Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of all aired episodes
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, some big huge corporation does.
Can be read on AO3
Stiles feels a bit like a heroine in a trashy Hallmark Channel movie (not that he's ever seen one) when Derek bursts through the ER doors, Stiles firmly tucked against his side.
"Could we get some help here?" Derek growls.
Stiles winces, because yes, he hurts, but it's not like the ER is empty. This is Beacon Hills after all. But the nurse manning the counter either recognizes Stiles (he is pretty well known in these parts) or is intimidated by Derek's grumpiness (Stiles can relate) and pages Melissa McCall. In no time at all, Melissa has Stiles seated on an exam table, curtain firmly closed for privacy.
"What happened, Stiles?"
Stiles grins sheepishly. "I fell."
Melissa looks at him incredulously, then looks at Derek. Derek shrugs.
"He's not wrong. But when he fell, he put his hand out to catch himself and I heard a pop. I think he dislocated his shoulder.
"Hey! Ixnay on the islocateday!" Stiles glares at Derek.
"Stiles, you reek of pain."
"Stop smelling me, creeper!"
Melissa eyes them like they're crazy. "Alright, you two, knock it off. Let's see what we've got here."
What they've got turns out to be a separated shoulder. Melissa explains it all to the Sheriff when he arrives. Stiles tunes it out after he hears about ligaments tearing. He was there, he doesn't need the rehash. Besides, he's too busy keeping an eye on Derek. He'd planted himself firmly in the corner of the room, arms across his chest, and hadn't budged, even when Melissa made Stiles switch out his shirt for a hospital gown. (Which, ow. And embarrassing. He's not in the habit of being shirtless in front of others the way some people are.) He'd even stayed when the Sheriff showed up, though that's less surprising, considering that Derek technically works for the Sheriff. He tunes back into the conversation in a hurry when he hears the word 'surgery.'
"Nope. Uh huh. Not gonna happen," he says with a shake of his head.
His dad's expression is stern. "Then do what you're told for once, and we might be able to avoid that outcome."
"Oh my God, fine!" He ducks his head. "Umm, so what was I told again?"
The Sheriff and Derek both sigh heavily as Melissa goes over Stiles's discharge instructions again.
Stiles is so tired by the time they make it home, that all he wants is to fall into bed and never come out again. That doesn't happen, of course. His dad wants to know what really happened in the Preserve, and he's made Derek's presence at the Stilinski home a command performance. Derek doesn't even put up a fight about it; which is fair, Stiles supposes, since it's hard to argue with the guy that signs your paychecks.
The Sheriff gets Stiles settled on the couch, then proceeds to have a conversation with Derek like Stiles isn't even there. Rude. Stiles lets it go until Derek tells his first lie.
"I'm sorry, Sheriff, it's my fault he got hurt."
"First of all, he is right here. And second, no it isn't. I tripped and fell. It's as simple as that."
Derek, of course, can't let it go. "You were only out there because you were helping me research."
The Sheriff holds up a hand. "Wait a minute. Why is my department consultant involving my son in confidential police business?"
Stiles has to laugh at that. "Oh please. Like I haven't been doing that since I was four." The look his dad gives him makes Stiles grin wider. "You know it's true. If Derek doesn't ask for my help sometimes, I just do it on my own."
The Sheriff looks at Derek, who shrugs. "He's usually safer with me than on his own."
The Sheriff rolls his eyes, but it's hard to argue with the fact that having a werewolf bodyguard tends to keep Stiles in one piece.
"Fine, I'm letting it go. For now. But we do have a problem."
"What's that?" Stiles asks, frowning.
"I have to leave tomorrow for that countywide conference. You can't be left on your own."
"I'm seventeen! Soon to be all legal and everything. I think I can manage a week without burning the house down."
"Doubtful, but I'm more worried about the fact that you only have one arm."
Crap. Stiles hadn't thought of that. He looks down at his sling thoughtfully. Damn it. Why'd he have to go and injure his right hand? Still.
"It'll be fine.
"Sure it will. Who is going to keep you fed? Clean up your messes, which you manage to make with two good hands? Make sure you follow Melissa's orders so you don't end up having surgery?"
Stiles isn't sure who is more surprised at Derek's quiet 'I will.' - Stiles, the Sheriff, or Derek himself.
The Sheriff seems to think about it for a minute. "Okay, fine. I have to leave before 6:00 tomorrow. Derek, looks like you're in charge."
Stiles groans. Seriously, his life. Pure insanity.
Stiles is the first person to admit that he makes a lousy patient. He gets bored quickly on a good day, and having only functional arm does not make for good days. He does more tossing and turning than sleeping, which doesn’t help the pain in his shoulder. He can't play video games with one hand so he's relegated to TV and movies. Netflix is great, but it quickly loses appeal when it's the only thing he can do.
And then there's Derek.
Stiles can admit that Derek has mellowed a lot since getting kidnapped to Mexico. It's like once he did the whole full wolf shift thing, he'd achieved some sort of nirvana. Working as a consultant with the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department has only put the icing on the cake for him. Seeing Derek be a fully functioning, contributing to society adult messes with Stiles's head so he mainly ignores it.
It's hard to ignore something when it's right under your nose. Derek has taken his offer to the Sheriff very seriously. He's been camped out on the Stilinski couch since the Sheriff left. He cooks all of Stiles's meals, makes sure he takes his meds on time, keeps the house picked up, and is generally always around. It shouldn't bother Stiles, but it starts to get under his skin.
Things go even more downhill when he sees his doctor for his follow-up appointment after his ER visit.
He makes Derek wait in the car for him because he isn't a toddler who needs his hand held (even if he does have to have a chauffeur). Upon leaving the office, he slams the door of the soccer mom car Derek's never bothered to trade in with more force than necessary. Derek takes one look at his face and wisely says nothing, just puts the car in gear and heads home.
Stiles spends the drive fuming in silence. His mood hasn't improved when they get to the house. All Stiles wants is some damn food, and he can't find anything to make that doesn't require the opening of jars or other things that are beyond him. He slams cupboard doors and the fridge door, then spends a few minutes cursing under his breath as he searches for his cell phone so he can at least order a damn pizza. Derek watches all this in silence from the kitchen doorway.
"What?" Stiles growls. It's not nearly as impressive as Derek's growls, but whatever.
"I can help you, you know. It's why I'm here."
Which yeah, that's the problem.
"I shouldn't need any help! I'm not a kid. This is ridiculous." Stiles voice is rising as he gets more frustrated. "I feel like shit, Derek. I stink because I can't shower right. I had to go to the god damn doctor in sweat pants because I can't zip my jeans." Derek opens his mouth to say something, but Stiles is on a roll and barrels right over him. "And you! You're always here! Doing shit, and cleaning the house, making food. You washed my freaking underwear!"
The tips of Derek's ears go pink. "It's just laundry, Stiles."
"Oh my god, why you can't you just be pissy with me like you used to! This Zen crap is obnoxious. I liked you better when you weren't around all the time."
Derek flinches and the fight just drains out of Stiles. Damn it. He hates fighting with grown up Derek. He actually cares what Stiles says about him now. Stiles sighs heavily and sinks down onto a kitchen chair.
"I didn't mean... shit, I..."
Derek takes a cautious step forward. "What did your doctor say, Stiles?"
"He doesn't like that the swelling hasn't gone down any and that I'm still in so much pain. But he still took me off the pain meds because he thinks it will mess with my Adderall too much. I have to take ibuprofen or some shit." He sighs heavily and sinks down onto a kitchen chair. "I can deal with the pain, even though it sucks. But I really hate the idea of surgery. I don't... don't want to be in the hospital."
Derek crouches down in front of Stiles. He reaches for Stiles, slowly, like Stiles might bite him.
"It's fine, dude. I'm done being crazy."
Derek snorts, but carefully takes Stiles's right hand. "Your hand isn't cold. Does it feel numb? Tingly?"
"That's good. Remember, that's what Melissa said to watch out for. It might not be a great sign, but it's better than nothing."
"Yeah, I guess." Stiles sighs again. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. You're great, dude. Awesome. I'm just..."
"I know. And stop calling me dude."
Stiles grins a little. "Impossible."
Derek rolls his eyes as he stands up. "Come on."
Stiles stands up as well. "Where to?"
Stiles's eyebrows fly up to his hairline. Derek's ears go pink again.
"You are going to bed. Alone. I mean..."
Stiles cracks up. "Chill, dude. I didn't think you were propositioning me."
Derek's face does something funny that Stiles can't identify before he just shrugs and turns to lead the way upstairs. Stiles frowns, but lets it go.
Upstairs, Stiles toes off his tennis shoes and crawls into bed, huffing and muttering under his breath as he settles in.
"I don't know why you think this is going to help. I can't sleep because I can't get comfortable."
"I can help with that."
Stiles's eyes widen. "Oh my God, I forgot about that!" He glares at Derek. "I can't believe you've been holding out on me."
Derek looks guilty, but he doesn't say anything, just carefully lays his hand on Stiles's injured arm. Derek's large hand is warm, but that's nothing compared to the warmth that begins to spread through Stiles as the pain starts to slowly bleed out of him. It feels amazing, and he can't help the truly obscene noise that leaves him. Derek's eyes close, throat working as he swallows hard. There's a mystery here that Stiles should try to solve, but he's feeling warm and heavy, body sinking down into the mattress with relief at finally being pain-free after so many days. His eyes are already closing when Derek takes his hand away.
"You good?" Derek asks, voice gruff.
Stiles mumbles sleepily. He hears Derek chuckle.
"Get some sleep, Stiles."
Stiles would answer but he's too busy falling asleep.
When Stiles wakes, he stretches out slowly, smiling when his shoulder barely gives a twinge. He glances at the clock to see that it’s just past 2:00, which means he got almost three hours of sleep. It’s the longest stretch of unbroken rest he’s gotten since he got hurt, so he’ll take it.
He uses the restroom, scowling when his stomach rumbles as he’s washing his hands. He heads downstairs, already yelling for Derek.
“You better have saved me some lunch! I’m starving!”
“In the living room,” Derek hollers back.
Stiles skids to a halt in the living room doorway, the scent of pizza hitting his nose. “You are a god amongst men. Werewolves. Whatever.”
Derek laughs. “Come and eat. It got here about five minutes ago so it’s still hot.”
They eat in companionable silence, a Criminal Minds marathon playing in the background. The pizza is nothing but a random crust or two when Stiles leans back with a satisfied groan. Derek has the best ideas. Of course, the minute he thinks that, Derek has to go and open his mouth. Stiles blinks, sure he heard wrong.
“You want to what?”
“Don’t look at me like that. You said you can’t shower very well, and your, uh, your hair.”
Stiles’s good hand flies to his greasy hair. “Not cool, dude. It hurts when I try to lift just my good arm that much.”
“I’m offering to help you, Stiles.”
“By giving me a bath!”
“By washing your hair, while you’re in the tub, in swim trunks.”
When he says it like that, it doesn’t sound nearly as salacious as Stiles first envisioned. He might be vaguely disappointed by that. Still, he’s not going to pass up a chance to be clean.
Upstairs, he changes into a pair of swim trunks, then heads to the bathroom to fill the tub. He sits in the tub, feeling weird. Stilinski men are men. They’re shower people, not bath people. Stiles doesn’t think he’s taken a bath since he was little, splashing around with his mother perched on the toilet seat to make sure he hadn’t drowned and/or flooded the bathroom. There’s a knock on the half-closed door and he snickers.
“Come on in, I’m decent.”
Derek snorts. “Not even on your best day.”
Stiles is actually rather proud of that and he grins at Derek.
If taking a bath is weird, it’s nothing to being bathed by Derek Hale. It’s the oddest thing in the world to tip his head back, eyes closed to make sure he doesn’t get shampoo in them. Derek’s surprisingly gentle as he massages shampoo into Stiles’s hair, long fingers working the lather in deep. Stiles is in imminent danger of melting into a puddle of goo. Who knew it felt so good to have your hair washed for you?
He opens his eyes, startled to find Derek so close. Jesus, the guy’s eyes really are ridiculous. Stiles catalogs at least three different colors before Derek’s gaze lowers, dark lashes brushing his cheekbones. Stiles starts to sit up, and the movement has Derek leaning back.
“Neck hurting?” Derek asks.
“Little bit,” Stiles lies.
Derek doesn’t call him on it, just nods and moves even farther back before standing up. “You should be good now. You can probably even clean up better.” He gestures at the tub. “You know, since you don’t have to worry about falling over in the shower.”
Stiles laughs a little. “Yeah, that’s a danger even when I have two good arms.”
Derek’s lips quirk into a grin. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Just come down when you’re done. We can, uh, watch a movie or something.”
Derek leaves, quietly closing the door behind him. Stiles stares at the closed door for a long time, thoughts a confusing jumble, something unnamed fluttering in his stomach.
The rest of the day is one of the strangest Stiles has had in a long time, which is saying something since everyone he knows is a supernatural something or other. He’s hyper aware of Derek in a way he hasn’t been before. He’s always known that Derek is attractive; he isn’t blind, and he’s had some time to get used to the idea of bisexuality (thanks Caitlin). But after Lydia, he’s done his best not to fall for the unattainable. And Derek Hale is definitely unattainable. He’s older, gorgeous, and, until about six months ago, taken. He hadn’t seem broken-hearted when Braeden left town (not like Stiles was when Malia left after Peter took up residence in Eichen House), but Stiles knew that even if the parting was mutual, the guy had to care.
Whatever Stiles thinks might be happening has to be a figment of his imagination. Or the by-product of sexual tension brought on by not being able to jerk off – hazards of having his good hand out of commission and a werewolf sleeping on his couch. What they need is some distance. Stiles is going to have to find a way to get the hell out of the house and away from Derek for a little while. Before he does something stupid.
The universe hates him. Stiles is sure of that. It’s the only reason to explain the unexpected torrential downpour that hits Beacon Hills the next day. Stiles is stuck in the house, bored out of his mind and stuck in domestic bliss hell with Derek. He doesn’t hover, but he does make sure that Stiles is fed, checks on his pain level, and lets Stiles ramble at him when the house gets too quiet. He does paperwork on the couch so that Stiles isn’t alone. It’s hell, and yet Stiles can’t say that he hates having Derek around.
He isn’t even surprised to wake up the next morning to find that it’s still raining.
Stiles knows he can’t spend another day sprawled in his dad’s easy chair, pretending not to stare at Derek. After breakfast, he makes Derek come up to the attic with him, where he piles all of the board games that have been packed away into Derek’s uninjured arms. Derek arches a brow.
“Board games are classic, and I’m going stir crazy.”
“We can’t have that,” Derek says dryly.
Stiles beams at him, and leads the way back downstairs. They set up at the kitchen table, armed with the snacks of their choice. It’s surprisingly easily to get caught up in the games, and not think about anything like what might or might not be a growing crush on Derek.
Derek cheats at Monopoly (“It’s not cheating, Stiles, you’re supposed to put houses and hotels and your properties”), but Stiles is a cutthroat Uno player (“Draw Four, Skip You, Reverse, Draw Four, Uno, I win, ha sucker!) so it’s all good. They both hate Chutes and Ladders, and Stiles refuses to play Candy Land. Sorry! almost results in blood being spilled (Stiles is so not sorry when he sends Derek back to start). Trouble isn’t much better. Stiles can see Derek wince every time the bubble pops. So of course, Stiles pops it over and over in rapid succession, proclaiming himself the ‘Trouble God’ when he wins. Derek’s claws flash out so quickly Stiles almost loses a finger when the werewolf punctures the bubble protecting the die. Stiles laughs so hard he almost falls off the chair.
After lunch, Stiles breaks out the deck of cards. Derek refuses to play with real money (the cheapskate) so they raid the kitchen for items to use instead. Derek is a rather ruthless card shark, as evidenced by the fact that he has all the contraband Reese’s cups in his pile an hour and half into play. Stiles eyes his hand, tongue sticking out in concentration as he contemplates his move. Derek sighs.
“It’s not life or death, Stiles.”
“Says the guy with all the goodies.”
“You wouldn’t be losing so badly if you’d stop eating the pot.”
Stiles eyes the empty candy wrappers on his side of the table and grins. “If we were playing for cash, this wouldn’t be a problem.”
“I work for the police. Do you really think it’s a good idea for me to be gambling with the underage son of the Sheriff?”
Stiles rolls his eyes as he rearranges his cards again. “I’ll be eighteen next April, dude.”
“Next April isn’t now.”
“Blah blah blah. Such a stickler for the rules.” He looks up from his hand. “Got any threes?”
It ends up being a really great day, and Stiles is pleasantly sleepy when they park it on the couch and bring up Netflix. They argue good-naturedly over what to watch before settling on Friday the 13th (“It’s a classic, Derek!” “It’s the remake, Stiles.” “It’s actually Friday the 13th, Derek”). Stiles drifts off somewhere in the middle of the movie. When he wakes, the end credits are rolling. He blinks, disoriented, and realizes that he’s managed to fall asleep on Derek’s thigh. Before he can get too embarrassed by that, he notices that Derek’s fingers are carding gently through his hair. His stomach does that weird fluttering thing again, and his breathing hitches. Derek’s fingers still. Stiles doesn’t move an inch, and after a moment Derek’s fingers start moving again. Stiles lets out a soft sigh. There’s no way that Derek thinks he’s still asleep. Neither one of them says a word.
Finally, Stiles can’t stand it anymore. He carefully rolls onto his back, studies Derek’s face in the flickering light from the TV screen. He opens his mouth, though he’s not sure what he’d even say, but suddenly Derek is leaning down, his breath a tease against Stiles’s lips. Stiles reaches up, fingers sliding into Derek’s soft hair. Derek makes this noise in his throat, and then he’s kissing Stiles.
It’s… well, it should be uncomfortable, at least for Derek since he’s bent in half, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Stiles can’t say he does either. He doesn’t have a lot of kissing experience, but even can tell that Derek is phenomenally good at it. His lips are soft, tongue a gentle tease as they kiss. When Stiles slides his fingers into Derek’s hair, Derek makes this pleased sound that practically vibrates through Stiles’s body. He groans softly, lips parting, heat pooling in his stomach when Derek takes it for the invitation it is.
The kiss deepens, Derek licking into Stiles’s mouth as Stiles’s fingers tighten in Derek’s hair. Derek tastes amazing,faintly like the peanut butter cups he’d gleefully won off of Stiles and also like nothing Stiles has ever tasted before. He chases Derek’s tongue with his, wants more of that flavor. He shifts, wanting to get closer to Derek, and a flare of pain has him pulling back with a small cry.
Derek is moving instantly, sitting up and gently pulling Stiles with him, his hand going to Stiles’s injured shoulder. The warmth is instantaneous and Stiles slumps down, forehead resting against Derek’s shoulder.
“Way to ruin the mood, Stiles,” he mutters under his breath.
Derek sighs. “There shouldn’t have been a mood to ruin. I shouldn’t have… I…”
Stiles jerks his head up. “If you say you’re sorry, I’m gonna get really pissed off.”
Derek smiles softly. “I’m not sorry. But I should have waited. I was waiting.”
Stiles blinks. “Oh. Huh. Wow. You know I don’t really care about that.”
“I do,” Derek says firmly.
“Then why this?” Stiles gestures between them.
“It’s been really hard to keep my distance these last few days.” Derek admits. “Taking care of you, being around you all the time. It’s been… really good.”
It has been. Stiles spends a lot of time with Derek, but not much one on one. He’s not sure what to say, but Derek isn’t finished.
“But, you graduate next May. You’re going away to college.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Stiles huffs.
“Because you’re smart. You can go anywhere you want.”
“Yeah, and where I want is right here. Do you really think I’m going to go far? Leave my dad to have free rein over donuts and curly fries? Besides, I’ve had Scott’s back forever. That’s not changing any time soon.”
“Still, that doesn’t mean you want to be tied down to someone as soon as you start school,” Derek says stubbornly.
“Tied down?” Stiles smirks. “You’re basing a hell of a lot on one kiss.”
Derek’s eyes darken and his gaze falls to Stiles’s mouth. “It was an incredible kiss.”
Stiles swallows hard. “Yeah, okay, you’ve got me there.” He leans down, brushes a soft kiss across Derek’s mouth. “I say we should do more of that and less of the worrying.”
Derek rolls his eyes, but his smile is definitely fond. “Why am I not surprised that you’d say that?”
“Because I’m obviously going to be the brains of this operation.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Derek murmurs, just before he kisses Stiles again.
Stiles would be offended, but he’s too busy kissing back.
The Sheriff gets back two days later to find Stiles and Derek in the kitchen, making pancakes. Well, Derek is making pancakes. Stiles is setting the table and singing obnoxiously at the top of his lungs.
“You’re not a California Gurl, Stiles. Sit down and drink your juice.”
“You’re not the boss of me, Derek Hale!”
The Sheriff sighs. “Never, ever tell me.”
Derek’s ears goes red. Stiles grins, wide and bright, before kissing Derek soundly. He ignores the Sheriff’s groan and Derek’s hissed ‘Stiles!’ as he sits down and drowns his pancakes in syrup.
They’re the best chocolate chip pancakes he’s ever eaten.