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“I told you you were going to get sick.”
Stiles peers up from under his lashes, golden eyes murky with fatigue, squinting through the pain of even just the tiniest bit of light peaking through the closed door of the bathroom.
“Derek?” He croaks out, finally focusing on the large figure in front of him in the dark room.
The man had his hands on his hips and he looked...less than happy. Was he mad? What had he said? That he had told him? Told him what? Shit, did he forget to do something? He forgot to do something and now Derek was here and was mad and it was all Stiles’ fault and shit his head hurt.
“Stiles,” Derek barked.
“I’m sorry!” He slammed his eyes shut.
Derek let out a put upon sigh and lowered himself to sit very carefully on the edge of the couch by Stiles’ hip, “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he rested a cold hand on the side of Stiles’ face, “I just...I told you to take care of yourself.”
Stiles slowly leaned into the touch, the cool feeling nice against his heated skin, Derek’s soft voice coaxing him to peace, finally. He was too lost in the concept of cold against hot that he jumped when Scott slammed open the bathroom door, allowing a sea of light to flood through. The assault on his eyes made his stomach churn and his head spin and he did everything in his power not to vomit on Derek because he was wearing his soft green sweater, which was Stiles’ favorite.
“I told him that, too. But he’d rather be right and dead than...wrong and alive.”
Stiles let out a groan, resulting from either the loss Derek’s contact, or Scott’s booming voice, as he flicked the light off and adjusted his tie. Normally, Scott’s shouting never phased him. Hell, half the time he matched him in noise level. It was one of his favorite things about the guy, as he was allowed to be as loud as he wanted at any given time without complaint. But right now...fuck. He wished his best friend would just. Shut. Up. Derek must have super mind bending powers or something, because currently there was silence. The two were murmuring to each other, voices low enough that Stiles could barely hear. So he strained.
“--you take his temperature?” He picked up.
Scott shook his head, “He said he was fine all yesterday morning. Then I came home after practice and he was puking in the shower. Did he call you?”
In the dark, Stiles could hardly make out Derek shaking his head, “No. We had plans for today and he wasn’t picking up his phone. I figured this was what happened, judging by how he looked at your game the other night.”
Scott hummed in agreement, “I was going to take him to an Urgent Care, but I got a call back for an interview on campus, so I was just gonna go after. I think it might just be a bug. I was going to take him when I got home, but if he gets really bad...I mean. You’re both adults, you know what to do. It’s your call.”
“Yeah....thanks Scott.”
Initially he wondered what there was to thank the loud ass man for, but later on he would realize it was for his trust to take care of Stiles and that, in its own twisted way, it was his best friend’s blessing.
“Sure man. I have to go. Call me if you guys need anything.
After a moment of shuffling, the apartment was quiet again.
“Can you sit up?”
Stiles complied, rolling himself to a sitting position. Just that act alone caused him to be short of breath, he shook it off and dragged his gaze to Derek a moment before hurling himself off the couch, towards the toilet, which had Derek following eagerly behind him. He emptied the very little to zero remaining contents of his stomach into the bowl and coughed weakly, trying to dissuade anything else from coming up. Belatedly, he felt Derek’s hand running up and down his spine in a soothing manner. He pulled himself together and sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What a time to be alive,” he quipped, pulling a laugh out of Derek.
The man cupped Stiles’ jaw with his hand and ‘tsked’, “What are we going to do with you?”
“Well, I’m sick. Looks like the only option less it trephination.”
Derek snorted and ran his fingers down the rest of Stiles’ face and murmured softly, “How do you even know what that is?”
He only raised an eyebrow in response, retaliating the fact that Derek knew what it was, but no words were spoken. The twitch of Derek’s lips was enough for Stiles to know that he had gotten the message. Stiles’ eyes fell shut in contentment, something he was unaware of until they shot open at the feel of Derek’s large hand pressing against his forehead. Derek heaved Stiles up by his waist and shuffled him towards the couch and threw a blanket around him.
“What’s the word, good doctor?”
“Well, you’re definitely fevered. Have you eaten anything?”
Stiles grips the blanket wrapped around him haphazardly a little tighter upon instinct, “Can’t keep it down.”
Derek nods wordlessly and heads towards the kitchen anyway. Stiles unconsciously decides to follow him, but the movement makes his head spin and his heart hammer in his chest. He gracelessly plops back down onto the couch and waits. A few moments later, Derek reappeared with two glasses of water and what Stiles assumes are painkillers. He silently accepts them and finishes off his glass of water.
“Hell of a time to get sick.”
He laughs bitterly, “I know.”
He had a schedule . This was not on the schedule . And...to be honest, Derek wasn’t on the schedule either. But here he was. Being utterly perfect. As always.
“Thanks for coming,” he manages as he slumps against Derek’s side as the other man reaches for the remote.
He curiously turns toward the sick man and gives him a small smile, “Of course.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent in silence, Back To The Future playing lowly in the background while Derek runs his fingers through Stiles’ soft hair on his head, which now lay on his lap, until he drifted to sleep.
Stiles woke up a few hours later, alone and in his own bed. He felt like shit. He wished he could get a little more creative with the description, but that’s all there was too it. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was drowning and he was utterly miserable. The events of earlier replayed in his mind as the heavy cloud of sleep slipped away. Derek had come over. It was twinned so tightly in sickly fever dreams and reality that it created its own small niche in his brain of a dream world like state that he would hold onto forever, especially since it was real. He must have fallen asleep on the couch, which meant that the man had probably carried him in here. God . Stiles was not winning attractivity points here. He sighed and tried not to be embarrassed as he shuffled into the kitchenette to find Scott sitting at their small, pathetic excuse for an ‘island’, eating cereal out of a tupperware container.
“Hey,” he croaked.
Scott looked up, his big brown eyes sweeping over his disheveled state, judging him no doubt. And hell, Stiles didn’t need to be judged right now. He was dying .
“Get dressed.”
Stiles pulled a face, “No.”
“I’m taking you to the doctors.”
“No.”
“Stiles, come on. You’re sick.”
“No kidding. But that’s it. You’re not bringing me to and Urgent Care and having them bill my Dad’s insurance so that he can worry about something as mundane as a cold.”
Scott sighed and put a steady hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “Listen. We promised our parents that we’d look out for each other, didn’t we? You’re sick. And even if it is a cold or something “mundane”, wouldn’t it just be better to confirm that so then you can shove it in my face that you were right and we can all stop worrying about you?”
Stiles muttered something under his breath but doesn’t directly answer.
“Awesome,” Scott clasps him on the same shoulder and gives him a blinding smile, “Put some clothes on.”
Stiles squinted his eyes, “You’re enjoying this.”
“Of course not,” Scott denies, but even this sick, Stiles could still hear the lie in his voice.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t. If you hurry up, we might be able to miss the morning rush. And I’ll buy you breakfast from Gracie’s.”
The thought of food alone made Stiles’ stomach roll, “Fine.”
“Pneumonia?”
It had been two days since Scott had dragged him to the nearest Urgent Care and the Evil Doctor had diagnosed him with walking pneumonia. He had gotten a note to distribute to his Professors to excuse him from missing classes for the rest of the week, but it’s not like it matters, because finals started that next Monday and anyone who teaches college level simply did not have a soul. Currently, he was scampering around his room, trying to find clean clothes to wear for him Criminology Final in two hours. And he still had to review his flashcards.
“Stiles,” Derek sighed, “Slow down. Please.”
At that Stiles straightened up to face the man who was leaning on the door frame, his big arms crossed in front of his chest.
“You’re sick. Can you just...take a breather for a second?”
“Not really. I have Fritz’s final today.
“You have pneumonia. You can’t go in .”
“It’s called walking pneumonia for a reason, Der. And do you know how brutal his finals are? Last year eight kids came out of that room crying. Eight !”
“You’re going to do fine. But you need to just...Stiles.”
“Listen. I know. And I’m really digging this whole concerned citizen thing, really. It’s cute and it’s kind of turning me on,” he ignored Derek’s dusting blush and pushed forward before he could interrupt, “But I just have two finals left. Two. And I need to concentrate on them before I can relax. Then I will stay in bed for a whole 72 hours and you can force hot chocolate down my throat and make me watch all those shitty Christmas movies you like. I promise you. I’m not dying.”
Derek let out a puff of frustrated air, “I’m just...”
“Derek,” Stiles’ voice softened considerably before he wrapped his long fingers around Derek’s big hand. The older man’s gaze flickered down at the contact before going to Stiles’ patient eyes, “I’m really fine. I wouldn’t be going if I wasn’t. Why are you so wound?”
“My Aunt....she died of pneumonia.”
Shock crossed Stiles’ face before he masked it with realization and squeezed the hand in his a little tighter.
“A long time ago. But I still remember. I just..."
“Derek, that’s not going to happen me. I’m okay. Look at me, I’m fine. Just today and tomorrow and then I’ll sleep for a month. Okay?”
After weighing his options, Derek finally seemed to deflate, “Okay.”
Stiles smiled at him reassuringly and allowed himself to be pulled into the man’s embrace. Something tugged loose inside him when he felt Derek’s lips press against the crown of his head, long and soft, so he held the man a little tighter.
“If I really feel bad I’ll call you, okay?”
“Okay.”
With one last grin over his shoulder, Stiles pulled on his extra thick coat and hurried out of his apartment and towards campus.
He struggled into the apartment, kicking off his boots and flailing out of his coat. It was only noon but he was exhausted. Who had finals as 8am anyway? This was the worst. The worst he ever felt. The worst he’s ever kept up with his assignments. The worst he’s ever looked. God. He zombied into his room (totally a verb) and nearly shit his pants when he saw a figure move out of the corner of his eye. He scrambled backwards, slamming into the wall and letting out a yelp.
“Jesus, Stiles.”
And of course it was him. He could hear the amusement in his voice and fuck everything. He knew his face was ghostly white and his eyes were bruised and sunken in. That his hair was greasy and he smelled like...like sickness. His clothes were dirty and his head was spinning and of course Derek would catch him like this...again. If had any kind of semblance with a chance with this man it was quickly diminishing.
“No. You can’t be here.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because I’m sick.”
“A little late for that one, don’t you think?”
“N-no,” he sniffled, now on the verge of tears for literally no apparent reason except the fact that the universe likes fucking with his life, “you don’t....I can’t see anyone like this. I can’t see you like this. No. You can’t see
me
like this.”
“Stiles, what are you talking about?”
“I look...fucking shit. I look like I was hit by a truck and then like...I don’t know. I just...you can’t.”
He didn’t want to lose Derek. Not like this.
“Stiles,” he voice was low and soft and unurgent and Stiles wanted nothing more than to be closer to the man but--”No. You’ll leave. You need to leave.”
Now the water works were coming and Stiles finally wished her were dead. Fuck his life. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He didn’t know what was going on with his body. He didn’t know what he was saying. He didn’t know what was happening right now except that he needed to get Derek out and spare him.
“Are...are you crying ?”
He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, “N-no! I just...damnit,” his voice cracked over the last word and he fought off sobs.
He had been so distracted by his internal happenings that he hadn’t noticed Derek’s soft expression and advancement towards him until his arms were secured around him and pulling him o n the bed.
“Relax, Stiles. I’m not leaving.”
“But--”
“Are you worried about how you look? Because Stiles...even know you’re beautiful.”
The shock was enough to halt the tears as he immediately pulled back to stare at Derek.
“Don’t...stop kidding around.”
“I’m not. You think I give up my Friday afternoons for just anybody? Do you?”
“N-no.”
“Stiles...you know how I feel about you. And...I know I don’t
say
it enough. And I know it’s going slow, but you have to know that I don’t care what you look like. I think....you’re stunning. Always. Even when I want nothing more than to slam you over the head with a hammer, I still find you beautiful. Even now. When you’re snotting all over me and being dramatic enough to give Laura a run for her money. I just...I want to be with you.”
“Fuck,” was Stiles’ brilliant response.
Derek’s face immediately began to close off but Stiles gripped the front of his shirt with both hands, “I thought...I thought there was just something wrong with me.”
His eyebrows furrowed, “What?”
“I...you too. You know? About...,” he waved a hand, “you know. Me too. With you.”
Derek let out a huff before letting a relieved smile cross his face.
“I guess,” Stiles sniffed, “we have to get better with out words...if we want this to go anywhere.”
Derek took his face in slowly and nodded, his intense gaze never straying, “Yeah.”
He relaxed a bit at that and allowed himself to be shuffled so that he was resting on Derek’s chest, the other man’s arm around him.
“What are we watching?”
Derek grinned down at him and clicked on the TV, “Well, you did promise me that we’d watch all those “shitty Christmas movies” that I liked.”
Stiles let out a groan, “Noooo. I was impaired.”
“Sorry, no take backs.”
Either way, Stiles settled himself further under the covers and got comfortable next to Derek.
It was going to be a long 72 hours.