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Stiles burst into the apartment without as much as a knock. Derek looked up from his pile of blankets and tissues and glared at the younger man. Stiles stopped halfway into the living room and tilted his head.

“What is this?” He asked.

“What does it look like?” Derek growled.

“It looks like you’re sick.”

“Good job genius.”

Stiles continued to look at the werewolf, his amber eyes assessing. Then he turned on his heel and left the living room. Derek narrowed his eyes as he heard sounds from the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” He called.

“Don’t worry about it.” Stiles answered.

Derek sniffled and burrowed farther into his pile of blankets. His dark eyes slid closed as the sound of Stiles singing softly filled the air of his apartment.

“Hey,” Stiles said softly, trying to rouse Derek.

Derek grunted and curled up tighter. Stiles set the bowl his was holding on the coffee table and gently laid a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“Hey, sourwolf. It’s time to get up.”

“No,” Derek answered stubbornly.

Stiles laughed softly, “I made something for you.”

Derek opened his eyes and looked at Stiles, “For me?”

“Yes, for you.”

Slowly, Derek levered himself into a sitting position. Stiles retrieved the soup from the coffee table and handed to Derek.

“Be careful, this is hot.”

Derek rolled his eyes and sipped at the molten liquid. He closed his eyes and hummed contently.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Stiles asked.

“Taking care of me. No one’s done that since…” Derek trailed off and glanced up at Stiles.

“Since?” He asked softly.

“Since my mom. Whenever one of us would get sick, she would bundle us up and feed us soup. Then we would all sleep in a pile together and watch Disney movies.”

“Really?” Stiles asked as he sat down on the edge of the couch.

“Yeah, but I don’t have a pack to do that with anymore.”

“Well,” Stiles said, fitting his hand into Derek’s, “I’ll be your pack.”