Blood was a fucking pain in the ass to get out of clothes once dried. “Son of a-!” Stiles hissed through his teeth hard.
"I told you not to stretch your arm.”
“And I told you to watch the claws!”
Derek’s scowl deepened, and when he ripped the ace bandage, it was loud. “I had to catch you before you fell on your head off a cliff side. Should I have let you fall?”
Stiles’ lips thinned, just barely holding back a venomous retort, as he couldn’t deny that arguing with his life-saver was pretty childish. Who could blame him though? The guy had been surly all night- especially with Stiles.
Though his words were harsh, his hands were gentle in cleaning the deep marks on his bicep. Stiles almost cracked under the werewolf’s deceptively soft hands, but than he saw his face. That grumpy, stick-up-his-butt-face.
Silence answered. Frowns grew.
“Listen, Derek, what the fuck is your problem with me?”
“I’m angry.” The werewolf finished wrapping his injury, than started cleaning the first aid kit cleverly labeled in permanent marker, Zero Days W/O Injury.
Stiles motioned with with hands to continue Derek’s statement. His head joined in the movement, obviously waiting for a more broadened explanation, “Weeellll… ?”
Derek slammed down the medical kit, “I’m angry you deliberately sought out a monster we have no knowledge on. I’m angry you think putting yourself in harms way is an option. I’M ANGRY I KEEP LETTING YOU-!” Derek looked away, “... Get hurt.”
Stiles stared, uncertain how to respond. After a few moments of nothing, he swallowed heavily and cradled Derek’s hands. “You’re not letting me do anything, you big asshole. What you let me do is be a spiteful little shit when I’m scared as hell. So… thanks for that, I guess.” his thumbs circled Derek’s wrist bones.
Derek glanced up, calmed somewhat, and drew closer to Stiles warmth, pulling their clasped hands to his lips. Stiles thought a smile flittered over his face. “I’m also angry about your whining.”
Fuckin’ sourwolf would clean his blood-stained shirt, so help him.