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Stiles couldn’t believe his shitty luck. They may be in Northern California, but it rarely snowed along the coast so of course the only time he really needed it not to snow it was coming down in what felt like a blizzard. He begged and cajoled his jeep to keep running and make it through but he’d only just turned onto the preserve road that headed out to the house when it finally coughed and died. He laid his head on the steering wheel and sighed, because what was his life, seriously. He allowed himself a sum total of two minutes to wallow before he grabbed the extra hoodie, gloves, and basket and started layering. He cracked the door, hissed at the cold and slammed it closed again.

“Fuck.” Less than a minute with the door open and his nose felt like it was going to fall off his face. He started digging through the jeep again; leaning over the gear shift and feeling it grind painfully into his hip when he spotted his goal. He’d have a spectacular bruise there later but he came up from rifling around with a scarf that Isaac must have left behind the last time they ran from something. He wound it around his face and tried again, barely remembering to snag his keys out of the ignition before dropping out and into the giant pile of snow beneath him. He let out a small oof and slammed the door shut, taking a moment to gauge his balance before lifting a leg and heaving forward a step. When had the snow gotten so deep? Seriously eff his life right now. He squinted through the flurries coming down and was pretty sure he could make out the edges of the road, so at least he wouldn’t get lost. Probably. Hopefully. Maybe.

He started moving towards the middle of the road and found the snow was a little more tightly packed there; probably they’d iced the road at some point when the snow first came down so it hadn’t quite built up like it did on the edges. That or he was fooling himself and he’d faceplant into an unexpected pile soon. Either way. He could see his breath ghosting out from behind the scarf, tiny puffs of warmth escaping. It was nice to have a visual for what he felt happening to his feet, he maybe should’ve tried to find some boots instead of his Chucks but honestly, he didn’t think he had anything other than these and his Lacrosse shoes, and those definitely wouldn’t help in the snow. There was a cool wetness creeping up his legs from where his jeans were soaking through on the bottom, an icy crunch every time his ankles flexed as the quickly freezing material of his socks shifted. Seriously eff his life.

He was pretty sure he’d been walking for days, was also pretty sure he was mumbling that aloud too, when he finally caught sight of the house after rounding a curve in the road. This place would never not make him shudder a bit, but at least Peter was gone again. He slogged his way through the snow drifts piling up in front of the porch and hopped up and down a few times to dislodge any clinging snow before opening the (still with the not locking oh my god) door.

“Hello?” His voice echoed and he shivered at the hollow sound. At least all of the walls had been repaired. He could see a faint glow coming from the direction of the living room so he hoisted his basket into a better grip and headed that way. A light was on next to the new sofa, a form huddled up under a pile of blankets with only a slightly sweaty mop of hair poking out. Stiles stared for a minute before shaking himself and plunking the basket down on the floor next to the couch and gently pulling the blankets back so he could get some acknowledgement. What he got for his efforts was a flailed smack to the face and a mumbled “g’way”. He couldn’t be blamed when he started laughing so hard he fell over.

“Stiles. Shut. Up.” Derek swung his legs over the couch and kicked Stiles in the thigh, rewrapping the blankets around him so only his face peeked out. His cheeks and nose were splotchy red and a pile of tissues had come tumbling out of the blankets when he shifted.

“Oh dude, you are a sad sight sickwolf.” Stiles managed to get himself under control and offered a sympathetic grimace. Nobody liked to be sick, especially when it was already cold as balls. Which actually….”Dude, is the heat not hooked up yet?” He looked around and spotted some wood next to the fireplace but no heater or thermostat. Building a fire it was then. He set to work, listening to Derek sniffle behind him. He’d known that something had been happening with him, but the cold was confirmation that his werewolf-y-ness was not behaving like it should be. Mission One was to get Derek better; Mission Two was going to be to force Derek to go see Deaton and get this shit looked into. They’d been through too much the last year or so for them to be one wolf down, especially with that psychotic tree still pumping out its come hither juices to god only knows what all. He shook off the memories as best he could and finished lighting the fire, feeling the warmth start to seep into his frozen bits. Stiles moved back to the sofa, nudging Derek to the side to make room while he pulled the basket up between them.

“What is all this?” Derek grumbled at him, what was possibly an elbow trying to indicate the basket from safe within the warmth of a blanket burrito.

“Stilinski family secret cold remedies.” At the arched brow facing him, Stiles opened the basket and showed Derek the contents: two thermoses filled with chicken soup, Nyquil, tissues with the lotion in them (because chapped noses hurt), and tea bags. He didn’t really think Derek pulled off the annoyed bitch face quite so well when his nose was all stuffed and swollen, but he gave him an A for effort. “Alright, maybe not so secret but dude, you haven’t been sick in…ever. I thought I’d help. If you don’t want me to –” he’d closed the basket and started to stand only to be yanked back down roughly. By a hand, a hand that had finally come out of the blanket (mental fist-raising may or may not be happening).

“I – thank you Stiles.”

“Dude, don’t look so constipated. And you’re welcome.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Stiles huffed a laugh at that, he’d been hearing it ever since Derek started talking to them and it was nice to be reassured that at least his personality was still intact. He left Derek and the basket on the sofa and went in search of a bowl and a spoon. The house was being rebuilt and Derek had moved in full time again, so there had to be something to pour the soup into. He found them in a cabinet in what he assumed would be the kitchen when countertops were replaced and appliances added.

“Success!” He crowed it out as he headed back into the now much warmer living room, shutting up when he saw an empty thermos on the floor and a very definitely sleeping Derek tipped back sideways on the couch, feet curled into an arm and head smooshed below the basket. As Stiles approached he saw that the Nyquil had a good swallow missing and seriously he’d only been gone like, a minute, that was not enough time for that to kick in. Although, when he thought about it, Derek had basically never had anything like that ever so maybe it was. He carefully maneuvered the basket to the floor and flopped onto the other edge of the couch, kicking his shoes off and draping his hoodie over himself to fight off the bits of chill still clinging from his slightly damp but definitely drying out now clothes. He’d wait to get fully dry and then make the trek back to the jeep. He was already dreading it. He sighed and wriggled and settled a little deeper, trying to get comfortable in the small space available to him. He was mid-fidget when he heard a rumble come from Derek’s chest and felt something grip his wrist. The next thing he knew he was smashed between a very warm body and the back of the sofa, a chin tucked in over his head and half a blanket wrapped around him. Well…he may be sick, but he was still definitely fast and strong. Stiles tried to protest and shift but Derek growled at him (and really, he was a lot better about not doing that anymore so it kinda startled him).

“Sleep Stiles.” And really, what could he say to that but “okay.” He drifted off to the sounds of snow falling, a fire crackling, and a werewolf sniffling above him.