over on his rubbery legs. “We’re not all
freaky genetic mutations.” Derek snarled and pulled Stiles to a run, his nails growing and digging into Stiles’ wrist. “That’s going to bruise and my dad is going to ask weird questions again!” he managed to gasp out.
“You’ll run faster if you shut up!” Derek bit out, and Stiles rolled his eyes.
They ran toward Derek’s house, cutting through a clearing when a bright light shone on them. “Fuck.” Stiles breathed.
“We’ve got you surrounded, creatures!”
Great, Stiles thought, Dad was right. You are who you hang out with.
One of the hunters stepped out into the front of the neon-white light. He was kind of beefy, in that redneck sort of way, and he was pointing a souped up shot gun at Derek’s chest.
“Get out of the way, Stiles,” Derek hissed, pushing him aside.
The hunters laughed. It echoed in the dark clearing and Stiles looked around, trying to pinpoint the exact locations they stood. Derek hackles rose and he growled long and low, probably sniffing them all out. Stiles’ heart beat like a jackhammer beside Derek and he waited for the one dude to stop being Mr Exposition and make like a hunter and uh, hunt. Them.
Suddenly, the hunter screamed, an arrow hitting him out of nowhere. Stiles huffed out a hysterical laugh in relief. Beautiful, beautiful, bad-ass Allison and her scary crossbow skills. The hunters startled and Stiles heard the click of the gun behind him. Like a slow motion action sequence, he watched in horror as Derek didn’t seem to notice the shining silver bullet whizzing at them.
“Silver!” Stiles gasped and pushed Derek as hard as he could. “Get down, stupi-!”
He inhaled sharply and stumbled. Looking down, he blinked at the blood blooming on his chest.
“Oh,” he said thickly and fell over, hitting the ground hard and, in his stupor, biting his cheek - hard. “Ow.” The bullet was indeed some kind of silver, and it had broken into bits upon hitting him. He swallowed, his mouth tasting like blood. He felt nauseated.
“Stiles,” Derek said, sounding horrified. He scrambling over to him. “Stiles, what did you do?”
“Don’t touch me,” Stiles said distantly. “The silver will hurt you.”
“You idiot,” Derek hissed. “You idiot!”
Stiles frowned and fell over, landing on Derek’s knee. Derek rushed to stem the blood flow, hissing in pain when the silver burnt his palms. He shrugged out of his jacket and tore off his shirt to help stop the blood.
Stiles snorted wetly. “Any excuse to get naked with you wolf people.”
Derek made a pained noise and looked around for the other members of the pack. Allison’s arrows and the three teen werewolves seemed to have fought the hunters off. Derek howled and they came running. Scott was the first one there and he skidded to a halt.
“Stiles?” he gaped, looking gobsmacked.
Derek’s eyes flashed red. “Call an ambulance before he bleeds out!” he barked.
Scott fumbled with his phone and made a frantic call. Derek blinked rapidly at Stiles, who looked up at him with wet eyes.
“Hey, can this cause cancer? Because my dad doesn’t need that again, you know? I’d rather not go from silver bullet cancer.”
“You’re not-” Derek choked. “Worry about what’s happening now.” Stiles grinned sleepily at him, lips bloody and eyes hooded. Derek ground his teeth. “Why would you do this?” he said. “You should have let it hit me.”
Stiles shook his head. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Can’t. You’re important,” he made a keening noise at the pain. “You’re the alpha. You have to not be full of silver bullets so Scott won’t accidentally eat a toddler.”
Derek snorted and used his free hand to push his hair back. “You’re such a little shit.”
Stiles snorted and then winced. “You’re choosing now of all time to be funny?”
“Sorry,” Derek muttered.
Stiles blinked. “I should get hurt all the time if you’re gonna apologize without me pulling your fangs.” Derek growled. “Maybe not.”
Derek heard the wailing of the ambulance and Scott bolted along with the others. “Hold on Stiles!” Scott yelled. “We’ll get you to the hospital soon!”
Stiles coughed and winced at the pain in his chest. “Ow, not doing that again.”
“That’s for fucking sure,” Derek said darkly. “I’m never taking you anywhere ever again.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Whatever, i’m the only one with mad research skills. You need me.”
Derek pressed harder on the wound and didn’t say anything. He reached out a hand tentatively and wiped away some dirt on Stiles’ face with his thumb, keeping his hand there. Stiles looked up at him, blinking rapidly. “Hey would you kill me if I told you a secret?”
“Stiles!” Derek barked.
Stiles grinned weakly. “Oops?”
Derek sighed and rubbed his eyes roughly. “What’s your secret, dumbass? Tell me.”
“Knew you’d be curious,” Stiles replies, grinning with blood red lips. “No one can resist secrets.”
“Especially not you,” Derek snorts.
Stiles grins again, breathing harsh and wheezy. He took a hand and put it on top of Derek’s. “Here it is, my super secret.” He lowered his voice and Derek waited with bated breath despite himself. “I like you.”
Derek furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”
Stiles sighed. “I like you so much, even though you’re like, kind of emotionally and physically abusive. You hate me most of the time and you get sad when you think no one’s looking. That’s a Sherlock reference, which you haven’t watched, but i’m going to make you sometime. You might like it. Anyway, I just want to kiss you? So bad?” Stiles relaxed under his hands after his confession, eyes closing. Derek swallowed and stared at him. “You don’t have to freak out, dude,” Stiles said. “It’s not like you have to kiss me.”
“Obviously,” Derek muttered, leaning down. The angle was awkward and Derek’s nose bumped into Stiles’, but he kissed him as gently as he could. Stiles looked up at him in a stupor.
“Is this like the werewolf version of the Make-A-Wish Foundation? Because I’ve got other places you could kiss me.”
“Shut up,” Derek said, kissing him again. Stiles made a noise and then he was slack beneath Derek. “Fuck,” Derek swore, leaning over Stiles and putting his ear to his chest to check his heartbeat. It was there, but faint.
He stayed like that until he heard the wailing of sirens and Scott came crashing through the trees with the paramedics behind him. They pushed him aside and he watched in a detached daze as they put Stiles onto the gurney and rushed him out of the clearing to the waiting ambulance. Derek got up shakily and looked down at his hands. He tried rubbing off the blood but it was dried on by now. All he could smell was Stiles, in the air, on the ground, on his body. He wanted to howl away the stench of near death.
“Derek?” He turned to see Allison looking up at him worriedly. “Are you ok? Are you going with us to the hospital?”
Derek swallowed. “They’ll think I tried to murder him,” he said. “Though I couldn’t be blamed for that, could I?”
Allison smiled gently at him, raising a hand to gently pat his shoulder. “I’ve got another shirt in my car. You know, for when Scott rips one.” Derek snorted and walked with her quietly, breathing shallowly and his fists clenched. “He’ll be okay,” Allison said confidently. “He’s always okay.”
Derek grunted and they walked the rest of the way in silence.
Scott paced in the hospital waiting room. Jackson and Lydia sat close by, hand-in-hand and pale. Allison watched Scott and wrung her hands nervously. Derek sat apart from them, uncomfortable in the hospital chair and Scott’s ratty sweatshirt. He sat ramrod straight and still, hands fisted on his jeans. He had Stiles’ blood dried on his arms and face where he’d checked on Stiles’ heartbeat. A nurse had kindly asked if he wanted to wash up but he just stared at her until she nervously walked away.
The sheriff had shown up and was nursing a coffee tiredly, but only after frantically questioning Scott’s mother and the other teens. He had only looked at Derek, angry and distrustful, before harassing the other nurses to see his son.
Finally, a nurse came out to tell them that Stiles was weak, but stable. All the teens rejoiced. Allison jumped up to hug Scott. Jackson and Lydia lost the tension in their shoulders and began to breathe normally again. Derek closed his eyes and swallowed, letting his hands relax on this thighs.
“Derek?” Scott asked.
“What?” he ground out. He could practically taste the confusion rolling off of Scott.
“Aren’t you coming to visit with us?”
“Family first,” Derek told him. “Then everyone else.”
“What about you?” Lydia asked while Jackson tugged at her hand.
“I don’t matter,” Derek said. “Just go.”
His pack frowned, but left Derek to sit alone in the waiting room.
“Hey, guy,” Scott said after Stiles’ dad got out of the way, eyes shiny with relieved tears. “Lookin’ good.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and looked at them all with a dopey, drugged up smile before furrowing his eyebrows and straining to look beyond them.
“Derek is still in the waiting room,” Lydia said. “He didn’t want to crowd you.”
Stiles didn’t look convinced but let the pack fuss over him with a sleepy smile. A nurse finally came in and shooed them out so Stiles could rest without the excitement of all those people in the room. His dad leaned over and kissed his forehead.
“I’ll be right back, okay, buddy?”
Stiles nodded and his eyes fluttered shut, his breathing evening out. The sheriff ran his hand over Stiles’ head once more before leaving the room.
Derek watched the pack leave, and sniffed out Sheriff Stilinski, before sneaking into Stiles’ room. He stood in the dark room and stared at Stiles sleeping with tubes sticking out of him. It looked wrong and alien.
He swallowed and padded over toward him. He was just going to make sure his heart was still strong and then he was going to leave. Reaching out, he ghosted his hand along Stiles’ arm and rested it on his heart. He left it there, feeling the steady beat beneath his hand. He lost some of the tension in his shoulders and watched Stiles sleep for a moment before turning to leave. He hustled past the sheriff on his way out and avoided his eyes, scenting the suspicion coming off him in waves.
Derek looked down at his hands and rubbed at the dried blood on them. He was sure Stiles would be safe for the night with his father and he had to clean himself up still. He buzzed with a frenetic energy and wished he could turn tonight and destroy anything that came across his path. Swallowing back his rage, he stormed out of the hospital and began the long walk back to his home.
After a few days of observation, Stiles was finally being let out of the hospital. “Yeahhh!” he exclaimed, wheezing a bit, “I want some real jell-o. And SOLIDS.”
The nurse helping him out of bed snorted. “If your angry friend had his way, you’d only have gotten food through your IV. Be thankful.”
Stiles frowned. “My angry frien-Derek? Tall, cheekbone-y? Broods a lot?” She laughed and said that sounded about right. “I didn’t know he came to see me,” Stiles said thoughtfully, his nurse smiled like they were sharing a secret.
“He only came while you were sleeping and when everyone else left. He must be really shy.”
Stiles snorted. “Not really.”
His dad showed up at the door. “Ready, Stiles?”
“Ugh, totally. Let’s bounce.”
“Try not to get shot again,” the nurse said cheerfully.
Stiles rubbed his eyes and saluted her. “Let’s fuckin’ hope so.”
“Language,” his dad said mildly, pushing him out of the room.
The next day, he was sitting on his couch in a fort-nest of pillows and blankets, a bit buzzed off his pain meds, and watching a Disney channel marathon of Wizards of Waverly Place. Stiles was having the goddamn time of his life. His dad hadn’t even made a pointed reference about the pile of homework he was ignoring today. He distantly registered the door opening and heard the sound of his friends loudly piling into the kitchen.
“Oh my God, are you a 12 year old girl?” Jackson said immediately upon seeing what was on.
“Whatever,” Stiles said. “Everyone love Selena Gomez. Sweet angel princess of all hearts.”
Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Take your pain meds?”
“Like, ten minutes ago,” Stiles replied, fidgeting to get comfortable again.
Allison leaned over the back of the couch and patted his head. “We brought you some food.”
Stiles brightened up. “Welcome, guests who are no longer annoying!” he made a expansive gesture and then winced a bit when it pulled at his stitches.
Scott fell back on the couch and passed him a container full of goodies just for him. He let Scott in on his fort a bit and they grinned at each other like when they were kids making forts in the living room before one of their parents told them to clean it up. He leaned back and groaned when the music video after Wizards was some terrible blonde girl with a terrible blonde girl song.
“Ughhh, why can’t they play more Phineas and Ferb music videos. This sucks.”
“Who are Phineas and Ferb?” Jackson asked. Stiles looked at him in all of his slack-jawed, stoned glory.
“Really?” he squeaked. “You’ve never watch-oh my God, where is the remote? I’ve got, like, a whole season on my DVR. Everyone sit down and get ready to watch the BEST cartoon on air right now.”
He patted down his couch looking at all of them expectantly and they all found a place. Stiles went through the menu and pulled it up. “Hey,” he said before pressing play. “Where’s, uh, where’s Derek?”
Scott shrugged. “He’s being weird, dude. He’s all mopey and angry.”
“You say that like it’s new information,” Stiles mumbled, playing the cartoon and popping the lid open on his tupperware gift. Scott and Jackson both gave him expectant looks and he sighed like a martyr, holding it out for everyone to share. He yawned and slapped Scott’s hand away when he came in for more.
“Leave some for me and Derek, bro.”
Scott grumbled and the rest of the pack gave him a sidelong glance like they had a secret he wasn’t in on. They all made sure not to lean too heavily on him and they watched the show, making comments while Stiles quoted things and laughed at Candice trying to bust her brothers.
“This show is dumb,” Jackson told him, smiling a bit anyway.
“Your face is dumb,” Stiles replied cheerfully.
Eventually, they all got distracted, and Stiles started to fall asleep. Scott touched his shoulder lightly. “You want anything before we go,dude?”
Stiles yawned and shook his head. “No, go away. Derek’s coming over.”
Lydia snorted. “How do you know? He didn’t text and I can’t smell his dumb ass.”
Stiles made a face and rolled over, pressing his face into the couch. “He only shows up when I’m asleep. And alone. Because that’s not creepy or Twilight-y in behaviour. Anyway, I’m sleeping now. Good afternoon.”
With that, he fell asleep almost instantly in his blanket cocoon. Lydia and Allison looked at each other and burst into uncontrollable giggles at the same time. Jackson rolled his eyes and Scott looked confused.
“Do you think Derek knows he and Stiles are dating?” Lydia wondered aloud.
Jackson laughed. “Does Stiles?”
“They’re dating?” Scott asked, flabbergasted. “What? Stiles would have told me!”
“Oh honey,” Lydia tsked.
Derek did show up, long after the scent of his pack lingered in the air. He let himself into Stiles’ house and found Stiles asleep on his couch, some annoying cartoon playing in the background.
He looked over the back and watched Stiles mumble in his sleep, flushed with just too much warmth and tangled in a swath of blankets. He had pulled off his shirt at some point and Derek stared at the bandage covering part of his torso and the myriad of yellowing bruises.
He swallowed and went to sit on the floor in front of the couch and listened to the steady heartbeat coming from Stiles. He wondered if he could steal a kevlar vest from the police station, or make Scott do it. Then he could force Stiles to wear it at all times, because, like, fuck, this was the last time he was getting hurt.
Stiles sighed in his sleep and turned over, wincing at the sudden pain in his side. Derek stiffened when Stiles opened his eyes sleepily and honed in on him. He smiled and reached out to grab at Derek lightly. “I knew you’d come,” he yawned. “You should do this more often when i’m not asleep.”
Derek blinked at him and cleared his throat. “I’m not here. This is a dream. You’re dreaming.”
Stiles’ smile fell a bit and he looked rueful. “Yeah, I always am.” Derek’s eyes widened at that but Stiles paid no mind, still petting him absently. “You could always kiss me again,” he said thoughtfully. “That was one of my better pain-induced fantasies.” Derek swallowed and leaned in to rest his head on Stiles’ collarbone. “Or that,” Stiles said. “Sure, dream Derek, do what you want. It’s not like I run this universe or anything.”
Derek grunted and stayed there, wondering how long Stiles would believe this was all just his overactive imagination. He wasn’t really sure what he’d do in either situation. Stiles laid there with Derek’s head on his chest and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck.
“I’m glad dream-you is cuddly, at least,” Stiles mumbled into his hair. Derek couldn’t help but laugh a bit at that. He could smell the happiness roll off Stiles like the smell of lilacs in the summer. “Oh, that’s nice.”
Derek silently agreed.
Derek finally extricated himself from Stiles’ octopus limbs when he heard the Sheriff’s car coming up. He stretched out and recklessly pressed a kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth before disappearing upstairs and through the bedroom window.
“Dad, I’m going out with Scott! I’ll see you later,” Stiles’ yelled from the kitchen.
The sheriff quickly showed up at the door. “Be careful,” he stressed. Stiles waved him off. His dad rubbed his face tiredly. “Stiles, please.”
Stiles sighed and walked over to his dad, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Don’t worry, Daddy-o. It’s movie night. It’s not even an action movie.”
Sheriff Stilinski snorted and pulled him into a hug before letting him go. “Have fun,” he said, sounding stuffed up.
Stiles tried to smile winningly at him. “We will.”
His dad smiled at him, kind of sad, and Stiles had to leave before he burst into tears that he couldn’t blame on being high off Vicodin. He jogged out to his jeep where Scott was waiting and spun his keys around. He gave him a goofy smile, like nothing weird happened.
“Let’s bounce, dude.”
They arrived and the rest of the pack was there waiting, snacks already out on the table.
“‘Sup, you guys?” Stiles grinned, insinuating himself between Lydia and Allison. The girls laughed at him, but Allison gave him a sweet smile anyway, and Lydia bumped his shoulder. Jackson rolled his eyes and made a backhanded comment that Stiles knew meant he was glad he was healed up. He looked around and frowned. “Where’s Derek?”
Scott shrugged. “I dunno.”
“He left a note,” Lydia said reapplying her lip gloss. “He’s out howling at the midday sun or something.”
Stiles slumped down and frowned. “Oh,” he said, staring at the table in front of him.
Lydia cocked an eyebrow at him. “What’s with you moodswings? Your boyfriend will be here.”
Stiles spluttered and sat up straight. “He’s not my BOYFRIEND,” he squawked before reaching in for a handful of chips. “I’m just asking. It’s not like it’s good manners to visit the dude who saved your life at least once or anything.”
He looked up to see varying looks of pity directed at him; even Scott. EVEN SCOTT.
“What?” he asked defensively.
Lydia tsked at him and waved a deceptively delicate hand at him. “Stiles, boo. You stank of Derek. It smells like he rubbed his face all over your face.”
Stiles looked at all of them incredulously and then at himself like he could magically scent Derek out if he looked hard enough.
So it wasn’t a Vicodin fantasy? He was pretty sure Derek slept on his bed, like, twice. Or just stared at him. Either way there was a lot of cuddling that wasn’t a dream? The kisses he’d thought about since that night hadn’t been a weird, escapist pain fantasy?
“Oh my God,” he said faintly. “None of that was a dream.”
Scott looked appalled. “Wait, what did he do to you?” he squeaked out. “Was it the bad touch?”
“No!” Stiles blurted. “I wish!”
“Whoa, TMI, you guys,” Jackson said. “Can we forget we had this conversation and watch the movie?”
Allison nodded vigorously and grabbed the remote to press play.
“Okay,” Stiles said distracted. “Who chose Top Gun? Like, are we for real right now?”
Stiles made Scott go home with Allison (it wasn’t that hard to convince him), and nearly had to push Lydia and Jackson out the door.
“We’re just worried for your virtue,” Jackson drawled, standing at the door.
Jackson and Lydia laughed at him in that creepy Stepford Wives-way they still do sometimes, and he closed the door behind them. He paced in the kitchen waiting for Derek.
“Okay, okay, cool, you can do this. You’re here and you have information and you can ask if Derek wants to date you forever, or, like, ‘til college. Yeah.” He fidgeted and walked in circles in the living room anxiously.
“Stop wearing a hole in my floor.”
Stiles jumped and spun around to see Derek (lurking in HIS OWN HOUSE, like a weirdo) leaning against the doorframe, watching him with what Stiles thought might be slight fondness. Or indigestion. Maybe he had a bad rabbit again.
“You look better,” Derek said. “Are you in pain anymore?” Stiles shook his head. Derek nodded curtly. “Good.”
He turned to walk upstairs but Stiles couldn’t hold his tongue for long.
“None of it was a vicodin induced fantasy, Derek! You were always there, and you CUDDLED ME.” Derek stopped, shoulders hunched up. “And you kissed me!” Stiles continued. “What is your deal, dude?”
Derek turned around stiffly, not looking at him. “And?” he said haughtily, like he didn’t care.
Stiles frowned at him. “You could at least kiss me when I’m not bleeding out, you know. I’d really appreciate knowing that I’m attractive without losing organs.”
Derek stared at him and walked over, almost carefully. Stiles swallowed and thought maybe he got it wrong. “You do like me, right? Oh my God, were they messing with me? Did they lie about your smell? Oh my GOD, they did. Oh my God. Oh my God, this is SO EMBARRASSING. Please forget my giant boner for you. I didn’t even say that. Let’s forget it all.”
Derek snorted and grabbed Stiles’ arm. “Um,” Stiles said looking up. Derek gave him an indiscernible look while his heart thumped a violent tattoo in his chest.
“Relax,” Derek murmured. “Do you really want...this?”
“You?” Stiles asked. “Because I’m, like, super one hundred percent sure I want you and that means all of you, so, so bad.”
He was going to continue with extended metaphor about how badly he wanted Derek and, oh, he wants him, but Derek stopped him with a hand on his face. He dragged his thumb across Stiles’ cheek, and then his lips, ghosting his actions from so many nights before. Stiles blinked rapidly and licked his lips nervously, accidentally getting Dereks thumb. His eyes turned icy blue and that was the last thing he saw before Derek crashed down to kiss him, minding his side still.
Stiles made a surprised noise and threw his arms up around Dereks neck when he got with the program. “Yes, awesome,” he gasped when Derek pushed his face into his neck, licking or scenting him, or whatever. Stiles wasn’t complaining. Derek mumbled something into his shoulder and Stiles blinked. “Sorry, what? I was fantasizing.”
“I said,” Derek said quietly, still nosing his collar bone, “that I’m serious about this. It’s not..it’s not only you.”
“Oh,” Stiles said faintly. “Really?” Derek nodded tersely. “Okay, don’t break yourself there, man,” Stiles snorted. “It’s okay to have more than one emotional breakthrough a year.”
Derek scraped his teeth on Stiles’ skin. “Shut it.”
“Okay,” he squeaked, scrambling to grab onto Derek’s shirt. “Cool, totally fine.”
Derek released him and held Stiles at arm’s length. He squirmed under the scrutiny. “Let’s sit down,” he said. Stiles nodded, and let himself be pulled toward the overstuffed sofa.
Derek sat down, taking up the whole couch and looked up at Stiles expectantly. HIs brain stuttered to a halt. “You want- I- sitting- what?”
Derek rolled his eyes and pulled at Stiles. “Just come here,” he muttered, maneuvering Stiles up against him. “Relax.”
“Sure, I’m relaxed,” Stiles replied. “I’m just chilling here against your hot bod, no big deal or anything.”
“Hm,” Derek grunted, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and nosing his way back into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
“Uh, so, is it a cuddle party now?”
Derek growled and Stiles rolled his eyes, getting comfortable.
“Don’t wiggle so much,” Derek said with a strained voice.
“Whatever, dude,” Stiles said, still moving. “I gotta be comfortable if we’re doing this.”
Derek mumbled something and pressed his face against Stiles’ neck harder. Stiles could swear he felt that part get hotter, like Derek was blushing or something.
“Am I, like, giving you a boner right now? I’m honestly curious. I don’t think I’ve ever given someone a boner before.”
“So,” Scott said, eyeing Derek give Stiles a can of soda and then leave the room. “Are you, like, dating now?”
“Well,” Stiles said, rolling the can between his palms, “we are successfully out of my dreams and have moved on to my car. So, yes, I think so.”
Scott gave him a weird look and Stiles could hear Derek try to smother a really loud snort in the other room. He leaned back and grinned.
“Don’t even worry about it, guy.”
Stiles snorted himself awake and noticed a tall figure standing at his bed.
“Can I come in?” Derek said.
Stiles rolled over, throwing an arm over his eyes. “In or out, dude. Make up your mind fast.” Derek toed off his sneakers and shrugged off his jacket and jeans before crawling in with Stiles. “My dad checks to make sure I’m up at nine, dude,” Stiles yawned. “Just so you’re aware.”
“I know,” Derek said, gently tracing the scar on Stiles’ abdomen.
“Okay,” Stiles yawned again, putting his hand over Derek’s. “‘Night, Grumpy.”
Derek bit his ear for that and Stiles laughed out loud.
“Don’t wake up your dad, ” Derek said mockingly and Stiles elbowed him.
“Don’t be a shit head.”
Derek snickered and settled in. “Good night, Stiles.”
He listened to Stiles’ heart beat, a steady thrum through his back, and kept tracing the line of warm, scarred skin lightly as he fell asleep.