Work Text:
There was a strange wailing sound coming from the next room. Stiles blinked at the ceiling and willed himself to stay in bed, to not take the bait. He was well aware that the only reason he made prefect was because the rest of the fifth-year Gryffindors were even less suited than he was, but he knew that a lot of people were just waiting for him to fail and get booted. An ADHD half-blood with authority issues and a tendency to end up in the Forbidden Forest after dark did not a model prefect make. But he’d be damned if he let the naysayers (cough, Jackson) get him down.
Which was why he was not going to leave his room after hours to see what the heck was going on with the Hufflepuff seventh year in the next room. It was really swell that the Battle of Hogwarts had built up so much house unity that fifth and seventh year prefects all dormed in the same hallway, but this was ridiculous. Stiles had made it two whole weeks into the term without any problems and he wasn’t about to start now.
Another muffled wail drifted over from the adjacent room. Stiles grimaced at the wall. It wasn’t his fault he had the biggest hero complex at Hogwarts since the Boy Who Lived himself (or, at least, that’s what Lydia told him daily) and couldn’t bear to hear someone in pain without intervening. With a bitten-off curse, he staggered out of bed and tucked his wand into his waistband. He peered cautiously around his door frame, but there were no teachers, ghosts or cats in sight. Nothing to forcibly change his mind.
Stiles sighed and kissed his prefect’s badge goodbye. He might’ve slipped it a little tongue too, but nobody had to know. He edged out into the hallway and warily approached the door next to his. He’d yet to speak a word to its occupant, but that was mostly because Derek Hale was the scowliest Hufflepuff in the history of ever and he ate pranksters like Stiles for breakfast.
“Hey, you okay in there?” he whisper-shouted at the door, knocking lightly.
There was no response except for what sounded like a yelp. Stiles abruptly started to worry that he had misinterpreted the noises he’d heard and Hale was really just spending some quality time with mini-Hale. But then a thump and a pained grunt convinced Stiles to take the chance. He flung the door open and spilled inside. “Hey, dude, sorry to bug you, bu-”
The apology died in his throat. Hale wasn’t having a nightmare like Stiles had assumed (like Stiles himself so often did). He wasn’t even in bed. He was huddled in a corner and his eyes were wild. Stiles’s eyes widened as he took in the room around the quivering boy. The sheets were all off of his bed and — was the comforter torn in half? Books were strewn everywhere and shattered glass surrounded a murky blue-ish puddle in the middle of the floor.
Hale whimpered again and Stiles’s eyes snapped back to him. “D-Derek, is everything all right?” Hale didn’t say anything; he just stared fuzzily at a spot over Stiles’s left shoulder. “I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced,” Stiles continued, slinking further into the room. “Well, there was that one time you took points from me in third year for that teacup I transfigured, but since you called me a ‘stupid lion’ I kinda figured you didn’t know my name,” Stiles babbled, his nerves doing nothing to slow down his mouth. “So, hi there?” he waved foolishly, “I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. Stiles is a nickname. I’d tell you my real name but then I’d have to kill you,” he joked weakly. Derek still hadn’t looked at him directly. “I heard some weird noises and I was worried. It looks like I was right to be, eh big guy?”
He finally sank to his knees in front of Hale and reached a tentative hand out. “Derek? Should I get a teacher?”
That got a reaction. “No!” Hale snapped. “Don’t tell anyone!” And his hazel eyes flashed blue. Stiles fell back on his butt.
“Derek, what’s going on?”
Derek closed his eyes for a moment and another pained whine escaped from his mouth. When he opened them again, he focused directly on Stiles. “You shouldn’t be in here. My potion, it…it doesn’t always agree with me. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
Stiles glanced back at the puddle. “Are you sure you actually drank it?”
“I drank enough,” Derek gritted out. “This just means it’ll be more painful.”
“What will be more painful?” Stiles pressed. “I really think I should get a teacher — and trust me, I never think that.”
“Stiles,” Hale growled. “Tonight's the full moon. I’m used to this. This is something I have to do on my own.”
Stiles wasn’t proud of how much that statement confused him until he realized what Hale meant. Werewolf integration and anti-speciesism had come a long way since Remus Lupin had died for the cause against He Who Must Not Be Named, but there was still a list that students could get from the headmaster’s office that contained the names of all the above-average students at Hogwarts. Prefects receive them on the train. And Derek Hale had been on it.
“You’re a werewolf!” Stiles exclaimed. Derek did not look impressed. “That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to meet one! The closest I came was when I went to work with my dad one time and a rogue wolf infiltrated the Auror office and… I can see you really don’t care.” Stiles trailed off.
Derek harrumphed. “I’m glad I’m so interesting to you.” He didn’t sound glad at all. “But I’m fine. Like I said, the Wolfsbane potion can just be really painful for me sometimes. I’m fine on my own. I need to be alone. So, thank you for your nosiness, which I’m sure you think is concern, but please leave.”
“Why do you have to be alone?” Stiles hunkered closer again.
Derek looked at him, like he couldn’t quite believe he was still there and he wasn’t quite sure if he should punch him or hug him. At least that was Stiles’s interpretation. “Pardon me?”
“Why do you have to be alone?” Stiles repeated. “I get pretty bad nightmares sometimes about — well, it’s not really important what they’re about, is it? But my point is, I always feel better when my dad is there, or my best friend Scott. I mean, Scott hasn’t been around much at bedtime since I made prefect, but…it helps. Having someone there. Me, at least.”
Derek had unfocused a little during Stiles’s rant, but he blinked at the younger boy when he finished. “Look, I — Ah!” He curled in on himself, clutching his middle and panting harshly.
Stiles made up his mind. “If you don’t want me to get a teacher, I’m staying. Sorry, you’re stuck with me.” He scooted closer so his back was against the wall like Derek’s and rested a hand lightly on the werewolf’s knee. “I’m here if you need me.”
Derek looked sideways at him after he’d slumped back against the wall. “Thanks,” he finally whispered, probably realizing it would take more energy than he actually had to get Stiles to leave his room. Stiles beamed — worked every time.
***
But maybe it was more than simple resignation, Stiles decided the next day. Because when he caught Derek’s eye across the Great Hall at breakfast, not only did the Hufflepuff hold his gaze for a few seconds, but his usual scowl turned up just a little.
Stiles grinned like a fool. It was progress.