The world sounded oddly muted as Derek groggily blinked his eyes open, leading him to wonder just how much damage his head had taken during the fight. It couldn’t have been that much, considering his memory seemed perfectly intact.
He tried to get up, tried to return to the battle to see if things were over or if his pack still needed him, but his limbs refused to cooperate. Completely. Alright, so new question. Just how much damage had his body taken before he blacked out?
It took an embarrassing amount of energy to roll over so that he was propped against what smelled like a sack of potatoes. He frowned down at his arm, which looked fine but was now trembling uncontrollably from being forced into use before it was ready.
“Derek? Derek! Oh my Go—Derek!”
Something heavy barreled into Derek’s left side and began poking and prodding him in the most annoying of ways.
“You’re alive! How the hell are you — I was so sure I had watched you die! I mean, out of all the times I’ve watched you die, I thought I had seriously watched you die this time!”
Derek frowned and rolled his head to the side a bit so he could focus on the person in front of him. “Stiles?”
In response, Stiles dropped his head onto Derek’s shoulder. “You can’t — you can’t keep doing shit like this. Forget about my dad, it isn’t good for my heart.”
“Doing what?” Derek was completely baffled as to what was happening here.
“Dying, you idiot!”
Derek stared down at what he could see of Stiles’ form. “But I didn’t die.”
“You almost died,” Stiles snapped. “You are so not allowed to argue with me about the semantics here.”
“I’m getting better?” Derek suggested, figuring the mood needed a bit of lightening when even Stiles got bogged down with the gravity of the situation.
The hand that had been resting over his stomach merely fisted into his shirt.
Derek knew better than to take that as a sign of reassurance and once again tested his body’s responsiveness. His fingers flexed and thigh muscles tensed on command, allowing him to shift into a slightly more comfortable position. His few remaining open wound stung at the movement, but he wasn’t about to complain.
“I feel fine.”
Stile’s heart continued to beat far too loud and fast for Derek’s liking. So he smirked and tried a slightly different tactic.
“I think I’ll go for a walk.”
“Oh my God,” Stiles choked out, a laugh escaping his throat as he finally caught on. “You have not been quoting Monty Python at me this whole time.”
“I feel happy. I feel hap—” Derek turned his head to the side as a coughing fit wracked his dry throat.
Stiles finally leaned back, a weak smile on his face as he shook his head. “If you break out into the musical version, I’m leaving your ass here to heal on your own.”
Derek merely looked at Stiles with his eyebrows raised. He had no idea there was a musical version, but Stiles didn’t need to know that. In fact, next chance he had, he was looking it up just so he could sing it if Stiles was going to be an idiot about things again.
“Right! Well, I’ve obviously given you ideas, and a smart alpha is a pain in the ass alpha.” Stiles rocked back to his feet and extended a hand down for Derek to take. “Let’s just get you into my jeep where I’ll plant ideas on you taking some real fighting lessons so that none of this ever has to happen again. Capiche?”
Derek scowled. “Have you ever actually watched The Godfather?”
Derek rolled his eyes and took the hand. He was going to have to teach this kid about the classics.